Why Surrendering to God Still Feels Impossible After 29 Years of Faith

I just passed the 29th anniversary of being a Christian. Twenty-nine years. That’s long enough for a kid to be born, grow up, graduate college, and start complaining about back pain. You’d think by now I’d be walking around like a spiritual Jedi, glowing with surrender and radiating peace like I’m the cover model for the Book of Psalms.

Spoiler: nope.

The truth? After nearly three decades of following Jesus, one of the biggest things I still wrestle with is surrendering to God’s will.

And funny enough, this isn’t just some random thought – I ran headfirst into it again today. It was in my Bible study notes, plain as day: “Surrender to God.” And then, because apparently God wanted to drive the point home, I scroll through my feed and there’s Charlie Kirk – he was half my age – talking about surrender like it’s obvious. Somehow he’s got it, and I’m sitting here thinking, “Wait… what? After 29 years, I still don’t?” That’s what lit the fire under me to research and write this.

I mean, how do you even do that? Do I get a white flag to wave? Do I put a “Now Under New Management” sign outside my soul? Is there a submission form I forgot to fill out? “Check here if you agree to stop clinging to your own plan”?

Because I’ll be honest – I like control. I like being the one in the driver’s seat. Sure, my map is upside down, Siri is screaming “RECALCULATING,” and I’ve already run over three curbs, but hey – I’m in charge, right? That’s the thing: surrender doesn’t come naturally.

And yet, the Bible doesn’t exactly let us off the hook. Jesus Himself prayed in Gethsemane, “Not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42). That wasn’t some flowery metaphor. That was Jesus staring down the cross. And here I am getting twitchy about surrendering something as small as my weekend plans.

Romans 12:1 says it this way: “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God – this is your true and proper worship.” Living sacrifice. The problem with living sacrifices? They keep crawling off the altar. That’s me, every time. I get up there, I’m ready to go, then five minutes later I’m sliding off the altar like, “Actually, Lord, maybe we renegotiate?”

The word surrender feels like losing. That’s why it grates against everything in me. But biblically, surrender isn’t losing – it’s trading in my rusty little bicycle for a Ferrari. God’s will isn’t just “okay.” Romans 12:2 says His will is “good, pleasing, and perfect.” Perfect. Better than anything I could duct-tape together on my best day. The problem isn’t His will. The problem is my trust.

I trust Him when I need Him to fix something. I trust Him when I’m in a mess I can’t get out of. But trusting Him enough to let go of my plans? My dreams? My control? That’s where the gears grind.

And yet, Jesus makes it clear this is a daily thing. Luke 9:23: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” Daily. Not “once upon a time when you prayed a prayer at camp.” Not “on special occasions when it feels holy.” Daily. Every morning, I’ve got to wake up and decide whether I’m going to hand the pen back to God or try to scribble the story myself.

And it’s not neat. Surrender is messy. Sometimes it looks like ugly crying in the car, saying, “Lord, I don’t know how to let this go, but I’m giving it to You anyway.” Sometimes it looks like saying “no” to something shiny that everyone else thinks is great. Sometimes it looks like letting Him shut a door you were praying would stay wide open – and trusting He knows what’s behind the next one.

The funny thing? Every time I actually do surrender, there’s peace. Philippians 4:6–7 nails it: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” When I finally unclench my fists and hand it over, the anxiety eases up. Because suddenly, it’s not my problem to solve anymore. It’s His.

Now, do I always get it right? Please. Half the time my version of surrender looks more like, “Okay Lord, I surrender… but can I keep this one little corner for myself? I promise I’ll keep it clean.” That’s not surrender – that’s me trying to Airbnb a room in my soul while God owns the house.

But here’s the good news: God’s patient. He doesn’t demand I get it perfect. He takes the inch I give Him and gently, faithfully, keeps inviting me to give Him more.

So after 29 years of walking with Christ, here’s what I’ve learned: surrender isn’t a one-time thing, and it isn’t easy. It’s not waving a white flag and being done. It’s choosing – again and again – to say, “Not my will, but Yours.” Some days you mean it. Some days you grit your teeth and hope you’ll mean it tomorrow.

And maybe that’s why the study notes said it. Maybe that’s why Charlie Kirk was saying it in my feed. Maybe that’s why it keeps echoing in my head. God’s been pressing this word on me because He knows I need it – not just once, but daily. After 29 years, He’s still teaching me that freedom doesn’t come from control. It comes from letting go.

Because surrender isn’t losing. Surrender is finally winning the only way that matters.

Would you please pray with me?
Lord, You know how tightly I hold onto my own plans. You know how often I crawl off the altar after I’ve promised myself to You. Teach me to trust Your will more than my own. Teach me to unclench my fists and believe that what You have for me is better than anything I could dream up. Help me to say, “Not my will, but Yours be done” – not just once, but every day. Amen.