When the Storm Determines the Season

We recently had a heavy rainstorm roll through our area. It was one of those surprise downpours that leaves everything drenched, muddy, and a bit beaten down. I wasn’t too worried—until I looked out at my flower garden. The storm had flattened it.

More specifically, it had crushed my Black-Eyed Susans—some of my favorite blooms. To me, they’re the perfect flower: a cross between a daisy and a sunflower, cheerful and strong, resilient yet radiant. They line our garden like a little wall of joy, bursting with yellow, black, and orange.

But not this morning.

This morning, I walked out to find them all laid low—blooms bowed, stems bent, petals torn by the force of the rain. My heart sank. I had hoped this little patch of beauty would last through the summer. I had imagined watching them sway in the breeze for weeks to come. But the storm, it seems, had determined the length of their season.

As I knelt in the wet soil, gently pruning what I could and gathering the salvageable flowers into little bouquets, the Lord began to whisper to my heart.

And He spoke through the very garden I was mourning.

I realized I’ve had seasons in life just like this—times I expected to last longer. Seasons I thought would carry more fruit, more favor, more longevity. Seasons I planted with care, watered with prayer, and watched with hopeful expectation. But then, suddenly, a storm rolled in. Not the kind that’s forecasted, but the kind that blindsides. The kind that flattens what was once flourishing. And just like my garden, I found myself staring at dreams or plans I thought would stand tall… now laid in the dirt.

It’s oddly poetic, isn’t it? That the flower we’re talking about is the Black-Eyed Susan—because some storms leave us with more than broken stems. Sometimes we walk away from life’s storms with black eyes too—bruised, tender, and wondering what just happened.

But then, another whisper from the Lord:

“The strength of a perennial is not in its blooms, but in its roots.”

It stopped me in my tracks.

The showcase of a healthy root system is seen in the splendor of the flowers. But when the flowers are lost, it doesn’t mean the plant is lost. The beauty above ground may have taken a hit, but the life beneath the surface remains.

Sometimes the rain that ruins the display is the same rain that strengthens the roots.

Sometimes the sacrifice of a few blooms is what allows for deeper, more expansive growth.

My Black-Eyed Susans come back every year. In fact, they double in size. And next year, I’ll split them and transplant them to other parts of the garden, expanding their reach. Even though this year’s bloom was shortened, next year’s will spread further and grow fuller.

And isn’t that just like God?

He doesn’t waste our storms.

I didn’t let those fallen flowers go to waste either. I made three beautiful bouquets and scattered them around our home—a reminder that beauty can still be gathered, even in loss.

So, here’s the truth I’m holding onto: sometimes seasons end before we’re ready. Sometimes we expect growth and get pruning instead. Sometimes what looked like flourishing is flattened overnight. But that’s not the end of the story.

We will bloom again.

And not just bloom—but multiply.

So if you’re in a flattened season, if the rain has taken what you thought would last—remember the roots. Remember the One who holds the shears. Recall the beauty of the season, and trust that God is still in the garden. He knows what He’s doing.

And never forget:

“Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)

What looks like loss might just be the beginning of greater growth.