⛈️ When the Rain Feels Endless

There are days when it feels like it just won’t stop raining. Not the kind that refreshes the earth, but the kind that soaks your soul in questions: “Lord, why am I still here? Why can't I move on? “

But then I realized that the rain is never wasted. It’s God’s watering can, drenching the soil where He has planted me. Seeds don’t sprout overnight. They need the slow, steady rhythm of rain, sometimes more than we’d like.

On July 13, I had written in my journal:

“He shielded me from falling too far. I felt His grace as a shield still holding, still steady even as I indulged in my doubt and distraction.”

And it’s true. Though my faith has strengthened over time, I still find myself in those back-and-forth battles with distractions like k-dramas and idle thoughts. I’d resolve never to touch them again, only to stumble back within a few days. Always protected from falling further and being completely gripped by it, but not fully delivered.

Just the other night, the pattern repeated. After a few days of victory, I picked up my phone, watched a few videos, then fell asleep promising, “Tomorrow I’ll stop.”

Morning came, and with it, temptation. The app was still open. A pop-up video called to me. I clicked, ready to dive back in. But as I searched for something new to watch on YouTube, another thumbnail caught my eye. Not a drama. Not a distraction. It was an image of Jesus, fallen under the weight of the cross, reaching out His hand, His face marked with suffering.

I froze.

I closed the app.

And I went about my day.

Later, when idleness crept in again, the temptation whispered once more: “Just one episode.” But that same image flashed in my mind of Jesus, burdened, bloodied, still reaching out to me. In that moment, I realized something that pierced me deeper than any sermon could:

Every time I give in to self-indulgence and still feel “safe,” it isn’t free. My protection has a cost. The cost of His suffering. His blood.

St. Peter reminds us:

“You were ransomed… not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot.” (1 Peter 1:18–19)

I’ve been wanting to stop this dilly-dallying for a long time. And now I see clearly that every time I flirt with temptation, I am not just “being weak.” I am forgetting the price that was paid to shield me.

The image of Jesus reaching out while carrying His cross is burned into my heart now. And with it, a renewed strength. The pull of temptation isn’t what it used to be, because love remembers what it cost.

So yes, there was a reason I had to stand in the rain for a while and learn it this way. If the struggle had ended earlier, I probably would have credited my own efforts “See, I was disciplined enough, I tried hard enough, I stopped by myself.” But the waiting stripped away that illusion.

I’ve come to see my fallen nature more clearly. Born in the flesh, there is nothing I can do on my own. No matter how much effort I put in, I am bound to stumble. What I really need is His strength, the grace that steadies me when my own resolve falters.

And I think that’s why the lesson had to come this way. Seeds don’t grow overnight. The constant struggle exposed my weakness, but at the same time, it revealed something greater and that is His unwavering love, His willingness to shield me even when I failed.

Now, I can see the fruit already. Not just in this one battle, but in other areas of life too. I don’t get as irritated or anxious as easily anymore. There’s still so much room for growth, but the change is undeniable. And it is not my doing but it is all His work in me.

What once felt like endless rain is now starting to look like nourishment. He planted, He watered, and He is making something new grow. And for that, I can only bow in gratitude.