It seems in my life I reach the end of something in ways that can be very painful. I lose sleep. I lose words. I lose a sense of identity.
The hurt is that what I’m suffering through is nothing new, and that there are no man-made gimmicks that can help me heal. It is as if I am thrown into a rock pit, and instead of negotiating the rocks carefully, I am crushed by them.
This is the world, making sport. And the world, so imbalanced, so bent on ruining me, takes aim to send me into a slow, agonizing descent to the bottom of a pit, where I am crushed.
Is there any way out? Where is the song I need to sing to survive?
It’s in the rhythm of surrender. That fluid, voluminous choice to resign myself and my will to loss, and to confess to my Lord that I can’t do it.
I can’t achieve. I can’t do good. I can’t give to others. I can’t discover a victory. In truth, I can’t do anything – nothing of merit. The only thing I can do is to admit that I can’t.
Jesus can.
So I seek not to assert my own will, or to build my own world to dominate the helpless people; I let go, and lose – lose my own ambition, my own sense of how things should go – and turn helplessly to God. I can’t, God.
But You can.
A Brave New Heaven 