Skip to main content

Surrendered


Today, I sat with a subtle restlessness 
and quiet nudge
that refuses to let me settle
where I’ve outgrown.


I know this feeling.


It’s the same pull
that meets me at the edge
right before everything changes.


And I’ve never been afraid
of the edge—
I know how to measure the fall,
how the wind shifts 
before I leap.


Calculated risks
have always recognized me.


But lately…
I’ve been still.


Not the sacred kind of stillness—
not the resting, restoring pause—
but the kind that lingers too long,
where hesitation disguises itself as wisdom
and time slips quietly through my hands.


I’ve stayed
past the moment of release.


And I’ve learned—
disrespect is a door slammed shut
from the inside.


No apology,
no backtracking,
no carefully chosen words
can rebuild an entrance
where honor has been evicted.


Some endings
don’t negotiate.


And me?
My closure has never been loud—

No announcements.
No final speeches.
No echoing exits
designed to be heard.


I disappear
in lowercase.


Because when I go silent,
I’m not empty—
I’m bowed.

At the feet of the cross,
where noise dissolves
and truth doesn’t have to shout.


Where I lay down
what I can’t fix,
what I can’t force,
what I can’t face anymore.


“Lord…
I need You.”

Not eventually.
Not in distant, 

delayed timing.


But swiftly—
with intention,
with movement
I can recognize as You.


Let this closure
not just resemble a closed chapter—
but move me.


Let it come
with an address change—
in place,
in spirit,
in what’s allowed
to reach me again.


Because I am done
standing at doors
that no longer open for me.


Done revisiting spaces
that forgot how to hold me with care.


So I release it—
fully, finally—
not with resistance,
but with surrender.


No more circling
what You’ve already called finished.


No more reaching
for what You’ve already removed.


If You closed it,
I won’t knock.


If You took it,
I won’t chase.


If it left,
I’ll trust it wasn’t meant
to survive where I’m going.


Strip every attachment
that makes me second-guess Your will.


Silence every echo
that tries to call me back
to what You’ve already delivered me from.


And wherever You send me next—
let it not require explanation,
only obedience.


Let it not feel familiar,
but right.


Let it stretch me
without breaking me,
humble me
without diminishing me,
and cover me
without hiding me.


Because I’d rather walk 

forward with You
into the unknown
than stay comfortable
outside of Your will.


So I lay it down—
the questions,
the weight,
the need to understand.


And I pick up
what only You can give:

Peace
that doesn’t argue,
clarity
that doesn’t waver,
and a direction
that doesn’t ask for permission.


Do what only You can do, Lord.


Close it so completely
that even my memory
loses its desire for it.


Move me so clearly
that hesitation cannot follow.


And when it’s done—
let the evidence of Your hand
be so undeniable

that I never mistake
this moment

for anything less
than deliverance.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

“Let God Do The Heavy Lifting”

What if we told God the truth— not the polished version, not the palatable version, but the raw, unfiltered ache of what we  really  want? What if we sat in expectation— not clenched in frustration, not counting the silence as absence, but trusting that unseen hands are already at work? What if we leaned back— not in defeat, but in surrender— and allowed God to step forward into the places we keep trying to control? What if we stopped responding out of fear, reacting out of wounds, reaching for everything except the One who holds it all? What if we let go… and let God do the heavy lifting? Because real transformation doesn’t begin in striving— it begins in honesty. In sitting still long enough to face the truth of where we are without rushing to escape it. Naomi pushed people away, not because she didn’t need love, but because grief convinced her she was too heavy to hold. She believed her pain would be too much for anyone to sit with. But God will always send a Ruth— someone ...
Post a Comment
Read more

“Moving on Faith”

A mind like mine lingers too long, perhaps—in its own chambers. Mapping unseen routes, sketching futures, rehearsing outcomes before breath ever meets action. I measure distance not in miles, but in the space between what was and what could be. And somewhere between here and there, silence arrives— disguised as sanctuary. But silence can fracture. It can splinter into stillness that is not rest, but retreat. Limbs grow heavy there— not from peace, but from pause overstayed. Limbs that slacken, that soften, that surrender not to God, but to avoidance. Refusing motion when tension thickens, when conviction calls, when obedience costs. Caught in the quiet— that subtle snare where comfort mimics peace and hesitation wears holy clothes. Yielded to approval, yet drifting from alignment. Listen— not all “silence” is sacred. In fact some silence is… misaligned  misplaced  misappropriation.  Do not let disobedience become  familiar enough to quiet your voice, dim your faith, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

"The Enemy is Defeated"

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good...”                —Genesis 50:20 I woke this morning with gratitude resting gently on my chest— not because everything aligned, not because I checked every box, but because I chose to trust the God who provides beyond what I see. What felt like drowning in relentless spiritual warfare was, in truth, a holy cleansing— a breaking, a refining, a quiet preparation for something greater. And I can feel it now— a shifting in the unseen, a breakthrough pressing against the horizon. Despite every blow, I’m still standing— anchored in promises that have never known failure. God is moving— not subtly, not faintly, but with a power that cannot be mistaken. What was sent to destroy me misjudged its target, miscalculated its reach, and completely misunderstood God’s assignment over my life. I don’t know the private giants you face, the silent battles you fight when no one sees —but I know this:...
Post a Comment
Read more