Over your head!

Over Your Head

The River That Begins in God and Ends in Your Surrender (Ezekiel 47)

The most convincing lie I ever tell myself is that I’m in control.

Not always out loud—sometimes it’s quieter than that. It shows up in how I plan, how I react, how I grip outcomes, how I brace for the future as if pressure and preparation can replace trust. And the longer I walk with God, the more I realize: control is not the same thing as wisdom, and anxiety is not the same thing as discernment.

And what makes this passage even more powerful is this: Ezekiel wasn’t merely describing an event he witnessed—he was recording a vision God showed him. This river wasn’t “natural geography.” It was a prophetic picture—Heaven communicating truth through imagery, depth, progression, and invitation.

The Old Testament is saturated with revelatory language—dreams, visions, divine encounters—because God often teaches His people through pictures that penetrate deeper than mere information. Sometimes God doesn’t just speak in sentences. Sometimes He speaks in symbols. Sometimes He speaks in scenes. And Ezekiel 47 is one of those scenes that doesn’t just inform your theology—it confronts your heart.

That’s why Ezekiel 47 grips me so deeply.

Because Ezekiel doesn’t see a puddle.

He doesn’t see a gentle stream you can step around when it feels inconvenient.

He sees a river—a holy, living current—that starts at the temple, flows outward, and becomes so deep you can’t walk through it anymore.

You have to swim.

You have to let it carry you.

You have to get over your head.

And the Spirit keeps pressing this truth into me: God is not inviting us to add Him to our life. He is inviting us to surrender our life into Him—daily.

The River Doesn’t Start in Your Need—It Starts in His Presence

In the vision, the water begins at the temple—at the threshold—flowing out from the place associated with God’s dwelling. It’s not random. It’s not accidental. It’s not “Ezekiel getting inspired.” It is God revealing a pattern: life flows from His presence.

And that matters because it exposes a misunderstanding many believers carry without realizing it: we assume closeness to God begins when our need becomes intense enough.

But Ezekiel shows the opposite.

The river starts because God is who He is—because He gives, because He flows, because He moves outward. This isn’t a trickle produced by human effort. It’s a current produced by divine reality. The Kingdom of God is not powered by our willpower; it’s released through God’s presence and received through surrender.

So the issue isn’t whether the river exists.

The issue is whether I’m willing to step into it.

The Part That Breaks Natural Logic

Now here’s the detail that arrests me every time—and this is exactly where Heaven starts contradicting the way we naturally think:

As the water moves away from the temple, it increases.

It doesn’t thin out. It doesn’t lose strength. It doesn’t fade with distance. In the vision, the man measures step by step—again and again—and with every measure the river grows deeper. And what’s striking is that it grows in a way that doesn’t make natural sense: it increases without visible supply lines, without obvious tributaries feeding it, without the usual explanation of “how did it get bigger?”

That is not how rivers work.

In the natural, a flow increases because something adds to it. It collects runoff. Tributaries join it. Streams merge. The farther you go from the source, the more dependent the river becomes on what joins it.

But in Ezekiel 47, the river increases because it’s not merely a river.

It’s a message.

And this is one of the ways you can recognize the supernatural: it often stands in direct opposition to the natural—sometimes even sounding like a contradiction—because it is operating under a higher order than human logic.

The natural says, “If you let go of control, you become unsafe.”

The Kingdom says, “If you surrender control, you finally become led.”

The natural says, “Distance weakens a flow.”

The Spirit says, “This river doesn’t weaken with distance—this river deepens as you keep walking.”

And I’ve lived that contradiction.

I’ve watched God deepen things in me that should have diminished.

I’ve watched God increase what should have dried up.

I’ve watched God expand what should have collapsed.

Not because I became stronger—but because I stopped trying to be the source.

So let me say it the way the Spirit keeps saying it to me:

The closer you get, the deeper it gets.

And the deeper it gets, the less your flesh gets to stay in charge.

And right there—right at that collision between natural logic and Kingdom reality—is where the invitation becomes unmistakable:

You don’t just visit the river.

You don’t just admire the river.

You don’t just describe the river.

You step in.

A Childhood Memory That Still Preaches to Me

I can’t read Ezekiel 47 without being taken back to my childhood. I remember as a young boy—somewhere between the ages of five and ten—living about a mile from the Ottawa River in Ottawa, Canada. Every summer day, my brother and I would spend hours down at the river—sometimes all day, right into the evenings—swimming, laughing, living in the water. We’d build sandcastles on the beach like it was our full-time job, dig moats and walls, run back and forth from the shoreline, and just play and enjoy ourselves the way children do when the world still feels wide open and safe.

But here’s the part I remember with surprising clarity: at that age, I couldn’t really swim—though eventually I did learn, and later I even received my bronze medallion in swimming. But in those early years, almost every day I would do the same thing: I would walk out until the water was right at the edge of my limit. I’d rise up on my tiptoes, stretching for depth, trying to stand as long as I could, getting as close as possible to being over my head without actually going under.

And every time I got near that threshold, I felt the same surge: panic. Fear. That instinctive alarm that said, “Don’t go any further.”

