The rope strains as it’s pulled tight on either side. A ribbon in the middle shows the progress of one side against the other – back and forth, back and forth. Lingering on one side for a bit longer, then yanked back in the other direction. On and on the game goes. No one seems to win.
I’m often engaged in this endless game of tug-of-war, a war between what I should do and what I want to do.
Living with open hands has never been easy for me. I want to hold tight – to my “stuff,” to my kids, to my home, to my comfort, even to my burdens and my problems. I want to fix things myself. Sometimes my attitude can be easily summed up in a favorite vocabulary word of a two-year-old: “Mine.”
But then there are those moments when the light clicks on and I realize it’s not mine. It’s all God’s. And the problems and burdens? I don’t need to carry them or try to fix them myself either, because God doesn’t need my help. He’s waiting for me to release my white-knuckled grip, wanting me to grasp for His strength instead of my own.
The freedom that comes from realizing this is nothing short of amazing. I wish I could say that I feel this freedom all the time. But most of the time, I’m still learning to let go, constantly reminding myself to release to God what was really His in the first place. Learning to go to Him with my worries and problems, instead of freaking out first and remembering to pray after all else fails.
This is an entry for Five Minute Friday. Every Friday hundreds of writers join in this five minute writing exercise at Lisa-Jo Baker's blog, Tales from a Gypsy Mama.