There’s a verse in Matthew 5:45 that says, “He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”
And then I came across this today morning:
The rain it raineth on the just,
And also on the unjust fella.
But chiefly on the just, because
The unjust hath the just’s umbrella.
That last line hit me. The unjust has the just’s umbrella. Because the just gave it away.
That was me for years. The Christian kind of good — the one that gives, even when it hurts. The one that sacrifices joy for holiness. The one that believes that to suffer is noble, and to have boundaries is selfish.
I remember so many times giving away everything I had — money, food, even things meant for my daughter — because I believed that’s what love looked like. I’d tell myself that God would bless me for it. That choosing to suffer was proof of my faith. But those blessings never came. What came instead was exhaustion, shame, and need.
I’d find myself hungry and praying harder. Broke and still thanking God for the “test.” Watching my child go without, convincing myself it was temporary because heaven would make it all right. But that wasn’t holiness. That was self-abandonment dressed as virtue.
It’s strange to look back and see how many of us were taught to ignore our own needs — how easily we confuse compassion with martyrdom. How the rain always seems to fall hardest on those trying to be good, because they keep handing away their umbrellas.
Now I see it differently. Kindness doesn’t mean emptying yourself dry. You can be good and still protect your peace. You can give, and still keep your umbrella.
Because getting drenched doesn’t make you holy. It just makes you cold.