Congratulations to the winners of the SCWC April Writing Challenge

We had many wonderful submissions to the April writing challenge sponsored by the Southern Christian Writers Conference. 

The challenge this month? Write anything (a short fiction story, personal essay, poem, devotion, etc.) related to the familiar saying, "April showers bring May flowers."

Congratulations to our top winners, and thank you to everyone who took part in the challenge. (We had more than 20 submissions this month, so it was especially difficult to narrow it down to just a few winners.) It's always wonderful to read your pieces of writing; we're encouraged that you're inspired by our prompts.

Our top SCWC writers this month are:

1st Place: Marla Price

2nd Place: Melanie Milton 

3rd Place: Shirley Crowder

Honorable mentions: Patti Schultz, Joanna K. Harris, and Suzanne Nichols

"Rainy Season"

by Marla Price

I can still see it today: a bulletin board in my second grade classroom, all decked out for spring: a white lamb with a pink nose, a furry rabbit sniffing a daffodil, and smiling yellow baby chicks in raincoats and boots. The chicks are holding umbrellas to protect themselves from the sprinkles of blue cardboard raindrops, as pink roses, yellow lilies, and purple irises are springing up around them.

The saying “April Showers Bring May Flowers” is spelled out in bubble letters, each one stapled or tacked to the bulletin board, which is covered in faded green paper, the edges covered by a pink scalloped and corrugated border.

It rained a lot that April, and for once I got to take the absentee report to the office. I was so proud my teacher had chosen me, for almost always the same two students were the ones picked to run some errand of vital importance.

My teacher had her favorites, and I was not one of them.

“Marla, you’ve got a raincoat. Take the report to the office this morning.”

The gray sky drizzled a chilly mist, but I was not disappointed. I pulled on my raincoat and walked deliberately to the office, head held high.

Maybe the teacher’s attitude toward me had changed. She had yelled at me all because I couldn’t find the number “1” in a search-and-find coloring sheet.

“It’s right there!” she cried, her finger stabbing a hole in my paper. “You mean you can’t see that?”

All I saw was a rocket.

I sat in the back of the room for a substantial portion of the year, my last name beginning with a “W” placing me in my assigned spot. To this day my mother blames the beginning of my astigmatism from straining to see the blackboard.

But it wasn’t all bad times. We said the Pledge of Allegiance and sang “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” at the start of each day. I excelled in multiplication drills. During the Pilgrim unit, my teacher led the class through making hand-dipped candles and stitching quilt blocks. My mother made me a Native American costume, complete with fringe and headdress, for the Thanksgiving feast. I was in the top group in reading.

“Rockets,” the teacher would say, “it’s your time.” And we would go to the kidney table and complete assignments in our readers with our teacher.

By the time I was in second grade, I could read my Bible, but I had made up my mind that I would never be “saved.” A visiting preacher to my small Baptist church had delivered a sermon on the dangers of dancing, but I took ballet and tap lessons, which I enjoyed very much. If becoming a Christian meant giving up dancing, I was out.

But God had other plans, and it was also while I was in second grade that I was saved, on the last night of a revival, after holding on to the pew during the invitation on the previous nights, my heart pounding away.

I couldn’t wait to get to school to tell my teacher.

She was standing in the hallway talking to another teacher as the school day was beginning.

Students were settling into classes. Maybe this was a good time, before class started. I was so
excited to tell her the good news.

I got her attention by saying her name once, then twice.

“Not right now, Marla.”

But it had to be now. “I got saved at church last night!” I blurted out.

My teacher glanced at me, and said, “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to someone else. What did you say?”

“I got saved last night at church.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said nonchalantly, and she resumed her conversation with her co-worker. Maybe I should have waited. Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted her. Maybe she was having a bad day. These are things I have thought of in the years after, but at the time, all I could think was how her reaction made me want to shut down, to be quiet, to not tell about my salvation.

