Of Surrender

In order to surrender, you must want something very much. And then you must trust Someone else enough to let it go.

I’ve never found another way to surrender, to be free and light again. But I don’t often let myself want something very much.

It takes a risk to desire, to long. And it takes a risk to surrender, to trust.

But only the things which truly fill our hearts with longing, which incapacitate us with euphoric anticipation at their mere mention, only these are the things worth surrendering. 

Surrender is too great a risk and too vast a freedom to waste on a small, piddly want. It’s saved only for the deepest, highest yearnings.

We may hang on to the miserly wishes of a shrunken heart, the cranky lists of ways the world could be a bit more comfortable. But the grand, beautiful desires of a passionate soul must be flung headlong into the giant hands of a good God.

Only those great desires are worth this daring and defiant act of surrender. We may hang on to all the tiny, fading ones. We don’t really want them anyway.

 

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