It’s been easy to trust until now. There’s been distance and unknowing. Like a story you’re writing and I’m telling about someone else.
But now my eyes have seen. My arms have held. And this changes everything.
I know myself. My flesh will try to protect my heart with guard. My mind will wonder and doubt. My spirit will cling (maybe too tight) to the story.
You know better than I how I like things my way. How I’d rather fail myself than for others to disappoint me. How I hold tight to what defines me and resent what challenges me. This pride shapes me deep. It’s why I do things my way. Why I’ve learned to trust in me. Why I seek control.
But you desire release, oh Lord. Of body, mind and spirit. A letting go of what will come. A chasing away of fear. A laying down of the stories you write so your will might become the blessed ending.
The hardest things to surrender are the things that mean the most. Life and love. But they are yours to begin with. They are who you are and what you create. They don’t even exist without you.
And so I choose surrender. To the Only One worthy of holding these gifts. To the Only One I trust with the story. And when I forget to believe that you intend good and not harm, whisper a reminder into my heart. And when I try to control what’s to come, show me that following your lead is the better way.
The surrendered heart looks forward in faith. It receives brokenness with hope. It enters into grief with promise of healing. It passes through suffering and waits for deliverance. It experiences disappointment and knows comfort will follow. It faces the unknown believing revelation will come.
This is the kind of heart I want. The kind of life I desire. To know and trust that if I surrender, you will be faithful. With me. With life. With love. And with this story.