I have thought of my teacher often. She has followed me all of my life, cropping up here and there when I least expected it. She is a church goer. Her husband has passed away. She’s been much kinder to me as I’ve gotten older. We make small talk, for we are both adults now. She actually seems to like me.

I’ve made my career in public education, and my second grade teacher has had a lasting impact on the way I treat students, teachers, and parents. Most of my time in education has been spent in administration; needless to say, there have been many times when I have responded to students, parents, and teachers out of anger rather than from a place of grace and patience.

And I have humbled myself and apologized.

I will most likely never receive an apology for the things that happened to me in the second grade. It’s all well and good.

What matters is that I’ve forgiven my teacher. It has been over forty years since I was a second grader, when I got saved at a spring revival during a rainy season of my life that has yielded growth in more ways than I could have possibly foreseen.

Whether in the schoolhouse or in the checkout aisle, when I am short and impatient, my teacher’s face appears.

When I am tempted to yell, I remember the worksheet with the rocket.

When I don’t want to take time to listen, I remember how she made me feel.

And maybe most of all: I remember the fresh excitement I had as a new believer. I remember the desire to tell others of what had happened to me. I choose to focus on the memory of receiving a new, abundant life and not my teacher’s reaction.

I’m thankful to my teacher for these lessons, and even more: all those hours at the kidney table only sharpened my reading skills, and it wasn’t long before I came across a story in the Bible about David “dancing before the Lord with all his might.”

I didn’t feel too guilty about dancing after that.

"Buds to Blooms"

by Melanie Milton

If April showers bring May flowers
We’re in for a fragrant May!
The winds have wailed, the sunshine bailed
On rain drops dropped our way!

I’ve sloshed thru puddles, mired up in muddles
The lawn is plum tuckered out.
The dog nearly drowned while roaming around
As thunder clouds roared with a shout!

“This season is made for the birds,” I say
As I sigh in drenched dismay …
“… and they’re all going to drown all over the town
Before their nests are even made!”

Yet lest I complain – I hereby refrain
Alas, sprouts are beginning to bud.
The gardens are smiling as waters keep rising
They wink at what lurks ‘neath the mud.

They whisper to me as they hum with a bee,
“We’ve got this … it’s our time to shine.
In just a few weeks as we buds start to peak
There’ll be blossoms all over these vines!”

… and as if on cue, the rain clouds depart
Young buds keep their word from the start.
The birds peep to sing a sweet song of spring
Fresh bouquets of joy flood my heart!

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

"Showers of Blessing"

by Shirley Crowder

Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you? (Psalm 85:6)

In Nigeria, West Africa, where I was born and spent a carefree childhood, we experienced two distinct seasons: the rainy season and the dry season.

During the rainy season, it poured almost constantly, day and night. In contrast, the dry season offered no rain at all. As the dry season dragged on, I remember Mom often speaking with others about how desperately we needed rain. I vividly recall the excitement of watching the first rain approach our home on the hospital compound. It was almost magical—the swirling dust seeming to announce the rain’s arrival. You could smell it in the air. Those moments, filled with children and adults dancing, singing, and laughing as the first glorious rain fell on us and the sun-parched land, remain some of my sweetest memories.

Years later, we experienced a drought in Alabama. Water usage was strictly regulated, and the scorching heat left lawns, flowers, and vegetable gardens withering, the earth cracked from the dryness. Everyone was miserable, and Mom, as always, reminded everyone she encountered to pray for rain. One Sunday afternoon, as we washed lunch dishes, we thought we heard thunder. Hopeful, we all rushed outside—Mom, Dad, Tim, and I—to search the sky for rain’s promise. But there was none. The sun shone brightly, mocking our disappointment, and we returned inside to the cool of the house.

Weeks later, returning from a family visit to Montgomery, we stopped at a gas station. While Dad filled the car, Mom, Tim, and I went inside to grab drinks. As we stepped outside, Dad mentioned the clouds gathering in the sky. He barely finished his sentence when the heavens opened—it began to rain! Mom, overwhelmed with joy, handed me her purse and drink. Then, without hesitation, she began dancing in the rain, singing the chorus of the hymn, "Showers of Blessing" by D.W. Whittle:

Showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops 'round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead.

