Thoughts of a Mother Still Healing

Learning to surrender, choosing joy, and trusting the Father who never leaves.

There is something I've been learning lately, something I wish I had understood a little sooner.

I don't have to wait until my life is perfect to experience peace. I don't have to wait until my health is better, my finances are stable, my marriage is easy, or my children are all doing well to choose joy.

I can choose to trust God right here, in the middle of it all.

Not because everything is okay. Not because I have all the answers. And certainly not because I have somehow mastered this thing called faith.

But because I'm learning that God is still God, even when my circumstances feel uncertain.

As a mother, a wife, and a woman who is still healing, there are so many things I want to fix. I want to protect my children from pain. I want to see my husband and me grow stronger in our marriage. I want my health to improve, our finances to stabilize, and our home to be a place where peace outweighs the worries of this world.

I want to know that everything is going to be okay.

And if I'm honest, sometimes I want to know exactly how God is going to make it okay before I'm willing to let go.

But that's not always how trust works, is it?

Sometimes trusting God means choosing to believe in His goodness before I can see what He's doing. Sometimes it means celebrating the little victories, even when the big things haven't changed yet.

Sometimes the victory is simply getting through a difficult day without allowing it to steal all of my joy.

Sometimes it's choosing to pray instead of panic, choosing gratitude instead of dwelling on everything I lack, or choosing to believe that God is working even when I cannot see the evidence of it yet.

And sometimes the victory is much quieter than that.

Sometimes it's just opening my hands and saying, "God, I can't carry this anymore. I'm giving it back to You."

And then learning how to leave it there.

The things I keep taking back

The more I try to fully surrender to God's will, the more I realize that surrender isn't necessarily a one-time thing.

Maybe for some people it feels that way. Maybe they pray, give something to God, and walk away feeling completely free of it.

But I know myself.

I can pray about something in the morning, tell God I'm trusting Him with it, and then find myself worrying about it again before lunchtime. I can give Him my fears about my health, only to start searching for answers and imagining every possible outcome a few hours later. I can surrender my marriage, my finances, and my children's futures, only to find myself trying to figure out how to control every detail again.

It's almost as if I hand God a problem and then, five minutes later, quietly reach over and take it back.

"Actually, God, I think I might be able to figure this one out."

And before I know it, I'm carrying the same weight I just asked Him to take.

I'm learning that for me, surrender is a daily decision. Sometimes it's a moment-by-moment decision.

It's recognizing when I've started carrying something that I already prayed about and choosing to give it back to Him again.

I wonder if, as I continue to surrender and invite the Holy Spirit to fill me, I'll begin to recognize those moments sooner. Perhaps I'll become quicker to turn to God instead of immediately turning to my own fear, my own understanding, and my own attempts to fix everything.

I'm still learning.

But one thing I am beginning to understand is this: I was never meant to be my own savior.

I can make responsible decisions. I can work toward solutions. I can seek medical care, work on my marriage, manage my finances, and show up for my children. Trusting God doesn't mean doing nothing and expecting life to magically fall into place.

It means recognizing that, ultimately, I am not in control of everything.

And whatever I can accomplish on my own, God can see beyond what I can see. His wisdom is greater than mine. His understanding reaches beyond the little piece of the story I can see from where I'm standing.

I want to learn to trust Him with the parts I cannot fix.

Not because I have stopped caring, but because I am learning that caring about something and controlling it are two very different things.

Sometimes you need to physically let go

I've heard people say, "Just give it all to God."

I've heard, "Just let it go."

And for a long time, if I'm honest, my response was something along the lines of, Sure. I've already tried that. Thanks. It didn't work.

I wanted to trust God. I wanted to surrender. I wanted to stop worrying about everything.

But I didn't always understand what it actually meant to let go of something I couldn't stop thinking about.

Then someone shared an illustration that made a little more sense to me.

He pointed to a cup sitting in a cup holder.

"See that cup right there? Pick it up."

So I picked it up.

"Okay. Now you're holding the cup, right?"

"Yes."

"All right. Put it down. Put it back in the cup holder."

So I put the cup back.

And he said, "There. You just put it down. You let it go."

It was such a simple thing, but the illustration stayed with me.

Sometimes we hold on to things because we don't know how to release them. We grip them tightly, turn them over in our minds, replay conversations, worry about tomorrow, and try to figure out how to fix things that may not even be ours to fix.

And just when we think we've finally put something down, we reach over and pick it right back up.

Whenever I would start taking everything back again, he would point it out and say, "There you go again! Drowning yourself with your own water cup!"

And honestly, isn't that what we sometimes do?

We carry our own worries, fears, and burdens until we're overwhelmed by the very things we're struggling so hard to hold on to. We ask God to take them from us, only to pick them back up moments later and start trying to manage them all over again.

Then someone tells us, "Just let it go," or "Give it to God," and we think, I've tried that already. If only it were that easy.

But maybe part of the lesson is learning to recognize when we've picked the cup back up.

Maybe surrender isn't about never feeling worried again. Maybe it's about noticing when we have started carrying something we already gave to God and choosing to put it down again.

