When it's dry, other people's seedlings wilt, but yours remains vibrant.

When it's dry, other people's seedlings wilt, but yours remains vibrant.

Summer's worst fear is prolonged drought. One day without rain, seedlings wilt; three days without rain, leaves turn yellow; a week without rain, the ground cracks. You look at other people's fields, and your heart aches—corn leaves curled up like tubes, soybean stalks lying flat on the ground, vegetable seedlings beyond saving. They stand at the edge of their fields, sighing, shaking their heads, waiting for rain.

You're looking too, but you're looking at your own land. The same blazing sun, the same lack of rain, yet your corn leaves still stand upright, your soybean stalks still stand straight, and your vegetable seedlings are lush and green. Vibrant—not an adjective, but a fact. Other people's seedlings wilt, yours remain strong.

What's the difference? It's not in God, it's in yourself. You have a well, you have a pump, you have pipes. While others wait for rain, you're watering; while others yearn for water, you've already finished watering. You're not just luckier than them; you're more prepared. That well is your source of strength; that water is your backup plan.

When the dry season ends, while others suffer reduced yields or even crop failure, your land still yields a harvest. It's not that Heaven is biased; it's that you exchanged your sweat for water, and your water for a bountiful harvest. Villagers passing by your land always stop to take a second look, muttering, "Yours is truly remarkable; even in such a drought, your land is still thriving."

During the drought, while others' seedlings wither, your land remains vibrant. This difference didn't develop overnight; it's because you prepared well in advance. From today onward, you are no longer the one who longs for rain, but the one who has a well.