I’ve been engaged in a tug-of-war.
But I knew I would lose even before the battle began.
He’s bigger than me. He’s stronger than me. He’s wiser than me. And he knows what’s best for me.
Even when I don’t know myself.
Even when what’s best is the very thing that seems so incredibly difficult to do. Even when what’s best means letting go, when I so desperately want to hold on.
I’m still struggling, but I know where it will end. He’ll win. He always wins. He needs to win.
I want him to win.
There is a very real cost in letting go. He gets that. I’m not imagining it. I’m not exaggerating it. It’s hard. Really hard. But the difficulty makes the surrender all the sweeter. It makes the offering all the more precious.
So yeah, I’m fighting a losing battle. I wish I could say knowing that up front makes the whole thing easier–but it doesn’t. The process is part of the journey. Without the wrestling, the true worth of the offering would never be revealed; the sweetness of its fragrance would never be released. Something worth such struggle, becomes something worth giving.
Because I refuse to give the One who is worthy of my all, an offering that cost me nothing.
Lord, you are worthy of it all. Thank you for each step of the journey–even the struggles. Thank you for revealing the value of my offering even as I wrestle through the process. Thank you for knowing the sincerity of my heart even in the weakness of my humanity. As best as I’m able–right here, right now–I present myself to you as a living sacrifice. May the fragrance of my offering rise before you … and bring great pleasure to your heart. ~Amen.