In the grand scheme of things, I’m a pretty peaceful person. I believe in our big God, and I believe in his love for me. I’m hopelessly optimistic 99.9% of the time. I celebrate tiny ridiculous happy things. I jump around a lot. I’m not super worried about dying, or how my life will ultimately turn out. I’m a happy little camper.
Unless you want to get specific.
I can worry about specifics with the best of them. Because the big picture is one thing, but what about that next, singular big thing that I really, really, really want to do or have go well or get or escape from? When we get down to specifics, well, sometimes I’m not so specifically peaceful afterall.
Here’s what trusting God with the little things looks like for a control freak:
Step one: Stress out about something, be it work-related, life-related, some sort of party, some big project, a test, an interview. Work self into a tizzy.
Step two: Cry.
Step three: Begin to feel helpless and realize it can’t be done alone.
Step four: Pray. Pray something along the lines of “Father God, I’m going to give this to you, because I know it already belongs to you, and I love you and I’m trusting you to carry this through. Plus, you’re really great.”
Step five: Feel slightly better, but continue to act like a control hungry maniac and micro manage every possible detail until collapsing into a heap of exhausted, war-torn, weary sad and sorry girl mess.
Because, sure, I trust that ultimately God will take care of me, but, well, <gasp, sob> what if this thing doesn’t happen the way I want it to?
The Bible has a lot to say about freedom: freedom for captives, freedom from worry, freedom from sin, freedom from death. It was for freedom that Christ has set us free, it says, and I believe that. I want to be free. I want to take that freedom and superglue it to all those specific places where I’m fearful, the places where I have a plan and I’m afraid, so afraid, that God’s plan won’t line up with, well, mine. I want to darn up all the holey places in my faith with that otherworldly, holy wholly heavenly freedom. I want to wear it and live it and celebrate it and yell it.
I want. I want. I want. Control…control…control…
Father God, teach me that freedom is born of surrender. Take my plans and my fears and my control and shred them, burn them, and replace them with only your freedom. Speak into all my safeguarded specifics and rob me of my ownership of them. Take the frickin wheel. Help my unbelief.
Unclench my fists and inhabit my hands and make me only yours.
Amen. Tough tough words to live out when your plans have been totally and utterly shredded. But Jesus does promise total and utter freedom in Him and I keep putting one foot in front of the other trusting He will lead me through grief into that freedom.
Just, thank you. These are the exact words that I needed.