Surrender

When you're a bull.

When you have horns.

When you see red.

And when you know how to charge.

It's hard to stop.

It's hard to let go.

It's hard to realize you're not in control and things aren't going to go your way.

When you know what you want.

And you see the goal.

And you know  how to get there: It's hard to let go.

But there comes a point when fighting is useless, resistance makes it worse, and surrender is the only valve that works.

You have to let go.

You have to trust God and trust the process. Whatever it looks like.

I'm learning this.

Once a month, I'm committed to spending a week in Tennessee to care for my grandmother. Her lungs are tired. She can't breathe. Walking is difficult.  And her limbs don't always obey her.

Yet, she refuses help.

In her mind, she is child-like energy, picking cotton in Alabama.

In her mind, she's a young, single mother of four - able to provide, protect and conquer all the odds against her.

Accept - she's not.

She can't do what she used to do. Can't cook. Can't clean. Can stay up all night talking, studying her bible, rearranging her desk, washing her clothes on her hands, sweeping, mopping, picking collard greens - and anything else she puts her mind to.

Accept - she does.

She's 81, and LITERALLY both sick and tired - but she does. She's stays up sometimes until 6 a.m. in the morning despite taking heavy sleeping medication. She just goes, and goes, and goes - refusing either help or assistance.

And I watch in frustration.

Madea take your medicine. No.

Madea put your oxygen on. No.

Madea put your feet up. No.

And Madea take your breathing treatment. No.

So, I lie here in frustration. Mad. Angry. Upset that she's so stubborn - because I know what it looks like when her superhuman will to do whatever she dern well pleases wears off.

So, I try harder: I am her granddaughter, and I'm just as stubborn.

I am a bull.

I have horns.

I see red.

And I want to charge in and save her.

Only I can't.

So we sometimes stay locked in this battle of wills, struggling. Circling one another. Both wanting what we want - and demanding that we get it.

She keeps winning, however.

The more I push, the longer she stays up.

The more I beg, the more she refuses her medication.

No matter what I do: She wins.

And as I watch her wear herself out - too tired to take even the smallest breathe, so tired it takes thirty minutes to take just two little steps - I hear God say surrender.

Surrendering, however, is hard. It's not easy. It requires this slaying of self and flesh that is painful because we want what we want and we want it our way. That, however, is not life in Christ.

According to Galations 2:20, "I" have been crucified with Christ, and "I" no longer live - but it is Christ who live in us. The life "I" now lead "I" live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. 

So, I have to let go.

I am not my grandmother's savoir. I am only her granddaughter.

I must let her live as she chooses no matter what it means or looks like. And all I can do is trust him to provide. Fighting is useless. Resistance makes it worse. And surrender is the only valve that works.

I must lay this a Jesus' feet, and bow down in both worship and praise that He is God, and the only savoir available to both me, my grandmother and out circumstances.

He is ALL, and He is enough.

Know that I love you each, L.

Something to contemplate: What must I lay down. What do I need to surrender? What am I fighting and fighting and fighting - yet need to release?