A change of perspective on surrendering

For a long time, I misunderstood surrender. In the world, it feels like defeat—like laying down your weapons and giving up the fight. But I’ve come to realize that in the Kingdom, surrender isn’t about losing—it’s about gaining something far greater than what I was holding onto. It’s not about forfeiting life but stepping into the fullness of what God has for me. I don’t surrender because I’m forced to, but because I recognize that He alone holds the words of life.

I’ve had to learn that surrender means letting go of control—not as a prisoner, but as a beloved son who trusts the Father’s wisdom over my own understanding. I’ve had moments when I wanted to hold onto my own plans, my own timing, and my own way of doing things. But every time I surrendered, I found that what I had been clinging to was nothing compared to what God had prepared for me. It’s not a passive giving up—it’s an active choice to align my will with His.

Jesus showed me what real surrender looks like. I think about Him in the garden, sweating drops of blood, knowing what was ahead. Instead of running, He prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” That wasn’t weakness—that was trust. He knew that the suffering of the moment would lead to something greater. And that’s what I have to remind myself when surrender feels painful—God sees beyond what I can see.

Surrender in my life has looked like releasing offense instead of holding onto it. It has looked like choosing to love when my pride wanted to build walls. It has meant stepping into obedience when fear told me to stay where it’s comfortable. It has meant putting things on the altar, just like Abraham with Isaac, believing that God’s promises are bigger than the sacrifice. It has meant saying, “Let it be unto me according to Your word,” like Mary, even when I didn’t fully understand what it would cost me.

I’ve learned that surrender isn’t about God taking something from me—it’s about Him giving me something better. Every time I stop striving and start abiding, I find the peace, purpose, and provision I was looking for all along. In the Kingdom, real strength isn’t found in fighting for control—it’s found in trusting the King.

The more I surrender, the more I truly live.