These are the dog days of summer in Myrtle Point. The golden grasses have gone to seed, and it has been weeks since the last rain. South of here, near Brookings, a forest fire has burned over 100,000 acres. Smoke has turned the sky brown. Yet, a morning walk through the high grasses will leave your shoes and pant legs soaked. These are also the mornings of heavy dew.
The other morning the dew and fog was so heavy that even the streets were wet despite no rain during the night. These dews are beginning to green the lawn. They give life.
Lizards and beetles of the desert have learned to sustain themselves on morning dew. Before dawn they climb to the top of a dune in Namibia and face the Atlantic. They let the morning dew and coastal fog condense on their bodies. They soak in the precious moisture before the rising sun scorches the earth once again.
After being shot down over Bosnia, jet pilot Scott O’Grady sustained himself on dew as he hid from Serbian patrols. He climbed into the heart of a thicket and awaited rescue. He could not get out to search for water, so he used the two sponges from his flight suit to soak up the dew. He squeezed the water from the sponges into his mouth.
God fed Israel manna that came with the morning dew. We sometimes glorify manna, but the Israelites tired of it. It was after-all, desert food. Just enough to keep you going. Just enough to keep you dependent on God. It was no promised land. It was daily love.
Honestly, I feel spiritually arid. In my heart is the silence of a hot August day when even grasshoppers stop moving. I am weary, and it seems I have been praying for revival for centuries. Yet in the morning when I turn my heart toward God, I am refreshed slightly, gently. It is no downpour. It is just a heavy dew, my heart a softening sponge.