Another Side of Surrender

A rather extreme set of peaks and valleys has loomed up over the past weeks. I find myself not only battling my own inner landscape, but trying to do it through a fog of what seems an awful lot like seasonal depression, as one snowy gray day follows another in oppressive succession. It is hard enough just to function — dragging my weary self out of bed is a daily struggle. I feel tired most of the time, and I have to work up even the most fleeting enthusiasm. I want to fight! I want to rid myself of this clinging monster, but I am so weak … as much as I hate to admit it. Knowing others are praying with and for me is an encouragement, yet I so want to have some progress to show for all of our efforts.

There are times when the fog lifts, and I am able to see a panorama laid out before me of all God is accomplishing. There is a reason, a result, an end goal for all this struggle and refinement, and, God helping me, I will not lose sight of it. There is too much to hope for, too much to pray for — too much to look forward to! — to get trapped for long under the discouragement and fear.

It’s easy to recognize fear as an enemy: it seeks to steal my joy, my hope, my purpose, my very life, and it offers nothing good in return. The control thickly intertwined in it, now, that is the more deceptive of the two villains. It is more familiar, more convincing, and therefore, more dangerous …

Giving up control means … giving up my right to be selfish; giving up my tendency to look out for number one. It means giving up my agenda, my schedule, my decisions on how I spend my time. It means letting go and stepping back and bowing to the lightest wish of the God I say I serve. In everything. Always. And that terrifies me, because I am a very selfish person. I like to be able to decide where I go, how I spend my time, who I spend it with — or at least, to have a significant voice in the matter.

I say, often, that I’ve surrendered all to my Lord, that all I am and have is His, that I’ll do anything, go anywhere — whether it’s the wilds of Africa, a closed Muslim nation, or a life of relative obscurity in small town America. And maybe, as far as the big decisions are concerned, I really have given God all.

But when it comes to the small things, the everyday matters, the little parts and pieces that make up a life, I am clinging to them with a fierceness that leaves little flexibility for responding to that still, small Voice.

What if He asks me to get out of bed earlier, or eat alone in the midst of a crowd, or strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know?

What if He wants me to step out before I feel sure, or speak out when I don’t know the answer, or act before I’ve considered all possible outcomes?

What if He asked me to be bold, or outgoing, or courageous? What if He expected more from me than I believe I have to give?

Most of the time, I don’t want to reach out — I want to hide. I don’t want to go out on limbs or take risks — I want to play it safe, only venturing out of the wings when I’m relatively sure I won’t be noticed.

I want to do great things, I want to have an impact, but only when I’m in a place and among people where I feel safe and comfortable. Or at least, when I’ve had the opportunity to plan and prepare — when I feel ready, assured, confident, and …

… in control.

Sigh.

It’s ugly, it’s wretched, and oh-so-familiar. How do I shake this, God, if it’s not something I’m sure I want to let go of? How do I repent of something I know is not of You … if it’s still so very much a part of me?

“The mind controlled by the sinful nature is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.” ~ Romans 8:6

Death, hmm? Hard to sugarcoat that. If I was not sufficiently convinced before that control is my enemy, that it will lead me only to despair and destruction, then let the record show that my eyes are being opened.

“Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” ~ Romans 8:5

Mind and intellect are my biggest battleground: I tend to live too much in my head, too little in my spirit. I’m always trying to figure things out, to prove myself right, rather than standing on faith or submitting to God’s “foolishness.” How perfect, then, to find within this passage a way to engage my mind — I must set it firmly on what the Spirit desires and hold it there, without wavering.

“The sinful mind is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.” ~ Romans 8:7-8

Does not submit. Cannot please God. Can NOT.

If I remain under my own control — or better said, under the illusion of control dictated by my flesh, my sinful nature — I relinquish my ability to submit to or ever please God, in choosing a position actually hostile to Him.

God, forgive me! As Your light floods in, I am starting to trace the widespread root system of all this, the connections with my stubborn independence; with the rebellion that rises up at the faintest mention of submission; with the pride that scoffs at the thought of doing anything “foolish”; with the judgment and comparison always busily tallying up accounts to make sure I come out ahead …

So much sin, God. What has all this cost me over the years? I’ll never know, but I shudder to think how steep the price.

Paid by Christ: all this, and many times over, You have paid for my redemption. You have purchased my pardon, settled my debts, opened the way for my freedom.

“The mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.”

I don’t know what this will look like, but I’m ready to learn to walk it out, one day — one moment — at a time. I feel sort of weightless, like a few more of the chains holding me so long have been snapped off. I don’t know what life looks like on the other side of surrender, but I’m holding my hands up — vulnerable, trusting, ready to let Him lead.