If there’s a goal in front of me, I move toward it.

If there’s a problem in the way, I solve it.

If there’s something I want, I work for it, strategize for it, chase it, build it, force it into existence if I have to.

And for a long time, I wore that like a badge of honor.

But reflection has revealed something deeper beneath all that hustle, grit, and drive.

A lot of it started when I lost my dad.

I was ten years old.

Most little girls can count on a father to be there to protect, to provide, to lead, to make things happen.

We don’t get to choose the cards we’re handed in life…but that one was a blow that shaped more than just my childhood.

It shaped my wiring.

It planted an invisible belief that has followed me into adulthood like a shadow:

If I don’t make it happen, it won’t.

And that belief?

It can make you brave.

It can also make you tired.

The Faith I Claim… and the Trust I Struggle to Live

Here’s where it gets real.

I have faith in God.

I am a self-avowed person of faith.

And yet I’m challenged by the scripture (paraphrased) “He acts for those who wait for Him.” (Is. 64:4)

Which sounds beautiful and comforting and holy.

Except for one problem.

I am a terrible waiter.

Some people admire this about me.

They see an idea come into my mind and—boom—it becomes real, because I make it real.

And yes, that capability has created so much in my life.

But lately, I’ve been asking a question that makes me squirm a little: How many blessings have I missed because I refused to wait?

Because if I’m being honest, there are times I’m not actually waiting on God…

I’m sprinting ahead of Him.

The Humbling Truth About My Life’s Best Moments

When I slow down enough to tell the truth in my prayer chair, another truth meets me there:

So many of the blessings I enjoy today had nothing to do with my power, my hustle, my excellence, my planning, or my effort.

There have been moments of protection. Times I should’ve paid the price for foolishness or suffered the consequence of recklessness. So many occasions when I should’ve experienced the full impact of “my own doing.”

But instead?

There was grace.

Grace covering me.

Grace redirecting me.

Grace shielding me.

So one part of me knows I can trust.

But another part; the fear-based part - the part that still remembers being ten years old resists relinquishing control.

Because she learned early that control feels like safety.

When Blessings Trigger Fear

Here’s what I didn’t expect.

Sometimes the hardest moment to trust isn’t when life is falling apart.

Sometimes the hardest moment to trust is when life starts coming together.

A current blessing in my life is an answer to prayer.

And in so many ways, I should just be celebrating! Enjoying. Savoring.

Instead, I find myself staring into the future, obsessing over timelines and outcomes.

Wondering about happy endings.

Feeling vulnerable in the unknown.

And when I give into those fears, my instinct is intense:

Cut and run.

Sacrifice the blessing.

Walk away before it can hurt you.

Today, in my quiet time, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks:

“You’re more comfortable sacrificing than surrendering.”

Whew.

That one landed.

Because sacrifice is familiar.

But surrender?

Surrender requires something I’m not naturally skilled at:

Restraint.

A Shift in How I View the Virtue of Meekness

I found myself thinking today about the definition of meekness.

It's not the version of weakness we insult people with.

The real definition is far from weakness.

Meekness is restrained power.

Which is not exactly my brand!

I’m not meek or mild.

I often rise up like a lion to take what’s mine, protect what’s mine, secure what matters, and make sure I’m okay.

But then I remember “The meek shall inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

And meekness isn’t fragility.

Meekness is strength under control; power that could dominate, but instead chooses peace.

And I have to ask myself:

Isn’t this a virtue worth cultivating?

Isn’t it possible that surrender isn’t losing…

but maturing?

The Fork in the Road: Sacrifice or Surrender

Here’s what I know without a doubt. When I “vote” with sacrifice by abandoning something good out of fear, I may feel temporary relief. 

But it comes with a hefty price involving torment, angst, pressure, second-guessing, heaviness, and spiritual unrest.

When I vote with surrender because I decide to trust, here's what also shows up:

• peace
• ease
• calm
• steadiness

A quiet confidence I didn’t manufacture

The older I get, the more I want that kind of life.

Not just a life that looks impressive…

but a life that feels like freedom.

So now I’m sitting with a question I haven't asked in far too long:

Do I want peace more than I want what I want?

I don’t fully have the answer yet.

But I do know what the still small voice keeps saying.

Not once.

Not occasionally.

But persistently.

Surrender.

Maybe This Is What Healing Looks Like

Maybe surrender is the healing work of the little girl in me.

The one who lost her protector too soon.

The one who decided she’d never be caught helpless again.

The one who learned to perform strength so well, no one would ever see her fear.

Maybe surrender is how she learns she’s safe now.

Not because life is predictable.

Not because outcomes are guaranteed.

Not because I’ve controlled every variable.

But because God can be trusted.

Even here.

Even now.

Even when I don’t know how it ends.

A Closing Thought for the One Who Feels Like Me

If you’re reading this and you’re also a make it happen person.

If your strength was forged in loss; your independence born from disappointment, or if you learned to hold everything together because nobody else did…

...consider something tender and true:

Sacrifice is not always bravery.

Sometimes sacrifice is fear dressed up as control.

And surrender is not weakness.

Surrender is strength with open hands.

It’s breathing in the unknown and trusting you won’t be abandoned in it.

So today, I’m practicing restraint.

Not because I don’t have power.

But because I do.

And I’m learning to let peace lead.

Because when I surrender, I feel the shift:

Less pressure.

More presence.

Less striving.

More settling.

Less torment.

More trust.

And maybe that is the real blessing.