The full acting out of the self's surrender to God therefore demands pain: this action, to be perfect, must be done from the pure will to obey in the absence, or in the teeth, of inclination. How impossible it is to enact the surrender of the self by doing what we like...”
JOURNAL
Today becomes less intimidating when I stop trying to live an entire lifetime at once and instead receive it as an offering, like the one God asked of Israel, given not under pressure but from a heart that is willing. The future stretches far beyond my sight and that is exactly where it belongs, held by God and not by me. What rests in my hands is this single day, this chance to answer the quiet invitation to live truthfully, love generously, and walk in obedience even when it cuts against my comfort.
C.S. Lewis wrote that true surrender to God must sometimes be done in the absence of inclination, even in defiance of it. That exposes how shallow my idea of surrender can be when it is tied only to what feels good or natural. Real obedience may ache. It may look like clearing the tables in my own heart the way Jesus cleared the temple, overturning the places where fear, pride, and self protection have set up profitable little markets. Yet what follows that upheaval is healing and praise. The lame walk, the blind see, and children sing. When what is false is driven out, what is whole is welcomed in.
The temple scene feels like a vision of what a single day can become when it is surrendered. Not a marketplace of anxieties about thirty or forty imagined years, but a house of prayer, alive with restoration and joy. That kind of day is not created by long range control but by present obedience. God asked for offerings from those whose hearts prompted them to give. He still does. The gift is not my projected future. The gift is my willing today.
When I ask what I am aspiring to create, the answer cannot be a distant, polished version of my life that I am trying to force into existence. It must be this day lived fully before God. Jesus had a mission, but he also walked step by step in trust of the Father. Moses built the tabernacle according to a pattern shown to him, piece by piece, not all at once. The path of faith is always walked in present tense. Without a burning yes to today, I drift into comfort and avoidance. With it, even small acts become holy work.
Failures and disappointments try to convince me that my best days are behind me or too far ahead to matter now. Christ’s cleansing of the temple stands against that lie. It is a wakeup call that hope is not stored in some future rescue but activated in present surrender. Each day can be epic in its authenticity when I choose truth over hiding, love over withdrawal, courage over ease.
Working with all my heart as unto the Lord does not require certainty about tomorrow. It requires faithfulness right now. Tomorrow is surrendered to God. Today is entrusted to me. In that trust there is surprising freedom to create, to confront what must be confronted, to rejoice like the children in the courts, and to obey even when obedience costs something.
A lifetime may feel impossible, but a day offered freely is not. When this day is lived as prayer, as offering, as honest service to Christ, it is enough. And somehow, in God’s hands, a string of surrendered todays becomes the very future I was never meant to control.
Today becomes less intimidating when I stop trying to live an entire lifetime at once and instead receive it as an offering, like the one God asked of Israel, given not under pressure but from a heart that is willing. The future stretches far beyond my sight and that is exactly where it belongs, held by God and not by me. What rests in my hands is this single day, this chance to answer the quiet invitation to live truthfully, love generously, and walk in obedience even when it cuts against my comfort.
C.S. Lewis wrote that true surrender to God must sometimes be done in the absence of inclination, even in defiance of it. That exposes how shallow my idea of surrender can be when it is tied only to what feels good or natural. Real obedience may ache. It may look like clearing the tables in my own heart the way Jesus cleared the temple, overturning the places where fear, pride, and self protection have set up profitable little markets. Yet what follows that upheaval is healing and praise. The lame walk, the blind see, and children sing. When what is false is driven out, what is whole is welcomed in.
The temple scene feels like a vision of what a single day can become when it is surrendered. Not a marketplace of anxieties about thirty or forty imagined years, but a house of prayer, alive with restoration and joy. That kind of day is not created by long range control but by present obedience. God asked for offerings from those whose hearts prompted them to give. He still does. The gift is not my projected future. The gift is my willing today.
When I ask what I am aspiring to create, the answer cannot be a distant, polished version of my life that I am trying to force into existence. It must be this day lived fully before God. Jesus had a mission, but he also walked step by step in trust of the Father. Moses built the tabernacle according to a pattern shown to him, piece by piece, not all at once. The path of faith is always walked in present tense. Without a burning yes to today, I drift into comfort and avoidance. With it, even small acts become holy work.
Failures and disappointments try to convince me that my best days are behind me or too far ahead to matter now. Christ’s cleansing of the temple stands against that lie. It is a wakeup call that hope is not stored in some future rescue but activated in present surrender. Each day can be epic in its authenticity when I choose truth over hiding, love over withdrawal, courage over ease.
Working with all my heart as unto the Lord does not require certainty about tomorrow. It requires faithfulness right now. Tomorrow is surrendered to God. Today is entrusted to me. In that trust there is surprising freedom to create, to confront what must be confronted, to rejoice like the children in the courts, and to obey even when obedience costs something.
A lifetime may feel impossible, but a day offered freely is not. When this day is lived as prayer, as offering, as honest service to Christ, it is enough. And somehow, in God’s hands, a string of surrendered todays becomes the very future I was never meant to control.
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