1 More Day...to Surrender

1 more day...to surrender

Every Sunday when I was young, we would load up the car and make a drive across town to visit my grandmother.  Irene Annie Carwile. There was something so comforting about her house. There was always potato soup and tea cakes on the stove, and my sister and I were always dressed alike ready to perform our latest hit for my grandma. She had a way of making others feel special and her laughter was contagious.  

I have very fond memories of my sweet grandma: Christmas gatherings, presents for every grandchild and great grandchild, the way she laughed, and the way she took care of my grandfather.   For as long I knew him, he was in a hospital bed not able to speak or take care of himself due to a massive stroke. He had only a bell that he rang to communicate; but I remember the way she loved him and spoke so kindly about him. She was a special lady.  She understood hard work, loving through the tough times, commitment and real joy. 

The last time I saw my grandma alive was such a terrible memory. There was no joy or laughter. She was in terrible pain and was actually thrashing so much that the doctors had to secure her arms to the bed so she would not hurt herself. I begged my dad to make it stop. How could they chain this sweet lady? He whispered gently to me that my grandma was fighting the very thing that could ease her pain. The restraints were to protect her and everyone else so that they could take care of her.  I told my grandma to please just quit fighting. I know I spoke those words for me, for she was not in her right mind. After a few minutes, my dad told me I should leave.

As I drove home, I couldn't get that image out of my head. Why couldn't my grandma just rest? Why did she have to fight?

Days later, my sweet grandma passed away.  Back then, the family would host a "viewing" where friends and family could come "see" the deceased and visit with the family. I always thought that was such a weird thing to call it. However, when my father and I were standing in front of her casket "viewing" my grandma,  I said, "Dad, Grandma looks so peaceful."  I knew my grandma's soul was in heaven and this was just her body.  But still she looked so peaceful - when just days before she was in such a struggle. Once again my father leaned over, pulled me close and taught me a beautiful lesson. He said, "Becky, dead people don't struggle."

I smiled. Even in my grandma's death, she was teaching me.  It is a picture I think of often.

I gave my heart to Jesus when I was just eight years old, believing that when I died I would spend an eternity in Heaven. For me, that was a no brainer. Heaven sounded a lot better than the description of Hell. Sign me up. But it was not until I was older that I was to take Jesus as my Lord and Savior- not just my Savior.    

I was to follow God's plan for my life. "Present your body as a living sacrifice."  The problem with that is that living things can crawl right off that alter. And that's exactly what I do.

 What a picture of obedience. When we surrender and die to our ways, we are at peace. However, if we choose to live by the flesh and do it our way, we will struggle. In fact, we will end up hurting ourselves.

When Scott and I were training for the MS150 - a 180 mile bike ride to Austin we did several rides where the majority of the ride was against the wind. What a struggle. And then we would turn the corner, and the tail wind would bring us home. Wow. What a rush.

Are you tired of fighting my friend? Maybe it's time you surrendered. Let go of that hurt, that habit, that one thing you don't want to give to God.      

There is such freedom in surrender.  Dead men don't struggle.