The moment Ofelia began to speak to me at my Elijah House B-School graduation, it felt like heaven leaned in.

She described a downpour, not of storm or sorrow, but of healing. Gentle rain — the kind that kisses dry earth and awakens buried seeds — began to fall over me in her vision. Every word she spoke felt like a washing, a quiet confirmation from the Father's heart: "The drought is finished."

That phrase sank deep. Years of inner wilderness, aching dreams, and silent grief had parched the soil of my soul. Yet here was a word that poured life into the dry places. A new day dawning, soaked in His mercy. Tears of past pain being tenderly rinsed away by heaven’s rain. Fear melting under the steady rhythm of hope.

And then she said it — "You're going with joy, and a sense of hope, and a springing up of those buried dreams." Oh, how those dreams had once danced in the light, only to be buried beneath layers of disappointment and delay. But even a buried dream is not a dead one — not when God is the Gardener.

As the healing rain falls, I picture Him gently uncovering what was hidden. Dreams germinating, finally breaking through the surface. Laughter rising again. Breath returning to parts of me I thought were lost. My heart echoes: Yes, Lord. It’s a new day.

I'm going to let this word remain a wellspring in dry seasons to come. The drought is not my destiny. His rain is faithful. His timing is perfect. Let joy rise. Let hope return. Let buried dreams bloom again.

I'm deeply loved, and the rain is only just beginning.