Flowers in the rain

"May the flowers remind us 
why the rain was so necessary."
-Xan Oku

A good song can have a deep impact on you in ways you wouldn't imagine. That's not a new sentiment by any means -- I've written about it before on here, in fact.

But I couldn't help but feel it needed to be said again.

Some months back, I heard the song "Flowers" by Samantha Ebert. (Actually, my favorite version also includes Seph Schlueter and is posted at the end!)

Released in 2024, this song is a beautiful depiction of wading through hard times, asking God why, and praying for relief. I think the first time I heard it, I was moved close to tears. It's become a song of comfort and peace for me.

I've wanted to write about the impact for months now, but I've been unsure of exactly how to put the words to "paper" or screen.

Well, blue skies and hillsides seem so far away
And I wrote in my notebook that I've seen better days
Than the ones as of late
I can't bear the weight

The rain won't stop pouring out my windowpane
And I haven't left my bedroom in 76 days
I wish something would change
'Cause I'm losing faith

So I brought it up in a desperate prayer
Lord, why are you keeping me here? 
Then He said to me, "Child I'm planting seeds
I'm a good God and I have a good plan
So trust that I'm holding a watering can
And someday you'll see, that flowers grow in the valley."

This first verse and the chorus are a perfect example of how it feels sometimes when you're wandering through that hardship. You can't see anything but hard and heavy rain pounding the windows. You don't want to leave your house. 

The weight is insurmountable.

But God.

So whatever the reason, I'm barely getting by
I'll trust it's a season knowing that you're by my side
Every step of the way
And I'll be OK

'Cause I brought it up in a desperate prayer
Lord, why are you keeping me here?
Then He said to me, "Child I'm planting seeds
I'm a good God and I have a good plan
So trust that I'm holding a watering can
And someday you'll see, that flowers grow in the valley."

It's hard to get there. It's hard to get to that point of trusting God that whatever the plan in this hard time is, it will eventually be for good. 

Some days, I think I am there. Other days I'm definitely not.

It hurts. Sometimes, trudging through that hardship, that grief, that brokenness, it really hurts. It is physically painful. Like dragging through broken glass.

Sometimes it feels like your heart has busted in a million pieces. But unlike Humpty Dumpty, it feels like you can't find all the pieces to put it back together again.

But God.

There's something in this song that also reminds me of Psalm 23, which has been a comfort for me in recent years. That is a psalm about the darkness, but not having to face it alone. About trusting that God will walk beside you and lead you through, to the stillness and the peaceful meadows to rest beside the water.

It's amazing to me how water can be peaceful and yet painful too. Growing up in a farming community, being the daughter and granddaughter of farmers, I recognize the importance of rain.

But I also recognize the danger of too much. Sometimes, the rain is too much. It can flood and rise too quickly. It can turn the fields to mud, endangering livestock (and human lives, of course) and wash away the fledgling seeds.

Sometimes the river is too much. It's strong and can pull you under in seconds. It can wash away homes and more.

But, sometimes the water is peaceful. Sometimes, it's a gentle stream. Sometimes, it's a beautiful spring rain. Sometimes, it's just enough to let the flowers grow. 

When I'm on the mountain and looking down below
I'll see a valley of flowers that needed time to grow
And I'll thank you for the rain
The hurt and days of pain

And I'll bring it up in a grateful prayer
Thank you, Jesus, for keeping me there
You know just what I need and you've planted seeds
'Cause you're a good God with a real good plan
And you hold my world in a watering can
So I can have peace
'Cause flowers grow in the valley

I'm not sure that I'll ever get THERE. I'm not sure I will ever find the ability to be truly thankful for my last few years of rain.

But I'm thankful for aspects. I'm thankful for the perspective I've gained. I've said before, I wish others could gain it without the experience.

I am thankful for the person I am and the life I have now, although I selfishly wish for my Jim to be here beside me, sharing the experience. And if we were really playing the what-if / dream world, I'd wish things to be a little less difficult financially and otherwise.

But, I've never been one to play the what-if game. I've never felt it was worth the time and effort -- all it does it leave you feeling disappointed, sad, or guilty. It clogs up your brain with nonsense.

Love does not produce guilt. Love does not produce shame. Those are things that are only produced in anxiety and in darkness. Love is a light meant to make your heart sparkle. It's meant to challenge you in good ways, improve your person. Not discourage and break you.

As much as grief hurts, grief also isn't meant to shame. It's meant to be a reflection of the love you had. It may feel like it will break you, but it's really meant to show how big your love was (and is) and appreciate that love. 

Grief is a process and a journey, but it's not a guilt trip.

So, while I may never get to my proverbial mountaintop and see my valley of flowers, I can appreciate the meadow of wildflowers as I cross them. I can appreciate the sunrise.

This song makes me want to paint. I'm an amateur at best; painting is only for fun for me. Admittedly, I've tried drawing how I feel about it in pencil. Maybe one day I'll put paint to canvas and pour out the feelings it evokes inside.

The outdated discussion on grief was built in stages, one of which was acceptance. I believe it's a much messier process. I also don't think acceptance is a proper term. As someone who is on her own grief journey, I think acceptance should be more a "begrudging acceptance/understanding." I understand I can't change it. I begrudgingly accept that this is life now. I can waste time wishing for something else, but I don't see the point. It's like the what-if game, it only leaves one sad and disappointed.

Instead, I can focus on life now and living it the best I can. And I think that's OK.

My rain is no longer the blinding one that knocks me to my knees and threatens to wash me away -- most days -- but it's the one that's a gentle spring rain. It comes and goes and that's OK.

It's necessary for the flowers to grow. 

So I continue to enjoy the flowers as they grow and I'll continue to let the rain wash over me as it falls. 

Sometimes, that's the best one can hope for. ⁕





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