Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
LAMENTATIONS 1-2
JOURNAL
The image of Christ interceding for me is overwhelming. To think that he knows my failures, my fears, and the things I would rather hide, yet still stands for me, is difficult to fully comprehend. I spend so much energy trying to prove myself, account for my mistakes, and secure my future. Yet here is Christ offering a security I could never create through my own accomplishments. Before I accomplish anything today, I am already loved.
Perhaps this helps me understand being born again. Before birth, I depended on a provision and protection I could not even understand. Now I am learning to trust Christ with a life I cannot fully understand or control. His Spirit gives me power, love, and discipline to step into the world with a different understanding of why I am here. My purpose is to discover and experience God through how I live, with the freedom that comes from knowing my worth is already secure in him.
This new life does not remove struggle. Lamentations reminds me that faith includes nights when all I can do is pour out my heart before God. I can be afraid, disappointed, or uncertain and still come into his presence. Surrender begins with that honesty. I can admit how desperately I want something to happen, how much I fear losing it, and how little control I actually have. Then I can trust that God is present with me as the next moment unfolds.
If my ultimate future is secure in Christ, that changes the importance I give to earthly outcomes. Whether I am rich or poor matters far less than how I treat the people around me. Winning a championship matters, and I will work hard toward it, but the pursuit gives me daily opportunities to practice discipline, courage, love, and excellence. Those opportunities are available before the scoreboard ever tells me how the season ends. I do not have to wait for a particular result to live a meaningful life.
This is where the realization becomes practical. It comes down to the next six seconds. When a student interrupts me, how will I respond? When a player makes the same mistake again, how will I teach him? When anxiety starts building over money, the future, or whether something I am working on will succeed, can I recognize it and return to what is actually in front of me? Each moment gives me somewhere to practice the trust I say I have.
I can prepare, plan, work, and give my best. Surrender asks me to release the demand that all of that must produce the ending I have imagined. Jesus in Gethsemane shows me how honestly I can bring my desires to God and still yield my will to him. I can care deeply about what happens and remain willing to follow when the path unfolds differently than I hoped.
The next six seconds are an opportunity to do that. I can choose patience over irritation, honesty over protecting my image, curiosity over the need to already know, and love over the desire to be right. When I fail, I can acknowledge it, make what repairs I can, and begin again. Christ’s intercession gives me the courage to face my failures without allowing them to become the final word about who I am.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” I do not need to see the entire road to walk it faithfully. There is room for discovery, surprise, difficulty, and joy along the way. Deep roots can sustain me through seasons when there is little visible evidence of growth. God can be at work while I am still wondering where all of this is leading.
Today, I want to remember that my life is happening in these ordinary moments. I can discover God in a classroom, a conversation, a difficult task, or an unexpected interruption. I can bring effort, discipline, love, and attention to what he has placed before me, then leave the outcome in his hands. The next six seconds are enough to begin.