It was a relatively normal sort of day.
Perhaps it was a late autumn evening, bright moon shining down between the naked branches of a tree etched against a dark purple sky. Perhaps I was outside, sitting against a fence, looking out across the lake at the reflection of pulsating stars.
Perhaps it was a spring afternoon, full of new life. Leaves and buds bursting forth on readied limbs–the perfect afternoon for a solo picnic at my favorite river spot, just me and Jesus. And a few ants.
Perhaps it was a hot summer day full of lots of things to do. One of those hectic days of running to-and-fro, hither and yon, with a to-do list as long as my arm. The kind of day where the still small voice of my King echoes throughout the busy-ness, calling me away to the secret place–calling me away to physically “be still and know” even in the midst of everyday life.
All-in-all, though, it was a relatively normal day. I know it was, because I don’t remember the specifics.
I do remember the force with which the reality of what I’m about to tell you hit me. My legs wobbled a little. I took several deep breaths. A part of me that I had previously thought was long dead and rotting in the grave screamed at me to run away . . . back to the “easy life”. (Ironically, my fingers just typed “easy lie” instead of “easy life”. So fitting.)
It was a time of reckoning. A time of accepting or denying a full surrender to God. A time of first realizing just what exactly is encompassed in a full surrender to God.
It was a time to fully face what was before me. The part that I had been subconsciously ignoring for so long without even realizing.
It was a time to consciously count the cost–once and for all.
The hard part of it all–the part which induced the wobbly legs, the ugly dead rotting thing rearing its head and screaming in my face, and the gasping for air–was this: I didn’t know exactly what I was reckoning. I didn’t know the details of what I was counting the cost for. I didn’t know specifics.
I like knowing specifics.
But I knew that it was time. I wanted so desperately to be ready and prepared for what was ahead of me, but not knowing was part of the deal.
I wrestled and I fought. I watched the previous misgivings melt away. I heard the voice of my Saviour telling me “Choose.”
It was in that moment that I realized that FULL SURRENDER to God meant exactly that. Full surrender. Surrender to the extent that I was surrendered even to the unknown–because I was surrendering the unknown to a known God.
I laid down my desires and dreams in that moment and said “Yes” to the Lord . . . an across-the-board “yes” to anything He might ask or require of me.
A life fully surrendered to God is not going to fight in the instance that God asks something of it–it will not sit there trying to decide whether or not it is going to move ahead in what God is asking of it. That happened back when you first surrendered and counted the cost.
A blanket “Yes.”
This is what the Lord was asking of me on this normal day. And in that moment, I fought and I wrestled. I counted the cost.
And then I reckoned. I reckoned it to be true that my God is a good God. My God is a faithful God. My God is a trustworthy God. My God is a worthy God. My God is a God of glory and majesty. Grace and mercy. My God is a God who demands everything from me–and then pours back out abundantly in return in ways that my little brain and heart can’t even comprehend or imagine. A God worthy of worship and adoration.
Yes, Jesus, yes.