The onlookers stared, undoubtedly amused or puzzled, but Mom didn’t care. She was deeply thankful for the rain, expressing her gratitude through song. After a couple of renditions of the chorus, she finally retrieved dry clothes from her suitcase to change into.

Do you know the stanzas?

There shall be showers of blessing:
This is the promise of love;

There shall be seasons refreshing,
Sent from the Savior above.

There shall be showers of blessing—
Precious reviving again;
Over the hills and the valleys,
Sound of abundance of rain.

There shall be showers of blessing:
Send them upon us, O Lord;
Grant to us now a refreshing;
Come and now honor Thy word.

There shall be showers of blessing:
Oh, that today they might fall,
Now as to God we're confessing,
Now as on Jesus we call!

These stanzas beautifully echo biblical truths. Through His glory and excellence, God has provided us with precious promises that enable us to become more like Him as we resist our sinful desires (2 Peter 1:4). To trust His promises, we must know God deeply and personally. As Ephesians 1:3 reminds us, God blesses us with spiritual blessings—these blessings serve as seasons of refreshing. The message of 2 Corinthians 4:16 rings clear: So we do not lose heart … our inner self is being renewed day by day. James 1:17 reinforces this sentiment, highlighting that every good gift comes from above.

Our prayers should echo Habakkuk’s, asking God to revive His works (Habakkuk 3:2). Moreover, we should pray for personal revival—for renewal in our hearts. When we seek God fervently, He will rain revival upon us. Peter’s message in Acts encourages us to repent and turn to God so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord… (Acts 3:19-20a).

By dedicating time to prayer, reading, studying, and meditating on Scripture, we open ourselves to experiencing profound times of refreshing from the Lord.

"Hope in Our Seasons"

by Patti Schultz Ed.D.

For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime!
Weeping may last through the night,
but joy comes with the morning.
-Psalm 30:5 (NLT)

As you walk through life’s journey, you will encounter moments of profound joy and times that can pierce your heart with pain. Grief, much like a heavy rain, often pours down suddenly, leaving us feeling overwhelmed and drenched in sorrow. But remember, just as the saying goes, "April showers bring May flowers," even the darkest storms can lead to new growth and beauty.

Coming back to Michigan from sunny Las Vegas, I was reminded that April is often known for its unpredictable weather. Sometimes, the relentless rains feel like they will never cease. However, these showers are essential—they nurture the soil and prepare it for new life. In the same way, our grief, though heavy and difficult, plays a vital role in our emotional and spiritual growth. It’s a gentle reminder of the love we cherished and the memories that keep us going. As April transitions into May, so too can our hearts find hope and the promise of new beginnings.

When we embrace the painful moments of our lives, we create space for hope to grow within us. These feelings may seem fragile now, like tender buds just beginning to form, but with each tear, they draw closer to the surface. Trust that, in time, these feelings will blossom into peace, understanding, resilience, or even the strength to share your journey with others.

Hold onto hope, dear one. Remember, brighter days are ahead, and May will come. The darkest nights give way to the joyful light of morning, and so too will this season of sorrow give way to the peace and joy that God has in store for you.

Let me pray with you:

Dear Lord, in our sorrow and grief, help us to feel Your loving presence in our deepest pain. Teach us to find comfort in our mourning, knowing it is part of the beautiful tapestry You are weaving. May each sorrowful moment draw us closer to the joy and hope You promise. As we navigate this season of grief, help us to see the potential for May flowers amidst the April showers. Surround us with Your grace and fill our hearts with hope. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.

Self-Care Tip: Take a moment today to reflect on the "showers" you are experiencing. What emotions are surfacing? Write them down, and as you do, imagine these feelings nourishing the seeds of hope and healing within you. Identify one small, gentle step you can take today to honor your grief while holding onto the hope of the beauty that lies ahead.

