POWER IN SURRENDER

On August 1, 2018, I found myself sitting alone by a quiet pond near my home. The stillness of the water seemed to mirror everything I longed for but couldn’t find within myself. I was utterly drained—mentally, emotionally, physically, and most painfully, spiritually. Years of chasing success and working endless hours had left me running on empty. To make matters worse, a series of unexplained health issues had worn me down to the core. My body felt broken, and my soul seemed to be unraveling. Worst of all, I felt unbearably distant from God. I wasn’t just exhausted—I was hollow, gripped by a fear that paralyzed me and a cloud of anxiety that shadowed every glimmer of hope.

It hadn’t always been like this. When I first accepted Jesus as my Savior, my heart overflowed with joy and gratitude. I couldn’t get enough of Him. I devoured the Word, clung to every scripture as though it were my lifeline, and longed to live a life that brought Him glory. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. What began as a beautiful relationship founded on love and grace became tangled in a web of striving and perfectionism. Without realizing it, I turned my faith into a checklist of rules and expectations. I convinced myself that honoring God meant being flawless, and I equated His love with my performance. Gradually, I drifted away from the simplicity of His grace and into the exhausting pursuit of “doing more” and “being better.”

When my health began to falter, this mindset deepened. Every day was a struggle with pain, yet no doctor could explain the cause. I started to believe these ailments were signs of God’s displeasure with me, that I wasn’t praying enough, reading enough, or trying hard enough. The harder I tried to fix myself, the further I seemed from Him. My vibrant connection with Jesus, once so alive and intimate, now felt like a distant memory overshadowed by guilt and failure.

That evening, as I sat by the tranquil pond, the contrast between the peace around me and the turmoil within me felt unbearable. I prayed, read my Bible, and pleaded with God. But my prayers felt unanswered, and the silence was deafening. As despair crept in, I sensed a quiet nudge in my spirit: “Go to church tonight.” It was unexpected. It wasn’t a Sunday, and my church didn’t hold midweek services. I brushed it off, but the feeling persisted. Reluctantly, I searched online for a nearby church with a Wednesday service and found Brightmoor Church. I had visited it once, years earlier, but hadn’t returned. With no other options, I decided to go.

I arrived just as the service began and quietly slipped into a seat at the back. As the worship team started to sing, I stood there, arms folded tightly across my chest, observing the people around me. They worshipped with a freedom and joy that stirred something deep within me—an aching reminder of the intimacy I once had with the Lord but now felt I had lost. Tears began to fill my eyes, spilling over as the second song started. Then, amidst the music and my swirling emotions, I felt it—an unmistakable voice within me, gentle but clear: “Lift your hands.” My heart hesitated, and I pushed back. “No, that’s not me. I don’t do that.” But the voice came again, soft yet insistent: “Lift your hands.” Still, I resisted, wrestling with embarrassment and discomfort. Finally, the voice spoke a third time, this time firmer, cutting through my fear and doubt: “Lift your hands.” Trembling and uncertain, I finally raised my hands—hesitant at first, then fully extended toward heaven. In that moment, something miraculous happened. The heaviness that had weighed on me for years lifted. The fear and anxiety that had gripped me dissolved. I felt free in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed.

After the worship ended, the pastor began his sermon, and his words struck deep within my heart. He preached from Romans 7 and 8, vividly portraying the Apostle Paul's inner turmoil—the desire to do what is right, yet feeling trapped by the pull of sin. The pastor explained how Paul rejoiced in God's law in his heart but wrestled with his sinful nature, which so often led him to act against his own intentions. It was a powerful reminder of the human condition under the law: fully aware of sin but powerless to conquer it on our own. Then, the pastor read what became, for me, the most liberating scripture I’d ever encountered. He turned to Romans 8:1: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” In that moment, it felt as though God Himself was speaking directly to me. The weight I had been carrying began to lift as I finally understood the truth: I didn’t need to strive for perfection to earn His love. Jesus had already borne that burden on my behalf. God wasn’t angry or disappointed in me; He was refining me—teaching me to trust Him completely and rest in the sufficiency of His grace.

Over the next few weeks, I continued attending Brightmoor Church and I realized something profound: part of the distance I had felt from God was because I had not been truly connected to the body of Christ. While I had faithfully attended my previous church for years, I had never taken the step to truly connect with others. I was going through my Christian life alone, isolated, and missing out on the richness of fellowship. At Brightmoor, I found more than a church—I found a community of believers who encouraged, supported, and inspired me. Through this connection, I began to experience the love and presence of God in ways I never had before.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this journey, it’s the importance of being connected to other believers. We weren’t created to walk this life of faith on our own. If you’re reading this and feeling distant from God or overwhelmed by your struggles, I want to encourage you: find a church, get involved, and connect with others. You might just be amazed at how God moves in your life when you surround yourself with His people. There’s a beauty and strength in the body of Christ that can transform your walk with the Lord in ways you never imagined.

That Wednesday night, on August 1, 2018, as I stood in worship with my hands lifted, I realized that God’s voice wasn’t just calling me to lift my hands; He was calling me to surrender. It wasn’t just about the act of raising my arms—it was about the posture of my heart. For so long, I had been trying to control every aspect of my life—my health, my faith, my plans for the future. Even in my walk with God, I had clung tightly to my own desires and understanding, convinced that if I just did enough or got things right, everything would fall into place. But that night, God was gently asking me to lay all of that down. He was asking me to willingly yield to His will, to trust in His guidance, and to believe that His plan for my life was far better than anything I could orchestrate on my own.

Surrendering to God is not easy; it’s a process of letting go of control and placing your faith in His sovereignty. It means submitting your thoughts, desires, and actions to Him and trusting that He knows what’s best, even when it doesn’t make sense to you. That night, I began to see that I had never truly surrendered to God in this way. I had tried to manage my faith and my life on my own terms, holding onto the illusion of control while keeping parts of my heart walled off from Him. But in that moment, with my hands lifted and my soul laid bare, I chose to let go. I chose to trust Him fully and to yield to His will for my life.

Looking back, I see how pivotal that moment of surrender was. It wasn’t just the start of my healing; it was the start of a new chapter in my relationship with God—one marked by trust, faith, and a deep understanding of His love and grace. Surrender doesn’t mean everything will be easy or that you’ll never face struggles, but it does mean you’ll no longer face them alone. If you’re holding onto control, afraid to let go, I want to encourage you to trust in God’s perfect plan. Surrendering to Him is the most freeing, life-changing decision you will ever make.

† let the light in †