When the Rain Stopped

When the Rain Stopped

The brakes went out...again. I'd just replaced the brake line. What the hell! I just managed to get us into a strip mall parking lot.

I gripped the wheel so hard my knuckles ached. Rain hammered the windshield, turning the world outside into a blur. But I wasn’t sure if the burning in my eyes was from the storm or everything that had come before it. The brakes were shot. Again.

First, losing our dog in the worst way imaginable. The eviction. And now this?

Thunder cracked, rattling through my chest. From the passenger seat, Angela—my wife—rested a hand on my arm, a silent anchor. In the backseat, Iona, our daughter, was quiet, her small face turned toward the window, watching the rain streak down the glass.

I just sat there, staring at nothing, listening to the rhythmic slap of the wipers—like a heartbeat, steady and indifferent.

I wasn’t sure why, but I started talking to God.

"Why?" My voice barely rose above the pounding rain. "I can’t take another thing. I’m done. What more do you want from me?"

I’d spent years dismissing this kind of thing. Coincidences were just coincidences. Prayers were just words. And God—if He was out there—had never had much to do with me. But right then? Right then, I wasn’t sure who I was even talking to. Maybe just the void. Maybe just myself, cracking under the weight of it all.

I exhaled hard, closed my eyes. Just sat in it. The air was thick, the rain drumming against the roof like a ticking clock.

Then, just like that, it stopped.

I froze. One second, the storm had been a wall of water, the next—silence. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. I let out a shaky breath. Just a coincidence, I told myself. Just weather.

But it didn’t feel like that.

I wiped my face, took a breath, and popped the hood. As soon as I did, a man walked up. Out of nowhere.

"Need some help?" he asked.

He was an older guy, kind eyes, steady presence. His voice was calm in a way that made me feel steadier, too. I nodded. He got to work beside me, checking things over like it was the most natural thing in the world to help a stranger. Turns out, he was a man of God—teaches English to foreigners through a church. We talked a little while he worked. When we were done, he handed me a card for his church, and before he left, he prayed with us.

I didn’t fight it. Didn’t know how to.

I figured out I needed a new brake hose and went into AutoZone. The air inside was warm, thick with the smell of rubber and motor oil. The cashier, a woman with a tired but kind face, rang me up and handed me the part.

"Have a blessed day," she said.

I muttered thanks and walked out.

I was struggling with the brake hose clip, my fingers slipping against the cold metal, slick with rain and grime. I clenched my jaw. If I couldn't get this damn thing off—

"You need help?"

The voice was casual, like he already knew the answer. I looked up. Another man, another perfectly timed coincidence. He was a mechanic. Of course he was. He took one look and told me exactly what to do.

Angela stepped out of the car, stretching her legs before heading to Dollar Tree to grab some things we needed. As she passed by the mechanic’s car, she smiled at his wife and said, "Thank you so much for lending me your husband."

And his wife—without missing a beat—said, "God told him to do it."

I got the brake hose replaced, but now my jack wasn’t getting the car high enough to get the tire back on. I was about to start cursing when a car pulled up. Three people inside.

Talking about God.

And guess what? They had a better jack. They helped me get the tire back on.

Finally, finally, we sat down to eat. I was drained, but at least the car was fixed. Iona was playing with her food, Angela rubbing her temples, exhausted but relieved.

Then Angela sneezed, and some random guy walking past called out, "God bless you! He blesses everyone."

I don’t know what today was. Just kindness? Just coincidence? Or something else?

All I know is, I don’t feel as certain as I did this morning.