Yesterday, I saw God in the rain—in delicate drops, I let it fall on me. We often start at the edge—the surface level, tasting just enough of His presence to create a vacuum of thirst for more of Him, from the burning bush to tête-à -tête with "I am that I am".
It is quite subtle but dangerous to settle for a new encounter with God. We see the rain. We acknowledge it. It doesn't stop there; we express gratitude for it—refreshing our fatigued bones and wearied souls. Where the danger lies is when we take deliberate care to ensure our footwear remains unstained by mud and our clothes remain completely dry. Then we hunger for a new one, "on to the next." We treat the holy moments like an ornament, one to change, rather than an ocean.
Yesterday, I saw God in the rain—in those delicate drops. I made a conscious choice to step out from beneath the safety of the umbrella and simply let it fall on me.
In the forty-seventh chapter of the book of Ezekiel, the prophet is led on a remarkable walking tour of divine proportion. With a man with a measuring line as a guide, Ezekiel was led through a water that issued from below the threshold of the temple:
The man walked east with a tape measure in his hand. He measured 1000 cubits. Then he told me to walk through the water at that place. The water was only ankle deep. He measured another 1000 cubits. Then he told me to walk through the water at that place. There the water came up to my knees. Then he measured another 1000 cubits and told me to walk through the water at that place. There the water was waist deep. He measured another 1000 cubits, but there the water was too deep to cross. It had become a river. The water was deep enough to swim in. It was a river that was too deep to cross.
Ezekiel 47:3-5 ERV
Notice the progression: With each 1000 cubits measured, there was an increase in depth. God does not measure the water to limit us; He measures to invite us deeper. Today, handheld by His Spirit for a walk through progressive deeper degree, a greater depth lies ahead. Ankles yield to knees. Knees yield to the waist until a river deep enough to swim in.
As much as ankle-deep water is a measure of a divine encounter, it allows you to maintain total control. You choose when to show up in the place of intimacy. You can walk at your own pace. You can turn back at the slightest opportunity.
Knee-deep water demands more balance; the current begins to pull, making it harder to rely on your own leverage. Waist-deep water presses heavily against you, forcing you to acknowledge that your own strength is just not sufficient to dictate direction.
And then comes the shift: water deep enough to swim in, a river that could not be passed through.
It is a depth where the ground beneath your feet completely gives way, where self-reliance is forced to drown, and where the only way to stay afloat is to surrender—and not struggle—your entire body to the momentum of the new current.
Surrender is rarely a one-time event. More often, it is a daily, deliberate decision to step back out into the open sky and refuse the temptation of a comfortable shield—an umbrella or an overhang. It is deciding that a brief, surface-level rinse yesterday was merely an invitation to stay under the cloud today.
Dear Lord, I do not want an emotional moment that dries up before another day breaks. I do not want to carry a surface-level yet respectable faith that keeps my feet dry while my spirit remains parched.
I want to stay in the downpour until Your presence and nearness saturates every thread of my dress—until fear is washed out, until self-reliance yields, and until each cell of my being is drenched in Your life.
Don't run from the downpour. Step out from under the shield, let your soul drink deeply, and choose to stay in the open rain.
Inkhorn Literary
He speaks. We write.
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