Looking back now, I can see it like a foreshadowing—almost prophetic in my own life. It was as if something inside me wanted to go deeper, but fear kept drawing a line in the sand. I wanted the depth, but the fear of losing control wouldn’t let me cross the point where I couldn’t stand anymore.

And isn’t that where fear always shows up?

Right at the edge of surrender.

Right where control ends.

Right where you can’t touch bottom anymore.

But here’s the Gospel difference: fear does not get the final word. The cross of the Lord Jesus Christ has dealt with fear at its root. Because when I go over my head with God, I’m not falling into chaos—I’m falling into faith. I’m not losing my life—I’m placing my life into the hands of the One who should have been in control all along. And I can say it now without flinching: I no longer fear the deep, because the deep is not where I drown—it’s where I’m finally carried.

And that’s exactly what God was showing Ezekiel—step by step—because this river doesn’t just reveal depth. It reveals what depth requires.

Ankle-Deep, Knee-Deep, Waist-Deep, Over Your Head

The vision is not only about water. It’s about progression.

The man leads Ezekiel into the river in stages, and every stage is a question.

1) Ankle-deep: “Will you step in?”

Ankle-deep is where many believers live. It’s enough to feel something. Enough to say you’re “in the river.” But not enough to disrupt control.

Ankle-deep Christianity still lets you stand comfortably on your own terms.

You can still turn around easily.

You can still keep your balance.

You can still choose when to engage and when to withdraw.

Ankle-deep is where we say, “Lord, I want You,” but quietly mean, “as long as I remain in charge.”

God loves us there—but He does not want to leave us there.

2) Knee-deep: “Will you bow?”

Knees speak of surrender. They speak of worship. They speak of humility.

Knee-deep is where prayer stops being a presentation and becomes dependence. It’s where you start saying, “Lord, I don’t just need You to help me—I need You to lead me.”

This is where many believers begin to feel the tension, because now God is close enough to correct, not just comfort. And we all love comfort—until correction shows up at the shoreline.

But correction is not rejection. Correction is closeness.

3) Waist-deep: “Will you release your grip?”

Waist-deep is where the current starts pressing back.

Now you can’t move the same way you used to.

Now your pace is affected by the flow.

Now you have to decide if you’re going to resist the river… or align with it.

This is where God touches the areas we protect:

• our plans

  
  
  
  

• our relationships

  
  
  
  

• our money

  
  
  
  

• our reputation

  
  
  
  

• our preferences

  
  
  
  

• our need to be understood

  
  
  
  

• our need to be right

  
  
  
  

• our need to control outcomes

  
  
  
  

Waist-deep is where the Spirit starts calling out the places we’ve claimed as “mine.”

And this is where the real issue surfaces: control is often rooted in fear, not faith.

We say we’re being “wise,” but many times we’re being afraid.

Fear of disappointment.

Fear of uncertainty.

Fear of loss.

Fear of pain.

Fear that if we don’t manage it, it will collapse.

But control is often just fear wearing the mask of responsibility.

4) Over your head: “Will you trust Me with the whole thing?”

Then Ezekiel is brought into water so deep he can’t walk through it.

This is the moment of surrender.

Because once it’s over your head, you can’t manage the flow. You can’t keep the illusion of self-rule. You can’t “do it your way” while staying in the river.

You have to swim.

And swimming is a spiritual picture of trust: you stop standing on your own support, and you start moving with what’s carrying you.

This is where God becomes more than a Savior you believe in.

This is where He becomes the Lord you yield to—daily.

Draw Near, and He Draws Near

This is where that simple Scripture becomes a knife and a key at the same time:

“Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.”

That verse isn’t God teasing us with distance. It’s God revealing how intimacy works.

God is not far away by nature. He is near by nature. But relationship has a rhythm: closeness grows when we respond. Not because God is reluctant—but because surrender is relational. God doesn’t force intimacy. He invites it.

And this is the critical point I’ve had to learn—and it’s the point many believers miss:

Yes, knowing Christ guarantees eternity.

But living close to God determines authority, clarity, fruitfulness, peace, and Kingdom advancement now.

Many people are eternally secure but daily distant.

They belong to God, but they don’t walk with God.

They’re redeemed, but not yielded.

They’re forgiven, but not flowing.

They’re going to Heaven, but they’re not advancing the Kingdom.

And Ezekiel 47 stands like a holy call to return—not to religion, but to proximity.

Because the deeper waters are not a reward for the elite. They are the inheritance of the surrendered.

The River Heals What Was Dead

The vision doesn’t end with Ezekiel’s personal depth experience.

It moves outward.

The river touches barren places and turns them alive. It reaches waters known for lifelessness—and the vision declares those waters are healed. Fish multiply. Life appears where life should not exist.

That is the nature of the presence of God: it changes environments.

When the river gets deep in you, it does not stay in you.

It flows through you.

