Passenger Princess
I used to think surrender was something I had to accomplish.
Something spiritual people were good at.
They talked about “giving it all to God” as if one day they simply woke up and handed Him the keys with a smile.
I always wondered what that felt like.
Because every time I tried, I still somehow found myself behind the wheel.
Apparently, I have a hard time letting other people drive.
God included.
Maybe that’s because I’m an independent person by nature.
I don’t ask for help easily.
I like solving problems.
I like figuring things out.
I like having a plan.
If there’s a situation to manage, I assume it’s probably my job to manage it.
So it doesn’t surprise me that I usually seek God the hardest when I’ve exhausted every other option.
That’s human nature.
We do the same thing with children.
At school, my name is called most often when someone needs something.
No child walks into my office just to announce,
“Everything’s going great. Carry on.”
We call for help when we can’t do it ourselves.
Apparently adulthood isn’t much different.
What has always puzzled me isn’t that I run to God when I’m desperate.
It’s what He does with my desperation.
He seems to do His deepest work in me when I have absolutely nothing left.
Not when I’m confident.
Not when my faith feels strong.
Not when I have all the right answers.
When I’m confused.
Heartbroken.
Anxious.
When I have finally run out of versions of myself to try.
A while back I was driving home listening to The Blessing.
If you know the song, you know there’s a bridge that repeats the same words over and over.
“He is for you.”
I lost it.
I started talking out loud in my car.
Which is a generous way of saying…
I started arguing with God.
“I don’t believe You’re for me.”
It wasn’t polished.
It wasn’t respectful.
It was just true.
That honest conversation led into one of the hardest months I’d had in a long time.
I decided to fast for three days.
I prayed.
I listened.
I read Scripture.
I waited.
And by the end of the third day…
I was exhausted.
Not refreshed.
Not inspired.
Not filled with peace.
Just…
Done.
I had cried too much.
Thought too much.
Analyzed too much.
Misheard His voice too many times.
I had more anxiety than I started with.
More questions than answers.
When I woke up the morning after my fast, something had changed.
Not because God had answered me.
Because I had run out of energy.
I didn’t willingly surrender.
I didn’t consciously hand Him control.
I simply didn’t have the strength to keep trying to control everything anymore.
It felt like climbing out of the driver’s seat while the car was still moving.
Not because I trusted where we were going.
Because I couldn’t keep driving.
If the car crashed…
Fine.
If it rolled to a stop…
Fine.
I had nothing left.
And then something unexpected happened.
The car kept moving.
Someone else was driving.
Nothing spectacular happened overnight.
The situation didn’t magically resolve.
Life didn’t suddenly become easy.
We didn’t arrive at our destination.
But I rested.
For the first time in a long time…
I rested.
I’ve joked with friends that I’m a passenger princess these days.
Spiritually speaking, it’s actually true.
I still don’t know exactly where we’re going.
I still glance toward the steering wheel sometimes.
Old habits die hard.
But something changes when you’re not responsible for every turn in the road.
You notice the scenery.
You breathe a little deeper.
You stop gripping things that were never yours to control.
You have conversations instead of constantly watching for the next obstacle.
You become present.
Maybe that’s what trust feels like.
Not certainty.
Not knowing exactly where the road leads.
Just believing the person driving knows the way better than you do.
I have no doubt there will be days when I climb back over the console and grab the wheel again.
That’s kind of my thing.
I’ll convince myself that if I just think harder…
Pray better…
Plan more…
Control enough…
Everything will finally feel safe.
And then I’ll remember how exhausting it was trying to drive a car that was never mine to drive in the first place.
Maybe surrender isn’t one dramatic moment.
Maybe it’s thousands of tiny decisions to slide back into the passenger seat.
To unclench your hands.
To look out the window.
To trust the Driver.
I’m still learning how to do that.
But for now…
I’m perfectly happy being a passenger princess.
