And Finally the Rains
July 15, 20260
In order to move forward, we must first start from the beginning.
This garden was created in October 2024. That was the season of my Permaculture Design Course, when I began the journey of true land stewardship. Learning not just how to care for the land, but how to care for this land, specifically in Central Texas.
So I began with rebuilding this heavy clay soil through deep mulch. The kind of mulch that’s freshly chipped from an entire tree.
Leaves.
Twigs.
Branches.
Everything.
We layered cardboard over the grass first.
Then leaves.
Then nearly a foot of mulch over everything.
This process allows the soil to regenerate as the mulch slowly breaks down into organic matter. It also helps retain rainwater, soaking it up like a sponge and gradually releasing it back into the soil.
Because of this, our plants have been able to thrive with little to no supplemental watering. In fact, our sprinkler system doesn’t even work right now.
Which made this season especially difficult.
The past few weeks have been blisteringly hot.
Too hot to go outside.
Too hot to stay outside.
Just a long string of days stretching into weeks of relentless heat.
The garden was thirsty.
I could tell.
And so was I.
I found myself praying for rain.
For relief.
For a deep watering.
To wash over all of us.
And then…
it finally came.
The dry ground cried out and became quenched.
We had nearly a straight week of rain in mid-July.
The rains bring restoration.
They bring coolness to the intensity of the heat.
They deeply nourish all life.
Each morning, after another night of heavy rain, the garden drinks deeply.
And newness comes.
I hear the frogs croaking.
The birds singing.
The bees buzzing and dancing inside every open flower they can find.
New life springs up.
The melons ripen.
Watermelons seem to form like magic.
Morning dew settles heavily across the foliage.
We all begin to thrive.
Then, after the first rain…
I saw it.
An ancient covenant.
A promise.
Wrapped in beauty.
A rainbow.
Not one…
but two.
A double rainbow.
As I knelt in the garden, completely in awe…
I found myself even more overwhelmed with gratitude for Yahweh.
Not just for answered prayers.
But for His promises.
For His love.
For His redemption.
We all needed it.
The garden.
The birds.
The frogs.
The bees.
Me.
We had all cried out for it.
An opportunity to receive blessing.
To receive nourishment.
And, like the garden always does…
It taught me something.
The summer heat can feel daunting.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
But it also creates potent medicine.
Plants become more resilient.
Their roots reach deeper into the earth.
They press forward, not simply to survive, but to thrive.
I think we’re a lot like that.
Our circumstances change.
Life shifts.
Evolves.
Transforms.
The dry seasons are rarely the ones we would choose.
Yet they often become the places where our roots grow deepest.
Where our dependence on God becomes less of an idea and more of a necessity.
When the rain finally comes, we receive it differently.
We remember where we were.
We recognize how far we’ve come.
Gratitude becomes deeper.
Perhaps that’s why Paul could write that he delighted in weakness.
Not because weakness was beautiful…
But because it became the very place where Christ’s strength was made visible.
That’s true transformation.
Just like the waters bring.
Wherever they flow…
New life springs up.
Scripture:
2 Corinthians 12:9-10
“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
Until next time,
Jasz