And you begin to see what you could never produce by willpower:

• peace that stays under pressure

  
  
  
  

• conviction that protects you before you fall

  
  
  
  

• courage that rises when fear used to dominate

  
  
  
  

• compassion that replaces irritation

  
  
  
  

• discernment that quiets confusion

  
  
  
  

• authority that comes from surrender, not striving

  
  
  
  

The river doesn’t only bless you.

It turns you into a carrier of life.

God doesn’t take you deeper so you can feel spiritual.

God takes you deeper so you can bring life where things are dead.

The Trees That Keep Producing

Ezekiel sees trees lining the banks—fruit trees that keep bearing, month after month. Leaves that don’t fail. Fruit that remains. Leaves for healing.

That kind of steady fruitfulness is not the product of hype. It’s the product of proximity.

Some people want fruit without the river.

They want influence without intimacy.

They want authority without obedience.

They want public power without private closeness.

But the order of God is consistent:

River first. Then fruit.

Presence first. Then purpose.

Depth first. Then overflow.

A life that keeps producing is not produced by intensity alone.

It’s produced by closeness.

The Warning: The Places That Stay Salty

Ezekiel also describes places that remain marshy—areas not healed, left for salt.

That part sobers me.

Because it shows that it’s possible to be near the river and still resist the flow.

It’s possible to sing about surrender and still keep control.

It’s possible to love the idea of God’s leadership and still guard the throne of self-rule.

There are parts of the heart that stay bitter not because God’s river lacks power, but because we refuse access.

And this is where I’ve had to pray a dangerous prayer:

“Lord, flood the places I keep protected.

Move through the places I keep hidden.

Put Your finger on the places I keep calling ‘mine.’”

Because if I’m asking for His leadership, I can’t keep resisting His Lordship.

The Real Revelation: Control Is an Illusion—Surrender Is the Doorway

Here’s the reality Ezekiel 47 forces into the light:

We do not control our lives the way we think we do.

We plan. We schedule. We manage. We prepare.

But one unexpected moment can expose how fragile the illusion is.

So God offers a better way.

Not anxiety-driven self-rule.

Not passive resignation.

But Spirit-led surrender.

And I’ve learned this: surrender doesn’t shrink you.

It aligns you.

When God is in control, you don’t lose your destiny—you step into it.

Because destiny is not discovered by gripping harder.

It’s discovered by yielding deeper.

What “Over Your Head” Looks Like on a Normal Day

Let me bring this down from vision-language into Monday-morning reality.

Getting over your head looks like:

• asking God first instead of reacting first

  
  
  
  

• obeying quickly when He convicts, even in small things

  
  
  
  

• turning down the volume of what dulls your spirit

  
  
  
  

• choosing presence over performance—time with Him, not just work for Him

  
  
  
  

• releasing outcomes—trusting God with results instead of forcing control

  
  
  
  

• staying aware—talking to Him through the day, not only in “prayer time”

  
  
  
  

• repenting fast—no excuses, no delay, no rationalizing

  
  
  
  

• submitting plans—“Lord, breathe on this… or shut it down”

  
  
  
  

• staying soft—refusing hardness, cynicism, and numbness

  
  
  
  

Closeness isn’t built by one dramatic encounter.

It’s built by daily surrender.

And the more you yield, the more the river becomes normal—not normal as in common, but normal as in this is how I live now.

The Invitation

I believe the Lord is calling many believers back to what is original.

Not just “going to church.”

Not just “believing in God.”

Not just living saved-but-distant.

But living near.

Because when you live close, everything changes:

Prayer becomes less like a duty and more like a doorway.

Obedience becomes less like a burden and more like alignment.

Faith becomes less like striving and more like resting.

Purpose becomes less confusing because the One who holds it is leading you into it.

And I hear the Spirit saying:

“Stop living ankle-deep with Me.

Come closer.

Come deeper.

Let the river get over your head.”

Because the deepest places are not where you lose yourself.

They’re where you finally find what your heart has been missing all along.

Declarations

Father, I’m not asking for shallow Christianity. I’m not asking for a controlled version of You. I’m asking for the river.

• I declare I was born for closeness with God, not distance, not dryness, not spiritual survival.

  
  
  
  

• I declare the river of God is flowing toward me, and I will not resist what Heaven is releasing.

  
  
  
  

• I declare I am moving from ankle-deep faith into over-my-head surrender.

  
  
  
  

• I declare I release fear disguised as control, and I receive the peace of being led by the Spirit.

  
  
  
  

• I declare the hidden places of my heart will not remain marshy and untouched—I open every room to the Lordship of Jesus.

  
  
  
  

• I declare the river will heal what has been bitter in me, resurrect what has been dead in me, and refresh what has been weary in me.

  
  
  
  

• I declare my life will bear fruit in season and out of season because I am planted by the river of God.

  
  
  
  

• I declare where this river carries me, my life will bring life—my home, my relationships, my ministry, and my future will reflect the presence of God.

  
  
  
  

• I declare as I draw near to God, He draws near to me—and I will live in daily awareness of His nearness.

  
  
  
  

• I declare I will walk in the objectives and destiny God appointed for me, because I am surrendered, aligned, and led.

  
  
  
  

Amen. Much love.