Surrender

The other day, these words popped into my mind, unbidden: “Just because something was good, doesn’t mean it was meant to last forever.”

I’m chewing on that one now, as a way to help me come to grips with letting go of what I used to love.

I’m not one to embrace change readily. I don’t rearrange the furniture in my house, I grouse to myself every time I have to update some piece of software (which, as you know, happens daily for many of us). 

Yet the world marches on with changes in everything: technology, our bodies, relationships, the world scene. Uncertainty reigns. 

Some people love change. They tell me it keeps life exciting. No doubt. I do like variety . . . as long as I can choose it, I realize. But most of the changes feel foisted upon us, and at least for this sensitive person, it sometimes seems all I can do to keep up, let alone initiate good changes myself.

Yet we do have a choice about our response to change: we can either fight it or embrace it, or at least accept it.

As I’ve tried to find my footing in the face of change and letting go, have been pondering a certain passage from the Bible: 

“So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” (Genesis 32:24)

Photo by Jason Pofahl

What struck me was that “a man” (whom commentators say was Jesus in what they call an Old Testament theophony) came and wrestled with Jacob. Jacob didn’t wrestle with him, God wrestled with Jacob. All night. Jacob stood his ground, until the man puts his hip socket out of joint and ended the wrestling match. Jacob had no choice then but to surrender.

I heard an interview recently with renowned trauma expert Gabor Maté, who confessed that he has never been able to surrender to any spiritual source as many have who then report a sense of peace. I too have trouble surrendering.

I wonder if in this season of my life God is actually “wrestling” with me, trying to get me to surrender certain expectations and let Him have His way.

I just learned there is a kind of therapy called Acceptance and Commitment therapy. Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is a form of psychotherapy that helps individuals manage difficult thoughts and feelings by accepting them rather than struggling against them, and by committing to actions that align with their personal values. 

It’s a mindfulness-based approach that aims to increase psychological flexibility, allowing people to live more meaningful lives despite dealing with unpleasant emotions and experiences. Instead of trying to eliminate or control negative thoughts and feelings, as some therapies do, ACT focuses on accepting them, while also committing to actions aligned with one’s values.

I think my “Wonderful Counselor” (one of the names of Jesus in the book of Isaiah) is wanting to use ACT on me! But he’s doing it in such a gentle, patient way. Slowly helping me first to see, then to feel, accept, some difficult emotions and experiences.

He’s been working on it with me for years, starting in 2007 when I first started doing The Healing Codes. I sense He’s not bothered in the least that it’s taking me so long.

The Healing Codes certainly paved the way. You might say it laid down the road to healing, removing trees and rocks and even perhaps building a bridge. Creating the pathway to inner healing.

But a method wasn’t all that was needed. While my years with The Healing Codes helped tremendously, circumstances kept hitting like increasingly more ferocious storms that knocked down more trees and created barriers and even damaged the bridge.

So, more clearing and rebuilding had to take place.

Along the way, I discovered that I needed more than a clear path and a roadmap. I needed a Guide who, like the GPS that could see more than I could at any given moment, knew where the further blocks were and could guide me through the detours.

That Guide is God, of course. It is Immanuel, the God who is with me every moment. The God who can break into my mind at odd moments and tell me things like, “Just because something was good, doesn’t mean it was meant to last forever” to nudge me to let go.

 The God who will mysteriously show up and wrestle with me, all night if need be, and “put my hip out of joint” if need be, to help me cling to him after letting go of The Thing. 

Endings are difficult. Grief is unpleasant. Letting go is often painful. Surrendering is scary.

But if we finally do let go, allow the ending, allow the hip to be put out of joint, what we will probably find is the One we cling to is perfectly able to fulfill every single promise He’s given.

What we might find is peace.

I say “probably” and “might,” because, in all truth, I’m still wrestling. I’m not sure I’m surrendered. I’m still not clear what all I need to let go of, or how to do it. So I start with baby steps, letting go of tangible things like physical and digital clutter.

I seek to notice, with nonjudgmental curiosity, the thoughts that are like sticks and stones on my path to healing. Mental and emotional clutter are way more challenging to see than the physical.

Ahead of me on this path is my Guide, doing the heavy lifting of clearing the way ahead, and looking back at me often to encourage me and beckon me on. He tells me that letting go means sometimes glancing behind me at where I’ve been, but never turning back. 

Sometimes He just comes alongside and holds my hand as we walk. Sometimes He suggests we sit down and rest awhile, or listen to music, or read a book together.

And sometimes He just holds me while I cry, patting my back and telling me it’s all right to cry, and He’s glad to be with me no matter how I feel. Something my little wounded inner children need to hear and take in.

Photo by Rachel McDermott

He’s telling me now, “Healing is not a destination in this life, but it is a path. And I am with you all the way, until you do reach the final Destination, your heavenly Home. You’ll never ‘arrive’ in this life, so just relax and enjoy the journey with Me. There are many delights along the way, and you will be able to see them more clearly, and see more of them, the further you journey with Me.” 

In faith, I cling to that as I limp on. Perhaps I have surrendered after all.

P.S. After I wrote this, it became clear what I need to surrender: expectations.