The Path of Surrender

God has led me down the path of surrender this summer. Yet again.

The beauty of traveling this road is that I never walk it alone.
The Master is always before me to show the way, beside me to encourage, behind me to push a bit,
above me to protect.
His love for me runs so deep
that I cannot fathom it.
It overwhelms me.
His river of life – now running
like a torrent
that threatens
to sweep me away with its power,
now as a babbling brook that whispers, igniting my senses –
is constant,
never leaving
me dry.
I may wander off at times, but my God is a jealous pursuer.

Surrender. Yes.

It’s that place I so often find myself called to these days, as I sit before Him. Just when I think that its well has been sufficiently dredged, I find Him beckoning me once again. “Let’s dig this a little deeper,” He whispers, as He envelopes me in His love.

And there, in my Lord’s presence, I am undone. How can I say no to the One who breathes new life into my nostrils with each dawning day? The Father who ordered my steps long before I was even a dream in my parents’ heart (or maybe a surprise, already in the womb)?

Over the past years, He has asked me many questions, and each inquiry implores much more than a simple reply.

Would you lay down your life for me? Allow your husband to die for me?
Lose your children for the sake of my Kingdom? 

Would you abandon all that is now your normal life – to go, to do my bidding – whatever that might be?

Each requisition has been met with much meditation on my part.
Quieting of the mind. Searching of the heart. Baring of the soul.
Wrestling with my own desires.

And then surrender. Yes.

How could I respond with anything less?
His plans for me are good. He desires for me to prosper. His path holds no harm for me.
It brims with hope. It gives me a future.
It is life itself.

A few days ago, Denny and I had an interesting experience. In the mid-afternoon, while folding laundry upstairs, through our back window I noticed heavy, billowing smoke rising in the distance. Behind our house, there are about ten kilometers (just over six miles) of pine forest that run to the ocean, with a few houses scattered in between. The woods were clearly on fire.

We watched with interest and then concern, as the wind picked up, blowing the blaze in the direction of our house. The sound of sirens filled the air, while fire helicopters began to invade the sky, dumping massive buckets of water from the nearby Atlantic on the angry flames. Our upper balcony gave us the perfect vantage point, and it all felt surreal.

Not being prone to panic, we observed, monitoring the wildfire’s progress carefully. Denny videoed and took photos. We prayed and rallied our praying friends and family through social media, crying out to Jesus to rebuke the wind, as in Mark 4:39:

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,
“Quiet! Be still!”
Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

 

We implored our God to stop the advance of the fire, as it continued to make its way towards our property.

The wind died down, but the flames were already fairly close to our home. We decided it would be best to make preparations, should we need to evacuate. I moved from room to room of our house, scanning the contents to decide what I wanted to take with me should we have to flee – should all the rest be consumed in the rogue.

In reality, I was pleased to discover that there wasn’t much I felt I needed. A few handmade gifts from our kids or friends, that held special meaning, some photos, the delicious goodies we’d recently brought back from Italy.

I realized that, at the end of the day, I would have been fine with leaving almost all of it behind – to have piled into our motorhome with Denny and our dogs, and those few things we need to survive, firing up our old Fiat Punto to take along, as well.

We loaded a few boxes and some food into our home on wheels, pulled the car out our front gate, and felt we’d be ready to leave, if necessary.

In my heart, there was a certain excitement, as well. I said, “God, here we are. You gave us this house and land to rent; this motorhome, this car to own. It’s all yours. If you still want us here, as we believe you do, stop this fire now. But if this is your way of showing us that our time in this place is up, then so be it. I’m ready to go where you want us to go; to do what you want us to do, wherever you desire.”

The advance of the wildfire was halted four hours after it began, within a few kilometers  (just a couple miles) of our yard. It took 165 firefighters – to whom we’re very grateful, 45 fire vehicles on the ground, and four fire helicopters, to dominate it. But none could have stopped it, had it not been the desire of our God. He is Lord of all the elements – of the earth and the sky.

Surrender. Yes.

As I reflect on these last days, I know I will continue to choose it. It’s a narrow path, which few care (or dare) to travel – often treacherous, seldom simple. I am well aware that the grooves in the compact dirt that delineate it have been left by those who’ve gone before me – testimonies of how worthy our God is that we should renounce all that we consider our own for the sake of His Kingdom.

O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!
I can never escape from your Spirit! I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there; if I go down to the grave, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night
but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day. Darkness and light are the same to you.
You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them;
they outnumber the grains of sand!
And when I wake up, you are still with me!
– Psalm 139:1-18