It was the rainiest May Texas had seen in years. The kind of rain that doesn’t just drizzle—it settles in, heavy and relentless, like it’s got nowhere else to go. Every forecast called for more storms, and the ground, already soaked, could hardly drink another drop. I am a born and raised PNW gal so normally, I love the sound of rain, but that May was different. Each new downpour carried a pit of anxiety in my stomach, because every drop was a reminder of the damage winter had already left behind.
A horrible winter storm months before had wreaked havoc on my roof. Ice, snow, and brutal winds had left behind cracks that I didn’t notice right away. It wasn’t until the first few spring rains came that I realized the damage was worse than I thought. A slow, stubborn leak had begun in the garage ceiling—one that started as a faint watermark but gradually darkened and spread with every passing storm.
Day by day, the mark grew larger, like a bruise on the house itself. By the end of that week, the patch on the ceiling was discolored, and the wall beside it showed streaks where the water had begun to seep down. I finally called a roof repairman, desperate for a solution. When he came to inspect the damage, he climbed up on the roof, took a few notes, and said he could fix it—but not until the following week.
“Just seven more days,” he said.
Seven days. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have felt so long. But with the constant rain, seven days might as well have been seven months.
I prayed hard that week. Every morning and every night, I asked God to hold back the rain—just long enough for the repairman to come. “Please, Lord,” I whispered more than once, “just keep the skies clear a little longer. I don’t want the damage to get worse.”
And for six straight days, He did.
The forecasts were wrong, the skies stayed surprisingly calm, and I couldn’t help but feel like God was answering every word of my prayer. I was so grateful—and maybe a little proud of my “prayer success.”
Then came day seven.
That morning, I woke up to the sound I’d been dreading—the unmistakable roar of rain against the roof. Not a gentle drizzle. A downpour. Sheets of rain cascaded off the eaves, thunder rolled, and my heart sank. The very thing I had prayed so hard to avoid was happening.
I remember standing at the window watching as the rain came pouring down, feeling anger rise up inside me. “Really, God?” I muttered out loud. “You couldn’t just hold it off a few more hours?” It felt unfair. After all that prayer, after all that waiting, why would He let it pour right before the repairman was finally scheduled to come?
By the time the rain stopped—just minutes before the appointment—I was a mix of frustration and defeat. I braced myself for bad news. Surely, the leak would be worse now, and the repair would cost more.
When the roof repairman arrived, he went up into the attic to start the work. I waited downstairs, still stewing a bit, thinking about how God could have just timed things better. But before I could finish that thought, I heard the man’s boots coming back down the ladder.
He looked surprisingly cheerful. “Well,” he said, wiping his hands, “you’re lucky it rained right before I came.”
I blinked. “Lucky?”
He nodded. “Yeah, because I found the real source of the leak—and it wasn’t where I thought it was. The rainwater started coming in through a different spot I didn’t catch the first time. If it hadn’t rained today, I wouldn’t have seen it. You would’ve had the same leak again in a few months, and it would’ve caused even more damage—and cost you more to fix.”
I stood there, completely speechless.
All that time I had spent worrying, praying, and even getting angry—God had been working things out in a way I couldn’t see. The very rain I had begged Him to stop was the exact thing that revealed the problem that needed to be fixed.
In that moment, I felt a wave of humility wash over me. God knew all along. His timing wasn’t late. It wasn’t wrong. It was perfect.
It reminded me of Isaiah 55:8-9, where God says:
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
How quickly I forget that. When things don’t go according to my plan—when the timing feels inconvenient or the situation seems to worsen—it’s easy to assume that God isn’t listening. But He is. He’s always listening. And He’s always orchestrating the details in ways we might not recognize at first.
I think back to that week often. How I prayed for clear skies, but God sent rain instead. How I thought He was ignoring my prayers when in reality, He was answering them perfectly—just not in the way I expected.
It’s a lesson that reaches far beyond leaky roofs. Life is full of situations that test our patience and trust. We pray for breakthroughs, for healing, for provision, for something—anything—to change, and when it doesn’t happen right away, we’re tempted to think God isn’t moving. But sometimes the storm we wish away is the very thing God uses to bring clarity, healing, or protection.
Proverbs 3:5-6 says,
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”
That’s exactly what He did that rainy day in May.
From that experience, I’ve learned that trusting God’s timing means letting go of my need to control the details. It means believing that even when the rain pours harder than I want it to, He’s still good. He still sees. And He still cares—about every part of our lives, big or small. Even something as ordinary as a leaky roof can become a reminder of extraordinary grace.
That May, I thought the rain was my problem. But it turned out to be God’s provision. And I’ll never look at a storm the same way again.
PIN THIS!
Read more of Joanna’s contributions to AllMomDoes here.
