THE PRESSURE WASH
What you ignore will eventually grow.
This one was born in a storm. And in a conversation. A week before the washing, I stepped outside and looked up while playing ball with the dogs and Marty. For the first time in twenty-three years, I saw black and green spreading across my roof.
DEDICATION
To Marty — for the conversations that continue to wash and strengthen our marriage. There is no sweeter place than growing with you.
To my sister — who feels fresh and new, courageously confronting what once lingered in shadow.
To my friends — for steady encouragement and honest reflection.
To my readers — who continue walking this road with me, and to Jesus and the Holy Spirit — who cleanse, seal, and preserve what I surrender.
SCRIPTURE
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties; and see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” — Psalm 139:23–24 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
Dust storms had rolled through that year.
Fine particles settled.
Then the tule fog arrived.
Moisture rested quietly on the dirt.
And without much fanfare,
algae and fungus began to grow.
I hadn’t noticed it.
Until I finally looked up.
THE STORY
Our house faces east and west.
That exposure invites moisture.
Every neighbor on our street facing the same direction
has the same issue.
Some exposure patterns are shared.
And sometimes what grows on a roof
is not unlike what grows in a soul.
The day the pressure wash crew showed up,
a major rainstorm moved in.
They didn’t cancel.
He climbed onto the roof anyway.
Water from the sky.
Water from the hose.
At the same time, Marty was at my sister’s house,
experiencing that same storm — only snow.
Twenty-five inches in a day.
Two storms.
Two houses.
One season.
THE MOMENT
That morning my sister and I talked about fear.
She realized she had been afraid most of her life.
Not loud fear.
Not panic.
Just a quiet undercurrent.
The surprising part?
In my eyes she has always been one of the strongest people I know.
As we talked, we recognized something together.
What looked like strength
had often been overcompensation.
Not weakness.
Survival.
And in this season, she isn’t carrying it anymore.
She attributes it to God.
To Jesus.
To having space to speak honestly.
To cleaning house — in her home and in her soul.
What looked like strength was survival.
And in this season — it is finally being washed clean.
THE TURN
Later, as the rain hit the roof,
I watched the worker standing in it, pressure washing.
Water from above.
Water from below.
I watched the buildup release.
It came off in sheets.
And I couldn’t miss the timing.
That morning my sister had spoken about fear being lifted from her life.
Now I was watching buildup disappear in the middle of a storm.
Nobody invites fungus.
It grows when conditions are right.
Dust.
Moisture.
Stillness.
Time.
That’s how it happens on a roof.
And sometimes that’s how it happens in us.
THE DRIFT
There is a voice that keeps a person from looking up.
You’ve seen it before. It’s fine.
It’s not that bad yet.
There’s nothing you can do about it right now.
That voice sounds like patience.
It isn’t.
Patience acts at the right time.
This voice postpones indefinitely.
There is a kind of neglect that looks like endurance on the outside —
but is just avoidance wearing a calm coat.
Not checking.
Not looking up.
Not asking the honest question.
Because honest questions require honest answers —
and honest answers require change.
That voice will keep a person watching the buildup grow —
year after year —
until something finally makes them look up.
I know. Because I walked past it. For years.
THE REFLECTION
Unresolved fear.
Miscommunication.
Assumed motives.
Quiet resentment.
Hidden insecurity.
Give those things the right environment
and they multiply.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Subtly.
I realized I hadn’t noticed what had been accumulating
until something made me look up again.
The pressure washer cut clean lines through the buildup.
It was loud.
Forceful.
Uncomfortable.
But necessary.
The water hit hard.
And what didn’t belong
began to run off.
“As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.” — Psalm 103:12 (NKJV)
Storms will return.
Dust will settle.
Moisture will come again.
But when something has been washed
and sealed by surrender —
it no longer grows the same way.
WALKAWAY LINE
What you surrender can finally be washed away.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What have you been walking past without looking up?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Show me what has been quietly growing.
The things I’ve walked past without looking up.
The buildup I called normal.
The fear I called strength.
The avoidance I called patience.
I don’t want to wait for the storm to force the question.
Send the pressure wash now.
However uncomfortable.
However loud.
I want what doesn’t belong
to run off.
Seal what remains with Your truth.
And let what grows from here
grow under Your authority.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~
Amen, and as men following Jesus, may we continue to be sharpened by one another that our view becomes wide and revealing. G ~
What you ignore will eventually grow.
But what you surrender
can finally be washed away.
This format lands well, keep Godly wisdom and your loving tone.
Keep Going!