So, where do I begin?
Do I say that every prayer I’ve prayed over the last two years has been a mistake? Or that God hasn’t been listening? Do I somehow convince myself that the same God who has pulled me through so many different chapters of my life has suddenly stopped being at the helm?
There’s something interesting about submission when you really examine it. I think it works in two ways.
The first is what I like to call the illusion of control.
God says, “I have authority over this thing, but I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether you want to obey, conform, or align yourself with what I’m doing.”
And that part about leaving it up to you can be a little misleading.
So you go on your way, convinced that you’re making your own choices and charting your own course. But the orchestrator has already written the story. Sometimes, you’re simply a character with a part to play, and your best opportunity is to show up and absolutely crush it when it’s your turn to step up to the plate.
Then there’s the second part of submission.
This is what I like to call the roller-coaster effect.
One of the beautiful things about being led by God is that you get the opportunity to step onto the platform in the first place. You find yourself at an amusement park, a theme park, or wherever you want to call it, and you sit down on the roller coaster.
Maybe you’ve looked up the speed beforehand. Maybe you’re there specifically because you found out it’s one of the fastest roller coasters in the world. Maybe that’s what gets you excited.
I’m not going to judge you weirdos. Enjoy yourselves.
But anyone who has ever been on a roller coaster knows that even when you know how fast it’s supposed to go, you don’t truly know what you’re in for until the ride starts.
That’s how I’ve come to think about this journey with God. You “willingly” choose to sit down and strap yourself in, but you don’t know how high He’s going to take you. You don’t know how fast the ride will go or when it will slow down. You don’t know when the unexpected turns are coming.
And that’s the thing about life.
Someone might say, “Well, if you already know how the roller coaster goes, why not just ride it again?”
But there’s no guarantee you’ll get a second shot at the same ride. You might return to that theme park a few weeks or months later only to discover that the ride is no longer there, or that it’s no longer available.
That’s the beauty, and perhaps the uncertainty, of life itself. You don’t get to know every turn before you take it, and you aren’t guaranteed another opportunity to experience the same things.
For years, I’ve wrestled with the idea that God is in control and I’m just a passenger.
There have been times when I’ve wanted more control over my life and other times when I’ve wished I could have less responsibility for how things turn out. Through it all, I remain thankful for the love of God that continues to guide, correct, and redirect me.
But there have also been moments when I thought, surely, all I need to do is this one thing or make this one decision, and everything will be fine.
Except this ride has gone in so many different directions. Sometimes faster than I imagined. Sometimes slower than I wanted.
And as I sit here writing this, I’m beginning to accept that I have far less control than I’d like to believe.
Honestly, I’m not even necessarily mad about it.
For much of my life, I’ve done things my way, or at least tried to. I’ve tried to protect myself, guide myself, and convince myself that one option was better than another. I’ve tried to anticipate outcomes and make decisions that would spare me the pain of getting things wrong.
And more often than I’d like to admit, those attempts have left me dissatisfied. If anything, they’ve sometimes led to more anguish, pain, and confusion down the road.
So here I am, writing to you from the other side of a dizzying sequence of events, with no grand answers to offer.
As a matter of fact, one of the prayers I prayed this morning was quite simple.
It was tearful. It was honest. It was filled with surrender.
I simply asked the Holy Spirit, “Help me.”
I know how easy it is to appear as though you have everything figured out. I know how easy it is to speak as though you have all the answers to life’s questions.
But I don’t.
And as much as I want to give up sometimes, as tired as I feel, I know I can’t. At the same time, I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been hard.
It has been difficult. There is so much I wish were different about my life, my journey, and my experiences.
But there is something humbling, and perhaps even beautiful, about arriving at a point where you recognize that you’ve tried things your way, in different ways, and they haven’t worked out the way you hoped.
Now, it’s God’s turn.
I know how easy that is to say. And I know that in this marketplace of life, we can sometimes become more concerned with appearing spiritual than with actually making room for our spirituality.
