Only in the Rain Do We See What Was Never Really There

“The best time to buy land in Kenya is during the rainy season.”

That saying holds weight—not just literally but metaphorically too. Because only when the heavens open and the water flows do we truly see things for what they are. What looked like a decent, promising plot can turn into a swamp. What was once a trusted path home can vanish without a trace.

This afternoon it rained. And as I walked home, I realized: the path I take every day isn’t really a path. It’s a suggestion—a possibility that only holds shape when it’s dry. When the rain came, it ceased to exist.

Isn’t that how much of life is? The paths we swear by, the routines we follow, the beliefs we lean on—sometimes they only work when conditions are good. When the metaphorical rain comes, when life gets hard, what we thought was stable disappears. And suddenly we’re ankle-deep in questions we’ve avoided for years.

In Kenya, rain is a test. It is both blessing and burden. It reveals the truth of our planning, our priorities, and our resilience.

If you’re in the comfort of your home, the rain is calming. It settles dust, nourishes crops, and lulls babies to sleep. But if you're outside trying to get home, it becomes a curse—matatus triple their fare, roads become rivers, and what was a 30-minute commute becomes a 3-hour ordeal.

When it rains, people in informal settlements watch helplessly as water rises through their homes. When it rains, children miss school, mothers lose stock in the market, and daily life slows to a crawl. But also, when it rains, the truth comes to the surface—literally and metaphorically.

We begin to see that some things were never really there:

• That job security that disappeared with one restructuring email.

• That “happy” marriage that unravels under financial pressure.

• That spiritual life we thought was deep but turns out to be performative.

The rain unmasks everything. It asks uncomfortable questions. It dares us to build lives that can survive a storm—not just look good in the sun.

We live in a country of appearances. From how we dress, how we speak, the cars we drive, even our Instagram captions—we are constantly curating a life for the dry season. But the rain doesn't care about your image. The rain is truth serum.

And so we must ask ourselves:

• What parts of my life are only functional in fair weather?

• What do I keep calling ‘my foundation’ when really it’s just compacted dust?

• How much of what I’ve built can stand if the season changes?

Truth in the Flooded Ground Rain is often seen as an inconvenience, but what if it’s an invitation? An invitation to reevaluate. To rebuild. To admit that something you’ve depended on is no longer working. That the way you’ve been walking isn't sustainable. That the relationship, job, belief system, or habit needs a redesign.

And sometimes the rain comes not to destroy but to deliver. It shows you the real road so you stop pretending there’s one where there isn’t.

In Rural Kenya, They Say… They say “usinunue shamba wakati wa jua.” Because in the dry season, everything looks fine. But when it rains? That’s when the truth shows. The cracks. The flooding. The parts that can't handle pressure. Isn’t it time we applied that same principle to our lives?

How Do We Bear the Rain Long Enough to See the Truth? The hardest thing about rain is not that it comes—but that it insists we stay. It soaks us, slows us, exposes us. It makes us feel vulnerable, uncertain, out of control. And that’s precisely why so many of us never stay long enough to see what the rain wants to show us.

We patch the roof instead of rebuilding the house.
We wear gumboots instead of questioning the path.
We pray for sun instead of preparing for the seasons.

But if we are to grow, to truly change, we must learn to bear the rain.

So how do we do it?

• We slow down. You can’t rush through a flooded road. Likewise, we must resist the urge to fix, flee, or numb discomfort. Let it teach you.

• We ask better questions. Not just “Why is this happening?” but “What is this revealing?” or “What was I blind to in the sun?”

• We sit with the discomfort. Some truths only arrive after the storm has lingered. If we run too soon, we miss the deeper work.

• We let go of false paths. Sometimes, it’s not about making a new road—it’s about accepting that this one was never ours to walk.

• We honour the season. Rain is not a punishment. It’s a rite of passage. It is nature’s way of cleansing, resetting, renewing.

Reflection Questions:

• What paths in your life disappear when the pressure builds?

• Where are you still building in flood zones out of habit, fear, or denial?

• What “truth” has the rain revealed in your current season?

• Can you allow the inconvenience of rain to teach you something about your direction?

• Are you running from the rain or being reshaped by it?

A Final Thought Rain always comes. Sometimes gently, sometimes like a flood. And when it does, we see the truth of our lives. It’s not an attack—it’s a reveal. And that’s a gift.

Because only in the rain do we see what was never really there.
And from that truth, maybe, we can start building what’s real—and lasting.

🔹 Prayer Mantra: When the Rain Reveals

Dear Creator,
When the rain comes and washes away the paths I thought were sure,
Help me not to panic but to pause.
Let me see not the loss, but the lesson.
Where there is mud, may I find meaning.
Where things collapse, may truth rise.
Teach me to welcome the season that unmasks.
Give me the courage to walk new paths—
Even if they weren’t in my plan.
And when I am soaked in discomfort,
Let it baptize me into deeper wisdom.
Amen.