by Noel Bouché
We’ve had significant rains lately, and my modern sensibilities have largely seen it not as a blessing, but a curse—slower traffic, yard debris, soggy sprints through parking lots. Not to mention the funk of collective crankiness from everyone around me.
And then I walked out my backdoor during a merciful respite from the days-long deluge, and I saw something utterly breathtaking. Not only something I had never seen before, but something I could not have imagined or expected.
I saw these flowers… two lovely, strange, beautiful, extravagant, other-worldly plants that I had never planted, never anticipated, never seen anywhere else in our yard or neighborhood.
All because it had rained.
You see, our sprinklers go on regularly—sometimes I’ve even got the hose out to overcome the scorching summer sun and salvage something of the annual flowers we buy, plant, and hope make it for a few months.
Yet here, out of nowhere, were these to magnificent representations of life, and I could not turn my eyes away, nor could I not see in them my two daughters, husband and wife, God and humans, life flourishing in twos.
Who knows whence came the seeds from which they sprung? Who knew they were already there, in the darkness of the soil, ready to be released at the right time by the right amount of softly falling rain? No amount of hard, chlorinated tap water from the sprinkler could match pure, nutrient-rich rains released from the heavens.
And so it is with us.
There is healing waiting to push through the soil. There is reconciliation just below the surface. There is joy that we didn’t plant ready to emerge. There is beauty about to spring forth.
But we cannot bring it forth through our own efforts, through our own striving with the spigot or sprinkler system timer. Our own self-sufficient efforts to undo injustice, protect innocence, restore unity, make ourselves more “holy,” right the wrongs we see around us in our relationships—they are as the hard water from the hose, aimed carefully but often aimed amiss.
We must wait for and rest in His rains.
Today, look for the rains, for they will come. It could be a verse, a kind word, a sunset, a moment of peace, a new understanding of that person you’ve hurt or who has hurt you, a new realization of a place in your heart of distrust, disappointment, despair. The rains will come. And in the end, they will come like a flood and make everything new.
May unexpected beauty break forth from the soil of your heart today!
“Let us know; let us press on to know the LORD; His going out is sure as the dawn; He will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.” —Hosea 6:1-3