There is a sacred turning point in every believer’s journey—a quiet moment when faith finally unclenches its fists. What once felt like loss begins to sound like liberty. Surrender isn’t weakness; it’s the moment heaven trades my exhaustion for His strength. It is the holy courage to stop managing what I was never meant to control and to trust the Father who governs both the plan and the timing. The instant I release my grip, peace flows in like breath after drowning—sudden, deep, and undeserved. True surrender is not about defeat; it is about devotion. It is not bowing to circumstance but believing in the character of God. Yielding doesn’t mean I’ve quit—it means I’ve confessed that His wisdom is greater than my will. Freedom begins the moment I stop rehearsing outcomes and start resting in sovereignty. In Gethsemane, Jesus showed us that victory doesn’t always roar—it sometimes whispers. He didn’t escape the cup; He embraced it. That garden became the turning point of redemption because the Son of God chose submission over resistance. Every “nevertheless” whispered in our own night seasons echoes His—an altar where divine strength meets trembling humanity. God may not take away the cup, but He never withholds the grace to drink it. Surrender is the purest form of warfare. It breaks the back of pride and silences the noise of fear. The self-life cannot rule where trust is reigning. When pride bows, grace stands tall; when my striving ceases, God begins to move. What looked like loss from earth’s view becomes resurrection from heaven’s. The grave of self-will is always the birthplace of divine power. Every tear that falls in surrender waters a seed of faith that will not be moved. The highest worship is not the shout of victory but the whisper of trust—“Lord, I still choose You here.” That is the melody that shakes hell and heals hearts. When I stop measuring results and start magnifying obedience, I find a peace that rules instead of reason that wrestles. The strong are not those who win against God’s will, but those who let His will win in them. Surrender is not the end of the story—it’s the opening scene of resurrection. What feels like burial today may be the planting of something eternal. When I bow low, God rises high. When I release, He reigns. And the altar—yes, the altar—becomes the battlefield where my will dies, His will lives, and freedom begins to sing.

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Two Scripts: Mine or His

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”Proverbs 3:5–6

My Script: Control Disguised as Faith

God has authored a path for me that threads through doors I would never choose and timings I would never schedule. My understanding writes a script of fairness and speed; His wisdom writes a story of formation and fruit. I often say I want His will, but truthfully, I want His will to fit my outline. When life edits my expectations, I grasp for control instead of grace. But my version of the story usually leaves no room for growth—only comfort. God’s version, however, stretches me in the direction of faith. My “why now?” becomes His “watch this.” The detours I despise are often the classrooms where faith learns its alphabet: wait, obey, rejoice. He is not just the God of destinations—He is the God of drafts, rewrites, and redemptions.

His Script: The Story I Would Never Write but Always Need

When I lean on my understanding, I shrink my world to what I can see; when I trust with all my heart, I enter a world guided by a Hand I cannot see. My story makes sense only from the Author’s vantage point. The chapters that begin with confusion often end with clarity when I read them in hindsight. The cross looked like the wrong script until resurrection revealed the plot. What felt like a rejection was really a redirection. What looked like a delay was a divine appointment preparing the next scene. Surrender doesn’t erase my story; it redeems it. His quill writes purpose into pain, beauty into brokenness, and triumph into tragedy. Every comma of waiting, every period of silence, every question mark of doubt—all become part of a masterpiece that declares His wisdom.

Choosing the Right Author

If I keep editing God, I will forfeit the ending only He can write. My heart must choose which script to follow: mine, which demands explanation, or His, which requires trust. His script doesn’t always read smoothly, but it always ends faithfully. The ink of His promises never fades; the paper of His providence never tears. When I acknowledge Him in all my ways—even the ones that ache—He aligns my path to His purpose. I may not understand the next line, but I can trust the Author’s pen. Today I surrender my drafts and sign my name beneath His words: “Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done.”

Heart Check

  1. Where am I leaning hardest on my own understanding?
  2. Which recent “detour” might actually be a divine appointment in disguise?
  3. What would trusting God with all my heart change about this week’s decisions?

Prayer: Author of my life, I acknowledge You in every way—wanted and unwanted. Straighten what I cannot see and steady what I cannot manage. Erase my anxious edits and replace them with Your peace. Write redemption into my chapters, and let the story of my life point to You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Challenge: Identify one decision you’ve been scripting alone. Invite God into it: pray before planning, seek Scripture before deciding, and surrender the timeline before acting. Then watch how His pen turns your pause into purpose.

Amanda Elliott

Betty Hammock

Brando Echarte

Cheryl Knight’s Brother

Danny Jarrard   

Debbie Foskey – Surgery November 24th 

Don Franklin’s Daughter, Darlene – Hallelujah Report

George & Linda Alexander 

Jessica Headrick  

Sheila Simmons

Jean Partee’s Sister

Kathryn Rains 

Deon Lotter

Doris Loyd

Nancy Brown

Amy Garner’s Dad

Annette Ford

Andrea Nix– Friend of the Shelnutt’s

Angela Bryan’s Sister

Ann Stanley  

Carol Lawhead – Park Place Rehab in Monroe

Darlene Wiggins

Doris Loyd

Dr. and Mrs. Davis

Eric Magnusson’s Mother

Eric Ward

Friend of Linda Hodge

Gayle Sparks

James Burnette

John McClain’s Mother

June Cronan’s Sister

June Davis

Kailey Bateman

Kathryn Raines

Kim McClain’s Mother 

Kim’s Sisters – Ann & Brenda 

Lee Cronan

Lillianna Magnusson’s Mom

Lonzo Christian 

Lori Blount’s Mother

Mary Williams

Mary Williamson – Dana Jackson’s Mom

Mrs. Franklin 

Nora Allison

Ron And Johnnie Barry – Friends Of Ashton & Glenda Bateman

Rose Fuller – Pruitt-Monroe Nursing Home, Forsyth GA

Scott Lanier 

Scotty Nix

Stephanie Seivers – Friend of the Shellnutts

Steve Michaels

Tom Witcher