Because I wanted to be Jesus.
Not God, not the name above every other name. But I wanted to do what He could do. I wanted to fix people. I wanted to bring healing. I wanted to orchestrate lives together.
The hard part was this gift he has given me; the gift of feeling. I feel it all so deeply. I feel the pain of my friends, the struggle of my family, the heartache of those around me.
With that gift, I wanted to bring change.
But I am not Jesus.
I remember the first time I realized I had this gift and I wanted to throw it away immediately. I was in Nicaragua. I had worn myself out in the day playing in a trash dump with children. We handed them food and there wasn't enough. They told us to be careful in the dump, but I got down in the trash with this sweet little girl and I held her. My Spanish was borderline nonexistent. I had nothing to offer her but a sandwich and the willingness to sit in the trash with her. I decided to make her smile. It was my goal.
But that night, as we sang to Jesus, something in me broke. I cried and I cried because this little girl was never going to hear about Jesus from me. I was a temporary fix for a lifelong problem. She was sitting in that trash and I would leave to my safe bed. She was playing in that trash with dirt smeared on her face and I would shower. She was stuck there and I had freedom.
Jesus, how is this fair? I cried for her because I felt her pain. I felt the pain that she would experience growing up in nothing.
I wanted to be Jesus.
Because my heart felt like He didn't do something. Was He going to do anything for this sweet girl who desperately needed love, who desperately needed to hear Jesus? And that was the first time I felt someone else's pain. And since then, I've entered this world where I feel so deeply and I am to give it to Jesus and pray for these people. But sometimes, I just don't want it. I don't want it because I don't pray. I don't want it because I try to be the doctor of these wounds, the author that writes happily ever afters into these stories.
His voice is clear, he whispers surrender. Surrender. Jesus, really? You know it's easier to hold this. How do I surrender when these gifts I have I sometimes don't want? How do I surrender when these dreams I have were not what I first started dreaming of? He says to let go of the old me. But the old me was me. It was everything I knew. Everything that made sense.
He's a God that doesn't make sense. And His plan is far more marvelous than mine could ever be.
I am not Jesus.
Jesus is asking for far more than I ever wanted to give. But he has given me everything, how can I not give him all of me? I was nothing, and now I am his. I have belonging. He has called me by name and written it on the palm of His hand. The gifts he has given me are good. The life he has given me is His.
So I surrender.
I surrender to this Jesus who has given me everything, who has wrapped me in his loving arms and held me close, who has promised good out of terrible things, who has turned sorrow into joy and tragedy into a garden. I am not Jesus and that is good. I don't want to be Jesus, I just want to take these gifts he has given me to learn to be like him. So that in my weakness, he can be known. In my chaos, calm will be seen. In my fears, peace will overflow. In my broken, testimony will be heard.
So I release these fingers that are tightly wound around this life. The good, the bad, the gifts, the talents, the passions, the joys, the sorrows, the material things, my thoughts, and feelings. Everything. I release everything to Him because He is the Giver of every good and perfect gift and what He takes He can restore infinitely. I give it all to Him because He surrendered first, he laid down His life first. He gave Himself first.
So I surrender, just like Jesus.
Psalm 31:5, 19
Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.
Oh, how abundant is your goodness, which you have stored up for those who fear you and worked for those who take refuge in you.
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