the secret of surrender

I don’t know much about wrestling.

Except that, in a sudden lapse of reason, two people decide to engage one another in a ridiculously close and relentless struggle of strength against strength, technique against technique, skill against skill…until one contestant is pathetically pinned to the floor. (My apologies to my wrestling friends.)

Oh yeah. Then there’s that thing about wrestling within your weight class. Which may be a good idea to consider if you have any thoughts of winning.

But this isn’t a post about wrestling.

Per se.

Perhaps it’s more about expectations.

I remember when my little niece was born. Surprising her parents with the presence of some special needs, it never changed their gratefulness or love for her. But, it did re-route their expectations. I’ll never forget my brother’s observation of his own wrestling with the unexpected: “It’s like boarding a plane thinking you’re going to England, but getting off the plane and realizing you’re in France.”

Expectations are like that. You take a vacation and expect a great time, not a bout with stomach flu. You graduate from college and expect a great career, not the inability to find a job. You become a missionary and expect the joy and excitement of serving in ministry, not the reality of relational conflicts or life-changing native diseases. You get married and expect to raise your kids with your spouse and hit that golden anniversary, not find yourself alone in the task with a fairy tale that ended early.

When we say “yes” to God, we do so with conditional expectations of what that “yes” looks like. It’s somewhat instinctive; it’s somewhat human. But how do we respond when that caveat is not met as we expected?

In recent weeks, I have engaged in a particularly difficult wrestling match. Time has passed and the reality of life without Joshua has begun to settle in heavily. The weight, the aloneness, the responsibilities, the overwhelming tasks…even the “drudgery” of the day-to-day. With this reality has come the taunting of resentment.

And so began my wrestling match…

with God.

Weight class indeed.

But I engaged Him anyway.

“This is not what I signed up for! I wanted to be a wife and mother…a mother and wife! The two go together! In fact, You designed it that way! I don’t want to do this all alone. This is not what I expected and this isn’t what I want!”

And so my wrestling efforts continued, consistent with exclamation points.

Wrestling with the Lord is perplexing. I find that in spite of weight class, strength, skill and technique imbalance, He seems to encourage the pursuit. No one that wrestles with God would expect to declare himself victorious. But oddly enough, in a nod toward Jacob, His touch reveals our weakness, while His mercy strengthens us in His Truth. We experience the strange surprise of being victorious—even while acknowledging His ultimate victory in our hearts.

For my birthday, I asked the Lord to give me a verse for the year. Something encouraging, something inspiring, but hopefully something that didn’t exhort me to “be glad.”

Grief still makes it so exhausting to be glad.

His Word for me was none of these. Instead, it was an invitation to wrestle with Him. That’s a strange thing to say; it’s a strange thing to write. But as I defensively fostered my longings for heaven, for Him, for freedom from sorrow and pain, from the weariness of this waning world, He commanded the opposite by asking for my surrender.

“I will walk before the LORD in the land of the living” (Psalm 116:9).

I balked. I cried. I complained. “Are You serious?! That’s not the kind of special Word I wanted.”

He was gentle as I fought Him pathetically.

“Rebecca, will you be there simply because I want you to be there?”

Silence.

Would I surrender simply because I love Him enough?

Would I?

Silence.

I honestly could not answer. And I was ashamed.

In one perspective, surrendering to God can be painful. Surrender gives up power and control. It yields rights with abandonment. It concedes to His will. It can feel like God wins…and I lose.

But it’s what I’m supposed to do, right?

So I somehow drag my soul to the altar and forcibly fling my will upon it, until that white flag can be raised above the castle of my heart—followed by a feeling of resignation and an attitude of defeat.

This is not surrender.

At least, not the surrender God designs for His children, His beloved ones.

There is a secret to godly surrender that no conquered general would be able to use for his enemy. It’s the secret that is reserved only for God Himself. The secret that turns dragging feet into feet that run gladly to the altar, eager to give, delighted to offer. The secret that transforms surrender from a painful, fearsome obligation to an anticipated act of loving devotion.

The secret to godly surrender is…

Worship.

In fact, worship and surrender are synonyms.

Really?

Although I cringe to use the lowly example of a heartthrob, it serves its purpose well, so I will use it. Consider for a moment the average teenage fan of a celebrity. On her walls are his posters. On her phone is his music. In her mind is what she believes about him. On her lips are his praises. On her schedule are his concerts. There is no doubt that she worships him, for her entire mind, will and emotions are caught up in his being. And with the submission of mind, will and emotions, she has offered him…surrender. Should he show up at her doorstep and ask a favor, there would be nothing that she would refuse him.

That’s a sobering reality.

We surrender to what we worship. It’s as simple as that.

Do I worship pleasure? Do I worship work? Do I worship fear? Pride? Expectations? Do I worship my bitterness? Do I worship…myself?

Maybe I don’t know what I worship. And so I might ask,

What consumes my mind during the day? Where is my will given? To what do I give my emotions?

We surrender to what we worship. And our God is the only One worthy of such devotion.

The more I worship God, the more I will want to surrender to Him. The more I will run to surrender to Him. The more I will long to surrender to Him. When the Lord becomes my worship, on my heart walls is His face. In my ears is His music. In my mind is His Truth. On my lips is His praise. On my schedule is much time with Him. And when He speaks softly to me and asks obedience, there will be nothing that I will refuse Him.

The more He is worshipped, the more He is loved. The more He is loved, the more He is worshipped...and surrender becomes a gift of complete adoration and affection for Him. The altar becomes a place of delight—not a place of dread.

I finally stopped wrestling Him. He had always been the Winner, but I had gained victory, too.

“Rebecca, will you be there because I want you to be there?”

It’s not what I wanted. It’s not what I expected. But I am learning, little by little, the daily sacrifice of worship through surrender. And the daily sacrifice of surrender through worship.

No longer a sacrifice of resignation, but a sacrifice of praise!

Yes, Lord, I will choose to walk before You in the land of the living.

Not because You force me in defeat.

But because You give me victory through my love for You.