Some people might read this and think, “Here comes another man blaming God or running back to God after making a mess of things.”
And you know what? There’s probably some truth to that. As a matter of fact, there is.
But one of the reasons I share these thoughts here is because of the people who reach out and tell me they’ve taken something away from our conversations. You’d be surprised by how far this little corner of the internet reaches and how many people it touches.
Beyond that, I hope there’s something of a cautionary tale here, particularly for men and the way we navigate life.
Many of us, whether because of our experiences, trauma, fear, or an overwhelming desire for control, move through life as though we know exactly how things are supposed to go. We build plans, establish expectations, and try to protect ourselves from every possible disappointment.
Then, at some point, life reminds us that we were never entirely in control.
We are not in charge of every outcome. We are not the ones commanding every turn. And sometimes, it takes a series of difficult experiences for us to recognize just how much we need God to lead us.
I’ve said many times on this platform and in conversations with people: do I wish my parents had left me more money, a bigger inheritance, a bigger house, more connections, or more opportunities?
Absolutely. Who wouldn’t?
But one thing I will always be grateful that my parents gave my siblings and me is an understanding of the love of God, and the knowledge that His love is greater than anything we might think or feel about ourselves.
It is a love that makes room for us. A love that offers forgiveness, patience, and grace.
So when you feel an overwhelming pressure to have all the answers, to be perfect, or to understand why things are happening the way they are, remember that you can still come to God as you are.
There is safety in that love. There is a place to land. There is an open door.
And while I couldn’t help but surrender to God’s will this morning, I was also reminded that I could simply let myself feel what I was feeling.
God leaves room for us to just be. To speak. To share. To cry. To admit that we’re tired and that we don’t understand.
Now, please don’t confuse what I’m sharing with a lack of accountability.
If you offend someone, you still need to apologize. If you cause harm, you still need to make peace and restitution wherever possible. Faith doesn’t absolve us of responsibility for our actions.
But there is something deeply comforting about knowing that you can cry out to God and be heard. That you can come to Him despite your flaws, your mistakes, your childish behavior, your sins, and everything else in between.
God still listens.
And He still makes room for you to connect with Him.
I don’t want to turn this into a sermon, although I realize it might already feel like one, considering how much I’ve approached this from a spiritual perspective.
But more than anything, I want to leave you with this: it’s going to be okay.
Now, if you ask me how I know, I wish I could point to some magical source of certainty beyond what God has done in my own life.
I can’t.
Even as I write this, there are parts of my life that I genuinely don’t know how they’re going to work out. I don’t have a neat explanation for everything I’m experiencing, and I can’t promise you that every situation will unfold the way I want it to.
But I am thankful that I don’t have to go through any of it pretending to be alone. I can call out to God. I can reach for Him. I can tell Him exactly how I feel, and I can trust that He hears me.
So, this week, I want you to remember the roller coaster.
It might go high. It might turn left when you expect it to turn right. It might move faster than you’re comfortable with, or slow down when you’re desperate to get somewhere.
But stay strapped in.
Think about the way the attendant pulls at your safety belt before the ride begins, making sure it’s secure. I like to imagine God reminding us in those moments, “I’ve got this. I’ve got you. You’re safe with Me.”
The ride might be fast. It might be bumpy. At some point, you might even feel like you’re going to throw up.
But He is with you.
And for me, that has to be enough.
I won’t always understand what’s happening. I won’t always have the answers, and sometimes I won’t even have the clarity to understand what I’m feeling.
But if there’s one thing I’ve come to believe about my life, it’s that God has not made a mistake by being God.
Waiting is uncomfortable. Patience is difficult. His Grace is sufficient for me. HE loves us. And he will always give us another chance at the great life he envisions for us.
Surrender can feel like giving up the very thing you’ve spent years trying to hold together.
But I’m learning that submission is far better than living with the illusion that I’m in control. I am tired, scared, confused, hopeful, sad but above all? Loved.
Even in the midst of my tears and fears, I know he loves me and always make space for me.
Till we speak again, stay up.
