Comfortable Turning Over

The first time I turned something over to God, I took it back within the hour. I'd said the words, meant them even, but then my phone buzzed and my daughter's name appeared on the screen and I was right back in it — planning, worrying, strategizing. Surrender lasted about forty-five minutes.

I used to think that meant I was doing it wrong. Real surrender should stick, shouldn't it? But what I've learned is that comfort with turning things over didn't come from one big moment of letting go. It came from a hundred small failures at letting go. Each time I grabbed back the worry and then tried again, something loosened. Not all at once, but enough.

Now there are things I hand to God and actually leave there. Not everything — I still wrestle the big fears back into my own hands more often than I'd like to admit. But the difference between today and my first year is that I know what relief feels like on the other side. I've tasted it enough times to trust it's real.

Comfort with surrender isn't confidence. It's familiarity. I've been here before, and God showed up.

When I take back something I've turned over, I don't need to judge myself. I can just hand it back again.