I slid my meatballs into the oven, threw some spinach in with the sautéed mushrooms, sat back down to edit the opening paragraph of my Rhetoric essay, and exhaled slowly.
Why this weightiness? Why so heavy, heart?
I carefully went through a mental checklist of the various aspects of my life: a college that I love, two jobs I enjoy, new friendships to build, old friendships to nurture, celebrations to share in, a supportive family, encouraging mentors in the faith – a beautiful collage of people and places and shaping experiences that on most days would have me feeling filled to overflowing. So why was today so different?
I narrowed the search in the database of my brain and deliberately outlined the specific events of my day: Class. Class. Class. Lunch. Homework. Class. Work. Homeward commute. Make food while doing homework. And that was that. Here I was.
I pulled out my planner to outline tomorrow’s schedule, and doodling in the margins, noticed one little box in today’s agenda that was still unchecked. A detail that had somehow slipped my notice as I was crossing off tasks on my way out the door this morning. An endeavor I had ignored as I was rushing through my very full, could-have-been-vibrant day.
Yes, in the wee hours of the night as I was scratching out the necessities of the forthcoming day, something in my soul had prompted the actual scheduling of surrender. And I, in my determination to enter each new hour fully prepared, had conveniently danced right around that responsibility – ignoring lingering hurts, stuffing some raw emotions, holding on to unconfessed sin. The result was an empty ache, a heavy spirit, and a confused heart.
In waltzing around surrender, what did I miss?
The joy of casting my cares on the Lord and allowing him to sustain me. (Psalm 55:22)
Partaking of the peace of God which transcends all understanding. (Phil. 4:7)
Receiving rest through offering up my weary heart at the feet of Jesus. (Matt. 11:28)
When we come thirsty, He fills us up. When we come lonely, He brings us into fellowship with Him. When we come with a humble heart and a loose grip, He gently takes the burden out of our hands. Surrender is the act of hauling our brokenness to the foot of the cross and proclaiming, “I do not want this anymore. You can have it all.” It is intentional. It is daily. It is beautiful.
I closed the laptop, checked the meatballs, and set distractions aside to let God do His freeing work in my soul. First thing on the agenda tomorrow? Surrender. I don’t want to miss out on this again.
How have you seen the power of daily surrender in your own story?
Where do you need to schedule surrender in your daily life?