And when we find ourselves reaching for it tomorrow, we can choose to put it down again then, too.

Because the cup isn't going to release itself. At some point, we have to open our hands.

And perhaps that's what God is teaching me: I can acknowledge what's weighing on my heart without allowing it to consume me. I can take responsibility for the things I need to do without trying to control every outcome. I can pray about my worries, take the next step He places before me, and trust Him with the things I cannot change.

I don't have to keep drowning myself with the same cup I've already been invited to put down.

Sometimes, I just need to remember to let go.

What if, sometimes, we need a physical reminder of what we're trying to do spiritually?

I have a friend who will literally hold out her hands as though she is cupping all the things weighing on her heart. She pictures the worries, fears, responsibilities, and pain resting in her hands. Then she lifts her hands toward God and imagines placing those things into His hands instead.

She visualizes the weight being lifted from her own hands.

Then she asks God to fill her with the Holy Spirit and with the peace that surpasses all understanding.

I love that.

Not because moving our hands is some magical formula, but because sometimes a physical action helps us process what our hearts are struggling to understand.

Maybe we need to see ourselves opening our hands to remember that we don't have to keep gripping everything so tightly.

Maybe we need to pause, take a breath, and physically release our clenched fists as we pray.

Maybe we need to name the things we're carrying, one by one, and consciously place them before God.

"My health, Lord. I give You my health."

"My finances. I give You my worries about how we're going to make it."

"My marriage. I give You the things I cannot control about my husband or our future."

"My children. I give You my fears for them, my desire to protect them, and the things I cannot do on their behalf."

And then, when I catch myself picking those things back up tomorrow, I can do it again.

And again.

And again.

Because surrender isn't about performing the perfect prayer. It's about continually choosing to trust the One to whom we're surrendering.

The beautiful thing about free will

It wasn't until later, during a conversation about free will, that something else finally clicked for me.

God created us with the ability to choose.

He could have made us incapable of turning away from Him. But He gave us the ability to make choices, including the choice to love Him, to seek Him, and to come to Him willingly.

Love that is freely given is different from love that is forced.

God invites us into a relationship with Him. He calls us to trust Him, to follow Him, and to surrender our lives to Him. But He doesn't force us to seek Him.

We can choose to ignore Him. We can choose to believe that we have to figure everything out ourselves. We can try to carry the weight of the world on our own shoulders.

Or we can choose to turn toward Him and say, "God, I need You. I don't know what to do with all of this, but I want You in the middle of it."

We can ask Him to take the painful things in our lives and work through them for good.

We can ask Him to show us the purpose He has for us, even when we cannot yet understand what that purpose might be.

And we can choose to trust that our circumstances do not have the final say over who God is or who we are in Christ.

That doesn't mean everything will suddenly become easy once we choose Him. It doesn't mean every prayer will be answered the way we hoped or that every painful situation will disappear.

Faith isn't a guarantee that life will unfold according to our plans.

It's a decision to place our lives in the hands of the One we believe is faithful, even when we don't understand His plans.

And that's the kind of faith I want to grow in.

Not a faith that only exists when things are going well, but a faith that keeps turning toward God in the middle of the uncertainty.

"Father, help me."

One day, I overheard a story on the radio that has stayed with me.

A father was talking about attending a father-daughter camp. One of the activities involved blindfolding the daughters and having their fathers guide them through an unfamiliar area filled with trees, brush, and obstacles.

The fathers had an important job before the exercise even began.

They had to reassure their daughters that they would help guide them through to the other side. They were to tell them that if they needed help, all they had to do was ask. They were to listen for their father's voice and remember that he would not leave them.

The father in the story repeated those promises to his daughter before they began.

He would guide her. He would help her. He would be there if she needed him.

Then the exercise started.

As the daughter made her way through the obstacles, the father stopped speaking. Someone signaled him to step away from her, and he watched as she continued forward, uncertain and frustrated.

He was still there, watching her.

But he waited.

Finally, the daughter called out, "Father, help me!"

And immediately, he came to her side and guided her through to the other side.

When I heard that story, I thought about our Heavenly Father.

How often do we find ourselves walking through unfamiliar territory, unable to see what lies ahead?

How often do we become frustrated, overwhelmed, and afraid because we cannot understand where we're going or how we're supposed to get there?

How often do we keep walking, struggling to figure everything out, trying to find our own way through the darkness?

And how often do we forget that we can call out to our Father?

I don't believe every difficult season means God has stepped away or that He is waiting for us to say the perfect words before He helps us. I believe Scripture assures us of His presence, even when we cannot feel it.

But that story reminded me of something beautiful: we can choose to call out to Him.

"Father, help me."

Four simple words.

Not a perfectly worded prayer. Not an explanation of why I deserve help. Not a promise that I'll never struggle again.

Just an acknowledgment that I need Him.

Sometimes, that's where surrender begins.

I don't have to understand the entire path. I don't have to see every obstacle before I take the next step. I don't have to pretend I'm not frightened.

