I used to think biblical floods required divine wrath, burning bushes, or at least a prophet with commitment issues. Turns out all you need is a clogged toilet, a bathtub, and one man who refuses to call a plumber because he believes anger is a maintenance strategy.
There I was—mid-bath, mid-existential peace, mid-“I deserve one calm moment”—when my house decided to reenact the Book of Exodus. Water rose. Floors swelled. And suddenly, I was Moses, except instead of parting the Red Sea, I was trying to stop gray water from baptizing my HVAC.
And I couldn’t help but wonder:
Was this a punishment… or a metaphor?
Because nothing in my life happens without symbolism. Especially not water.
Genesis: Let There Be Water (Too Much Water)
The Bible starts with chaos. So did my afternoon.
At approximately “I just wanted Starbucks,” my house declared war. A bathtub’s worth of water—warm, ambitious, and deeply uninvited—came up through the toilet like it had been summoned by ancient plumbing spirits.
Not leaked.
Not trickled.
Rose.
I turned off the water like a woman who has been training her whole life for this exact moment. Towels. Sheets. Paper towels. Old hopes. Old dreams. Everything on the floor. Because when disaster hits, you don’t ask questions—you grab what’s absorbent and pray.
And as I stood there, barefoot, staring at swelling hardwood floors, I realized something sobering:
This is not the first time a man ignored warnings and caused a flood.
Exodus: The Plagues of Plumbing
Let’s review the plagues:
Gurgling toilets (ignored)
Bubbling tubs (dismissed)
“It’ll flush eventually” (a lie)
Partial clogs blamed on “too much toilet paper”
Water entering places water should never be
Moses had frogs. I had toilet paper fragments and a mudroom that felt like a sponge. And like Pharaoh, my ex doubled down.
“No pipes are fine.”
“No, it’s not pressure.”
“No, you’re exaggerating.”
“No, we don’t need a plumber.”
Until suddenly—yes, we absolutely did.
Funny how that works.
The Red Sea Was Hardwood
People underestimate hardwood floors.
They think water touches wood and it immediately dies like a Victorian child with consumption. But hardwood is resilient. Treated. Coated. Polyurethaned. It absorbs, it swells, it reacts—then it decides whether it’s going to forgive you.
Right now, my floors are in the biblical waiting period. Not warped. Not ruined. Just… swollen. Like they’re holding a grudge. And honestly? Same.
Leviticus: Rules for Cleanliness (Or, Why the Poop Towels Went in the Trash)
There are moments in life where you discover what kind of person you are.
For example:
Are you a “wash the poop towels” person… or a “throw them directly into the abyss” person?
I am the latter. Because Leviticus would agree with me: some things are simply unclean and must be removed from the camp. This was not a “laundry challenge.” This was a biohazard farewell. And yet, somehow, this became an argument.
Numbers: How Many Times Can a Woman Say “There’s a Plumbing Problem” Before It Becomes Her Fault?
I have been saying there was an issue for years. The gurgling. The slow drains. The toilets that flirt with clogging every time you look at them wrong. But like many women before me, I was told:
“You’re overthinking it.”
“It’s just toilet paper.”
“Stop making a big deal.”
Until the floor squished. And suddenly, it was:
“Well why didn’t you say something earlier?”
I did. You just didn’t listen.
Deuteronomy: Rewriting History
Here’s the thing about floods—people rewrite them fast.
Suddenly it’s:
“You destroyed the house.”
“You let it overflow.”
“This is your fault.”
As if I woke up that morning and thought:
Today feels like a great day to cause structural damage to the property I also live in.
No.
What happened was simple:
A known problem
Ignored repeatedly
Finally expressed itself dramatically
The Bible calls this consequence.
Joshua: The Walls Didn’t Fall—But the Illusions Did
When the water stopped rising and the cleanup began, something else cracked:
The illusion that control equals competence. Yelling didn’t fix the floor. Blame didn’t dry the wood. Anger didn’t unclog the pipe. Fans did. Cold air did. Time did. Funny how calm, boring solutions always win.
Judges: Everyone Thinks They’re Right
In the aftermath of disaster, everyone becomes an expert.
“You should’ve done X.”
“You shouldn’t have done Y.”
“If you had just listened to me…”
But Judges was a messy book for a reason. Everyone thought God was on their side. Meanwhile, the floor just needed to dry.
Ruth: Loyalty Looks Like Staying Warm Upstairs
While the downstairs froze and the furnace stayed off, my son and I migrated upstairs like biblical refugees. Different room. Different routine. Same peace. Sometimes loyalty isn’t dramatic. Sometimes it’s just choosing warmth and not arguing.
Samuel: Kings Who Couldn’t Listen
Power doesn’t make people wise. Listening does. And men who refuse to listen often confuse authority with volume. They think being loud is leadership. They think control is competence. Until the flood comes.
Psalms: Lamentations of a Woman Who Just Wanted a Bath
I could write a psalm about this. Why, Lord, did the tub betray me? Why did the toilet rise against me? Why is the mudroom spongy but the kitchen smug?
But honestly, the psalms already cover it:
This too shall pass.
And it will.
Proverbs: Wisdom Is Calling a Plumber
Proverbs says wisdom cries out in the streets.
In my house, wisdom was screaming:
“Call. A. Plumber.”
And next time?
I will.
Ecclesiastes: Everything Is Temporary (Even Floods)
Wood dries. Anger fades. Men calm down eventually. The sponginess will go away. The swelling will settle. The smell will fade. And in a week or two, this will just be a story. A very on-brand one.
The Gospel According Salty Vixen
And so I found myself asking the real question: When life floods your house, is it punishment… or purification? Because sometimes the flood doesn’t come to destroy you. Sometimes it comes to:
Expose ignored problems
Force necessary changes
Show you what actually matters
I didn’t lose my house. I didn’t lose my sanity. I didn’t even lose the floor. I lost the illusion that silence prevents disaster. And honestly? That feels biblical. And now it is time to text my Fearful Avoidant boyfriend aka the Specimen useless facts, an article I created 🙂
