Sprinklers

The other day I was having one of those days…

Life was lifing—dragging me by my eyelids, tossing me around like I had signed up for it.

I was in bed crying, blanket over my head, just letting the emotions be what they were. Then a friend sent me a video, and the very first thing the guy said was:

“You’re about to get your mojo back. But first, you gotta slow down. You can’t let life speed you up just because you can see the finish line.”

Whew.

Because lately I’ve felt so close to my dream, yet somehow farther than ever. Right when it finally felt grab-able, it also felt like something came and snatched it right out of my hands.

This year has turned me every way but loose—battle after battle—and I’ve caught myself questioning God more than once:

“Why me, Lord? Why does it have to be this hard?”

After watching the video, I decided to get out of bed. I stopped crying, got dressed, and went to the park. I found a sunny spot, laid my mat down, studied a bit, took a few videos of how beautiful everything looked…

Then I laid back in the sun to feel the warmth and just be. About 10 minutes in, out of nowhere—at least I thought—the sprinklers turned on and instantly drenched me.

No, seriously. These weren’t regular sprinklers. These were super soaker, waterboarding-adjacent sprinklers. I just sat there, completely soaked, gathering my stuff slowly because I had no fight left. No frustration. No anger. I was just… tired.

I finally stood up, walked to the sidewalk, and started laughing at myself because all I could hear in my grandmother’s voice was:

“ONLY YOU… if it wasn’t for bad luck, you wouldn’t have none.”

And sure enough, when I called her later, that’s exactly what she said.

I made a post about it saying, “Maybe if I had my headphones off I would’ve heard the warning. But for me there’s usually no warning—life drenches me and then I run. Today I just sat in it.”

But replaying everything in my mind later… that wasn’t actually true.

Remember when I said I was recording videos earlier?

In one of them, way off in the distance, the sprinklers were already on. I even paused for a second and said to myself:

“I hope it doesn’t start over here.”

And then I dismissed it.

Ezekiel 33:4–5 says:

“Then whosoever heareth the sound of the trumpet, and taketh not warning… his blood shall be upon him.

But he that taketh warning shall deliver his soul.”

God always sends a warning.

It’s just not always loud.

Sometimes it’s subtle, gentle, quiet. Sometimes it’s in the distance. Sometimes it flashes by so quickly that if you blink, you’ll miss it.

But the message is always there—if you pay attention.

When those sprinklers drenched me and I didn’t run, it wasn’t because I was being deep. It was because I didn’t have anything left in me.

And that’s exactly when God stepped in and reminded me:

Slow down. I’m here. I warn you. I guide you. I protect you—even when life feels like a super soaker to the face.

Sometimes the lesson isn’t in the running.

Sometimes the lesson is in the sitting still…

and seeing God in the spray.