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Deuteronomy 32:2 – “Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.”
Moses was at the end of his journey. He’d led Israel through deserts, rebellions, and unbelievable miracles, and before passing leadership on, he paused to sing. Deuteronomy 32 is that song—a worshipful reflection, a warning, and a final word of blessing. But hidden near the beginning of this farewell song (verse 2) is a simple prayer that shows the soul of every true teacher of God’s Word: “Let my teaching fall like rain.”
It’s not a demand. It’s not even about authority. It’s a plea.
Moses wanted what he said about God to refresh people—to soak into their souls the way gentle rain seeps into dry ground. That’s the essence of Jesus' teaching. It’s not about showing how much we know; it’s about participating in God’s tender work of life-giving renewal.
You don’t have to be a professor to be a teacher. Maybe you lead a youth Bible study, guide your own kids at the dinner table, or just try to explain a verse to a friend. Whenever you share God’s truth, you’re standing in a sacred stream that began with Moses. But notice: Moses didn’t pray for a thunderstorm. He prayed for rain. He wanted his teaching to fall gently—steady enough to nourish, soft enough to receive.
A good teacher doesn’t aim to flood people with information. Instead, like a farmer tending young plants, they water patiently, a little at a time, trusting growth to come from God. Some of the most powerful teaching moments happen in quiet conversation, not from behind a pulpit. One sincere word about God’s goodness can refresh a weary heart far more than a hundred eloquent sentences without love.
Moses called it “my teaching” and “my words,” but he knew where they came from. This was God’s revelation flowing through him. No teacher of Scripture can give life on their own. We’re only vessels—channels for heavenly rain. The real power comes from above.
That truth is both humbling and freeing. You don’t have to be perfect to be a teacher. You just need to stay open to the Source. When you spend time with God in prayer and in Scripture, His Spirit begins to fill and shape you. What once felt like dry knowledge starts to overflow as living truth. And when you speak from that overflow—when you teach from what God has first done in you—your words carry weight. They no longer hit with pressure; they land with grace.
Moses didn’t just mention rain—he talked about dew. If you’ve ever gotten up early on a clear morning after a dry spell, you’ve seen what he meant. The dew isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s invisible until the sunlight catches it, glistening quietly across the fields. Dew reminds us that God works in subtle ways. His truth doesn’t always crash down with thunder. Sometimes it settles softly overnight, doing its work unseen.
If you’re in training to teach—maybe studying the Bible, preparing your first lesson, or just wondering if God could actually use you—remember that the gentle work matters. The small, faithful moments of learning and sharing are like dew drops that build toward fruitfulness. Don’t underestimate them. God uses both the downpour and the drizzle to grow His people.
The verse ends with an image: “showers on new grass, abundant rain on tender plants.” That’s exactly who our students are—tender plants, sometimes fragile, always growing. Teaching isn’t about control; it’s about cultivation. We teach to help others flourish in Christ.
When a new believer is struggling to understand grace, when a teenager is wrestling with identity, when an older saint feels spiritually dry—you get to be part of God’s watering plan. You pour out truth and encouragement, trusting that the Holy Spirit will bring growth in His time. Some days the soil will look hard. Some lessons will seem to fall flat. But remember: rain doesn’t always show its effect right away. Roots grow deep before fruit shows up above ground.
Teaching God’s Word is one of the highest callings and deepest joys we can know. It’s sacred work—not because it’s flashy, but because it soaks into souls. Whether you teach from a classroom podium, a pulpit, or a kitchen counter, don’t lose sight of Moses’ prayer. Let your teaching fall like rain.