When Trust Becomes Surrender

Wracked with terrible anxiety and fatigue, there were weeks that stretched suffocatingly in relentless pain. I tried everything I could to find out what would fix it, what would heal me and get me out of this bottomless pit I felt stuck in.

I read about our brain’s resilience, its ability to heal and change our neuropathways into new ways of thinking.

I read about medication, how long it takes to kick in and see any signs of it working. What the side effects were, and what to do if it didn’t quite do the job.

I read about prayer and faith, to train myself spiritually to believe God was with me and at work, and to believe that He would come through.

My mind battled with this belief. I wanted to be found faithful, so I did everything I could to make it that way. I was holding on for dear life, fearing for my life and the state of it.

I was trying to control staying on top of my job, holding myself up to survive the day, and telling myself that things would get better. I squeezed my grip because I thought it was up to me to hold on. Even when I had no strength left, I still worked to keep a pinky finger hooked to my efforts and search for the right answer that would ease the pain.

But it became too much. I couldn’t hold myself up. Couldn’t contain or control what was beyond me in the first place. I couldn’t hold on, so I let go and let God hold me.

That’s when I learned the quiet miracle of surrender. Of opening up my clenched hands and heart, no matter how terrified I was to fall full weight on God.

He says His yoke is easy and burden is light, and to cast our cares on Him. This is His promise, His imploring to our hearts.

We are not meant to carry the weight of control. We are not meant to save our lives by our own effort. We can’t. When questioning our trust in God becomes too much to take, release your heart in surrender. We are already tucked in the safe and secure arms of God.

Our trust can come in surrender, because God doesn’t demand we be fearless — only that we open our hands.

If you’re standing on the edge of surrender, may this be your permission to let go.