I can listen for His voice through His Word, seek Him in prayer, and ask Him to guide my next step.

I can trust that my Father has not abandoned me simply because I cannot see the way forward.

And when I need help, I can ask.

Choosing joy in the middle of it all

Something else I'm learning is that I have choices even when I don't have control over my circumstances.

I may not be able to choose whether my body struggles with pain, but I can choose to seek the care I need and ask God to help me through it.

I may not be able to control our financial situation overnight, but I can take the next responsible step while asking God for wisdom and provision.

I cannot control every choice my husband makes, but I can choose how I respond, what boundaries I need, and how I invite God into the work of healing our marriage.

I cannot protect my children from every disappointment or hardship, but I can love them, pray for them, show up for them, and trust God with the parts of their lives I cannot control.

And I can choose to notice the little victories along the way.

The moments when I laugh with my children.

The mornings when I wake up and find something to be grateful for.

The days when I feel a little stronger.

The conversations that bring understanding.

The prayers that help me release what I've been carrying.

The moments when I catch myself spiraling into fear and remember to turn toward God instead.

Those victories matter, too.

Choosing joy doesn't mean denying sadness. Choosing peace doesn't mean pretending nothing is wrong. And trusting God doesn't mean I never feel anxious or overwhelmed.

It means I am learning not to let those feelings have the final say.

There will be days when I have to choose joy through tears. There will be moments when peace feels far away, and I have to stop and ask God to help me find my way back to Him.

There will be times when I choose to surrender something and find myself holding it again before the day is over.

But I can choose again.

I can choose to remember what is true about God, even when my feelings are telling me something different.

I can choose to forgive because He has forgiven me. I can choose to step away from shame and remember who I am in Christ. I can choose to stop listening to the lies that tell me I am forgotten, unworthy, or beyond restoration, and instead turn toward the truth of God's Word.

I am His daughter.

I am loved.

I am not required to have every answer before I can come to Him.

And I do not have to carry everything alone.

Still healing, still choosing Him

I am a mother who is still healing.

I am a wife who is still learning.

I am a woman who is still discovering what it means to surrender control and trust God with the things I cannot fix.

I don't have this figured out. I still worry. I still get overwhelmed. I still have moments when I want to take everything back into my own hands because trusting someone else with the outcome feels frightening.

But I am learning to recognize those moments for what they are.

An opportunity to choose again.

To open my hands.

To pray.

To ask for help.

To invite the Holy Spirit to fill me with His presence and guide my heart toward His peace.

And to remember that I am not the one responsible for holding the entire world together.

God is God, and I am not.

There is freedom in admitting that.

I don't have to know how every situation will work out. I don't have to see the entire road ahead. I don't have to be strong enough to carry everything life places in front of me.

I can take the next step with God and trust Him with what comes after it.

Because the God I serve is a God of kept promises, restoration, forgiveness, and hope. He is the God who can bring good from what was meant for harm, who can restore what has been broken, and who reminds us that what seems impossible to us is not impossible for Him.

That doesn't mean I get to dictate what restoration will look like or when it will happen.

It means I can trust His character while I wait to understand His ways.

And when the enemy whispers lies about who I am, I can choose to return to the truth of who God says I am.

When shame tells me to hide, I can choose to come before Him.

When fear tells me I must control everything, I can choose to open my hands.

When sadness tells me there is nothing to be grateful for, I can choose to look for the little victories.

And when I feel lost, I can call out to my Father.

"Father, help me."

He is the One I want at the center of my life, my marriage, my motherhood, my healing, and my future.

Not because choosing Him makes life perfect, but because I believe He is where I belong.

So today, I am choosing Him again.

Tomorrow, I may have to make that choice again.

And the day after that, too.

I am choosing to trust Him with my health, my finances, my husband, my children, and all the things I cannot control.

I am choosing to look for the little victories.

I am choosing joy and peace, even while I am still learning how to receive them.

I am choosing to surrender, even when I know I may have to open my hands again.

And I am choosing to believe that the woman I am becoming is not defined by how perfectly she handles every difficult season, but by the grace that meets her in the middle of it.

Maybe this is what healing looks like for me right now.

Not having everything figured out.

Not getting it right every time.

But learning to stop, recognize what I'm carrying, and choose to place it back in the hands of my Father.

One prayer at a time.

One open hand at a time.

One little victory at a time.

I am still healing.

I am still learning.

I am still becoming.

And today, I choose Him.

A prayer for the days when letting go feels hard

Father, help me recognize the things I am trying to carry on my own. Teach me to open my hands and trust You with what I cannot control. When I find myself reaching for those burdens again, remind me that I can return to You without shame. Fill me with Your Holy Spirit, guide my choices, and help me recognize the little victories even in difficult seasons. Teach me to choose joy without denying my pain, peace without pretending everything is perfect, and faith even when I cannot see the way forward. Help me remember that I am Your daughter, that Your grace is sufficient, and that I never have to walk through this life without turning toward You. In Jesus' holy name, amen.

-Megan