"A Prayer to the Gardener"

by Joanna K. Harris

Showers bring flowers, so they say,
But, Lord, all I see is pain,
Blinded by this pouring rain.
When will the clouds part?
When will the Spring start?
When will you mend this heart?

Out the window, the sun is shining,
The birds are singing,
The plants are springing.
Lord, help me trust the view,
Know Spring will come inside too,
All the tears prepare for beauty anew.

You tend each garden seen or unseen,
You, Lord, know what will yet be,
I know you are working in me.
Carry me through this hour,
By your grace and power,
Til one day, I see the flowers.

"The Splendor of God"

by Suzanne D. Nichols

The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.

Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
… they will see the glory of the Lord, the splendor of our God. Isaiah 35:1-2 (NIV)


“The fairy ring is back!” my husband announced with delight as he peered out the bedroom window.

No, he wasn’t seeing a troupe of mystical creatures dancing in circles. “The fairy ring” is his term of endearment for the carpet of white wildflowers that pop up beneath the pecan trees in our neighbor’s back yard each spring. As the earth warms from its wintery chill, the small, delicate perennials awaken and respond to the instructions God has designed into them: break forth from the earth and blossom!

When my husband first catches sight of that carpet of white—usually at mid-morning just as the intense spring-time sunlight of a cloudless sky breaks above our eastern-facing roofline—it causes him to stop whatever he’s doing and stand at the window, mesmerized.

At that point, our back yard and our neighbor’s, emerge from the shadows. The fresh, bright green grass and the blaze of white ground cover are in brilliant contrast to the still-bare branches of the pecan trees and the shadows they cast along the ground beyond. The glory of it is impossible to ignore.

I always join him in those reverent moments, captivated by the view. I welcome it with the unmistakable feeling of newness it brings and, with it, the symbolism of grace and redemption.

Surely this is what the prophet Isaiah tried to picture for the southern kingdom of Judah as he described the long-awaited intervention of God on their behalf. Judah had been suppressed and tormented by the surrounding nations, but Isaiah described a time of renewed strength and freedom. He prophesied that redemption would be as a barren wilderness come to life, bursting forth into bloom.

Isaiah’s imagery provides a startling contrast between hopelessness and restoration. As Isaiah reassured Judah, we too can be encouraged to realize that even in our darkest hours, God is preparing for the glory of spring and for the renewal we long for.

The beauty of the fairy ring only lasts a few days. Eventually our neighbor rides out to conquer the wildness of early spring and, in his vigilance, mows down the fairy ring with no apparent remorse. To him, the delicate white flowers are only weeds.

To my husband and me, the fairy ring is confirmation of our expectations. We watch for it to appear, not knowing if it will be thick or sparse, wide-spread or confined. Still, we believe it will return.

The people of Judah hid from enemies who sought to mow them down like weeds. But Isaiah told them to prepare for redemption, to expect to be strengthened, to plan for freedom so all “may see the glory of the Lord, the splendor of our God” (Isaiah 35:2b).

O God of Hope, let the confirmation of Your redemption spring forth in my heart like blossoms. Help me see that You keep Your promises and You will not abandon me. I pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.

~~~~~

We pray that these wonderful pieces have been a blessing to you! 

Would you like the chance to be recognized for your writing next month? The May Writing Challenge is now officially open, and we'd love to have you participate.

The challenge: Write a personal reflection (between 500 and 1500 words) on the importance of writing community. What does it mean to have a writing "tribe" or friendships? Use your creativity, and let us know why it's important to be connected.

The top submissions will be published here on the SCWC blog AND the first place winner will also be published on "The Ready Writer" (SCWC's home on Substack). 

** Want to connect with fellow writers of faith? You can still register for the 2025 Southern Christian Writers Conference, which takes place on June 6-7 in Birmingham, Alabama. Fill out the form here, or email us at scwritersconference@gmail.com. We'd love to see you! ** 

Congratulations again to our winners this month...and keep writing!