REFLECTION:

It’s only five days into Lent. We don’t even count Sundays in the forty days, so technically we’re still at the very beginning of the first week. And yet — oh boy — what a start this season has already been.

Sometimes Lent doesn’t ease us in gently. It begins with ashes on our foreheads and the sobering reminder: “Remember that you are dust.” And before we even find our rhythm — before the fasting feels organized, before the prayer feels consistent — life already feels intense. Temptations show up. Old habits resurface. Unexpected struggles appear. We might even wonder, “Lord, why is this already hard?”

Isaiah reminds us of something foundational: God is sovereign. The rain and snow fall from heaven not randomly, not accidentally, but according to a design. They soak the earth, unseen at first, and only later do we see green shoots rising from the soil. In the same way, God’s Word goes forth with purpose. It does not return empty. Even when we do not see immediate change, something is happening beneath the surface.

That is where trust in divine timing comes in. We want immediate fruit. We want visible growth by day five. We want to feel transformed by the first Friday of Lent. But God is not rushed. Seeds germinate in darkness. Roots form before branches stretch upward. Divine timing is rarely dramatic — it is steady, patient, and often hidden.

Lent can feel like a barren season. We intentionally strip things away. We fast. We sit with silence. We confront weaknesses. It can feel dry — like soil waiting for rain. But Isaiah reminds us: barren seasons are not wasted seasons. They are preparing seasons. When the rain comes, the soil must already be ready to receive it.

And that leads to hope. Hope in barren seasons. Just because you do not see growth does not mean growth is not happening. Just because prayer feels quiet does not mean God is silent. Just because fasting feels difficult does not mean it is fruitless. God’s sovereignty means He is working even when we cannot measure the progress.

Finally, there is fruitfulness after waiting. The rain does not fall merely to dampen the ground; it falls to produce bread. God’s Word does not go out merely to sound beautiful; it goes out to transform lives. The fruit may not appear on day five. It may not appear by week two. But by Easter — and sometimes long after — we look back and realize: something changed in me. Something softened. Something healed. Something grew.

So if this Lent already feels intense, if the first week already feels like work, do not be discouraged. Trust the rain. Trust the slow work of God. Trust that His Word is accomplishing something in you — even now.

Because in God’s sovereignty, in His perfect timing, barren soil always has the potential to bloom.