Surrender
Kimberli Pelo Robison

A few weeks ago I spent a sunny summer morning at the park with some friends. We sat under the pine trees while our children played on the equipment near by. Conversation centered on the part of our lives that means the most to us, mothering. We admired the new babies in the group and commiserated over common difficulties.

One friend shared that she was unexpectedly pregnant. She expressed her trepidation at having a fourth child. I nodded and sympathized because I remembered feeling that way when I was expecting my fourth. When I had three children I felt like I pretty much had everything under control, but the prospect of a fourth was completely overwhelming to me.

During that time in my life I wrote about my worries in a letter to my family. My sister, Jennifer, who had five children herself, wrote back saying not to worry — that once you have four children you surrender. I was puzzled. Surrender? What did that mean? How do you surrender? Is it surrendering to insanity and chaos, depression and despair? No, it couldn't be that because she made it sound like it was a good thing to do.

Perhaps surrender means letting go of all the false expectations I have of myself. Maybe it means letting go of a little order to attain a little peace. It must mean looking myself in the eye and saying, "I can't do it all!" and meaning it. It probably means letting go of my teenage tendency to believe that everyone is watching me and measuring how I am doing at motherhood and womanhood.

Most importantly I’m sure it means turning over the command. You see, I sometimes get the notion that I will save my children. I will smooth the way and mark the path so that life would be a little better for them. It will be through my devotion and efforts that they will become all they are meant to be. It will be me. When they rise up and call me blessed I will be humble and gracious, but I will know I deserve every bit of praise.

It isn't that I planned on feeling this way; it's just how it has turned out. It’s that rotten old pride raising its head giving me the false sense that I am everything.

I have found since that day when Jen first mentioned surrender that I have had to return to the subject again and again in my heart. Each time it has come time for me to surrender my position, I'm just not sure how to do it. I keep telling myself that everything will be easier and better once I do, but my prideful heart still holds on to the hope that I can do it myself. I stand with "my head bloody, but unbowed" clutching the white flag at my side. I'm not ready to lift it; the battle is still my own. I don't know how to let go.

Facing Goliath

I was thinking about this surrendering yesterday and I thought of the story of David and Goliath. I was struck again by David's faith in God. He had no fear of the battle because he knew something the other men didn't. He knew that the battle wasn't theirs. He had been prepared throughout his life to do his part. He was skillful and had courage, but his greatest weapon was his faith in the One whose battle it truly was. He faced a giant without fear, simply knowing "the battle is the Lord's (1 Samuel 17:47)."

That is surrender. It is seeing Goliath standing above you and being fearless in the knowledge that you just have to do what you know how and the Lord will do the delivering.

Standing against the Multitude

Another story that parallels this one is of Jehosephat. He gets word that a “great multitude” is coming against the kingdom of Judah. He knows they can't face this army, but before he starts to prepare for battle, gather allies, or run he proclaims a fast throughout all of Judah.

On the day of the fast he stands among the people and seeks the Lord’s help for himself and his people. "O our God, wilt thou not judge them? for we have no might against this great company that cometh against us; neither know we what to do: but our eyes are upon thee (2 Chronicles 20:12)."

There is surrender. It is seeing a force coming against you that you know you can't handle and turning from it to set your eyes upon the Lord.

Here is what the Lord said to Jehosephat:

In faith, Jehosephat and his people dress for battle and go out to meet an innumerable host. When they arrive at the battle the enemy has already been destroyed and they don't have to raise a single sword. They never had to fight, but they were ready to do whatever the Lord asked. And He only asked that they show up with their battle faces on; then He did the fighting.

That is why life is easier after surrender. I just have to get up each day ready to face the battle only to find that it is already won.

Letting Go of Pride

This is all really about letting go of my pride. I have to give up going for Mother of the Year to become a mother in partnership with God. It means I have to quit competing with other mothers. I simply do all that I can, knowing that the battle really isn't mine anyway.

Does this mean I'll hate Mother's Day like so many others? Will I sit with all the other surrendered mothers knowing full well that I don't deserve any of the praise? I'll know that it isn't my doing. I'm really not much. I only showed up each day for the battle.

Yet, there must be sense of peace and confidence that goes along with that understanding. David had that confidence. It wasn't just self-confidence, but confidence in a power much greater than his. Confidence that amazing things can be accomplished in spite of our weakness, or maybe it’s because of them.

In final contrition, can I now let go of my pride? Can I fall to my knees, raise the white flag, and cry out, "I surrender! I surrender!"? I am certain there will be no whooping army before me now, just a quiet and strong hand to lift me up. There will be rejoicing — and not just from the one to whom I surrendered.

You see, now I can rest. We are partners and his "yoke is easy and (his) burden is light (Matthew 11:30)." Maybe “partner” really isn't the title that expresses the magnitude of my surrender. No, it is really that He is now the "Captain of my Soul" and the true Savior of my children.