Letter to God: Stepping Into the Deluge

Stepping Into the Deluge

Part of the Letter to God series

Ready for the flood?

Lord, I remember when I thought being a Christian was primarily about attending church. Sunday mornings. Nice songs. A solid message. A donut and a coffee chaser.

I genuinely believed that was “The Way” of contemporary Christianity. You know, show up, get a little spiritual juice, go home, and try not to mess up too badly during the week.

I wasn’t prepared for what actually happens when someone steps out of the pew and into Your Kingdom, when we get off the bench and into His game as a starter for Christ.

It started with a drop. A tiny taste of Living Water. Enough to stir something deep inside, but not enough to overwhelm or overpower. No Bible thumped me on the head. It was manageable—like basic math. Addition and subtraction. Faith and obedience in bite-sized pieces.

But You don’t leave Your disciples in Sunday school forever, do You Lord?

Somewhere along the way—whether it was a prompting to share my faith, a ticker tape message across my mind’s eye to write about You, a moment where I risked shining Your Light outside the safety of the building—the faucet flipped. And You smiled. Because You knew what was coming. But I didn’t.

Letter to God: You Opened the Valve

First, a steady stream. Then a torrent. And before I could brace myself, I was standing under Niagara Falls—mouth open, eyes wide, soaking in a flood of revelation, calling, and clarity that no sermon alone could ever supply.

This isn’t basic math anymore. This isn’t even Algebra. This is like some High-Level, Kingdom Calculus. It’s an ejection seat ride straight into the heavens where the learning curve isn’t a curve at all… It’s vertical—a ride that takes us from the safety of our familiar cockpit, trusting that the parachute will open and bring us safely back to the ground, ready for the next day's adventure.

And here’s the part that still leaves me in wonder and awe, and why I'm writing a letter to God: You designed it this way. No mystery to you. Big mystery to me. 

The sanctuary was never the final destination. The pew was a weekly resting place, but not the pinnacle of discipleship. Sunday church might get me from zero to one, but Your Kingdom adventure is measured in exponential leaps.

You’ve shown me, Lord, that if I’m willing to act—to live faith off the bench—the flow increases. 

Whether the road is dusty and desolate, or blistering hot asphalt in the middle of town, every risk taken to love, to speak truth, to shine light, flips another valve open. 

The more I trust, the more You pour. Every single day brings new questions, new discussions with friends and strangers, new wonderings about the awesomeness of God and the sheer adventure of sharing His message.

This is what the Emmaus Road felt like, isn’t it? Two confused travelers, walking away from Jerusalem, thinking the story was over… until the real Teacher showed up. You walked beside them. Unrecognized. Unassuming. But then You opened the Scriptures—and then their eyes—and suddenly… the floodgates opened.

From confusion to revelation. From drip to deluge. From math to miracle.

And Lord… it hasn’t been safe. It hasn’t been tame. There are days when the flow feels like it could sweep me off my feet. Days when the risk of shining Your light feels costly. Dangerous even. But I’m learning that this is the adventure You always intended for Your disciples.

No… it’s not Sunday school anymore. This is Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride meets the Road to Emmaus. 

Faith at full throttle.

And yet… the only thing You ask of me is simple:

“Show up. Look up. Stay in the flow.”

So here I am. Standing under the waterfall. Looking up. Heart ready.

Whatever comes next, Lord… I’m all in.

Related Letter to God Series Posts:

• Letter to God: Your Message in a Bottle

--- *Trace Pirtle is a retired university professor, pilgrim blogger, and founder of Faith in Action Ministry, Texas Hill Country. He writes for Christians who refuse to settle for Sunday morning faith while prayer-walking the narrow path in Kerrville, Texas. Welcome home, pilgrim.