Letting Go

So I walked up to him
stretched out my arms
and laid it gently 
in his lap, where
it glistened like an emerald
in the throne’s radiant light.

And, though my fingers lingered
to caress it as they left,
I took my hands off
resolutely
and brought my eyes to his.
They locked, and I could go,

knowing that he understood,
and cherished my dream too,
and in his care 
it would be safe. 
Even if it’s hidden
and my aching hands are empty.

“Hands off” is not easy to accept. But how else can one “let go” and “let God” work? But there are times when it becomes obvious that there is no way to control a situation. Then the only solution becomes clear:

Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken. (Ps. 55:22 NIV)

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. (1 Pet. 5:7 NIV)

Throw concerns onto him! Now that sounds disrespectful, walking up to the throne of the King of the Universe to give him something I find too heavy a load to carry, or something hurting me. But he loves me and actually wants me to do that!

In fact, if I don’t, I am trying fruitlessly to do what only God can do. Holding on to it, I become hopeless. Letting go, I come to the One who can do way beyond what I dream.

Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long. (Ps. 25:5 NIV)

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen (Eph. 3:20-21 NIV)

When in a situation that seems hopeless, there is only one Person to turn to, and he can work powerfully within us to give us peace and hope. V. Raymond Edman calls this the “discipline of desolation.” That sounds like the opposite of hope, doesn’t it? “Thus it is with the desolate heart: utterly withered, but God; and thereby life, with its emptiness and futility becomes filled with eternal realities. Companions and comforts may be consumed like smoke, but the Savior remains, the Compassionate Christ, and in him we have more than enough.”[1]

That feeling of desolation can lead us to let go, to relinquish our hold on that situation and turn to the one place where we can find true peace. Thomas Merton, in his prayer for this kind of relinquishment, asks for the ability to seek God perfectly, “to have a will that is always ready to fold back within itself and draw all the powers of the soul down from its deepest center to rest in silent expectancy for the coming of God, posed in tranquil and effortless concentration up the point of my dependence on Him; to gather all that I am, and have all that I can possibly suffer or do or be, and abandon them all to God in the resignation of a perfect love and blind faith and pure trust in God, to do His will. And then to wait in peace . . .”[2]

Good words: desolation that leads to relinquishment, and resignation. Peace.

I wrote that poem “Letting Go” about 25 years ago, and I am still waiting for the Lord to finish what he is doing in that situation. But over and over he has reminded me to trust him, to leave my desperate concern with him. Realizing over time that I’ve been grabbing it back, I lay it down again on his lap, and that is when I can continue my journey, waiting in peace.

Practicing “relinquishment” is actually a life-saver. It brings peace, while “holding on” to what cannot be controlled is constant hurt and frustration, hopelessness.

As a missionary, I had to say many goodbyes. I considered those some of the hardest requirements of my calling. God did tell us to honor our parents, right? But he also told us not to hang onto anything as more important than what our Lord is calling us to do. I was only about four when I realized that my own mother had needed to choose to follow God’s leading rather than her own mother’s preference. Our family had recently arrived in Congo when she got a telegram informing her that her mother had passed away. And her mother had not wanted her to be in ministry, far away. Mom’s tears, and her perseverance, were a model for me. She loved her mom, and had told her so, but she loved God most of all. And she knew that now that her mom was with the Lord, she would understand. Still, the goodbyes were hard, the one when leaving and the one when that telegram arrived.

That is why Jesus said those hard words: “If you want to be my disciple, you must hate everyone else by comparison — your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters — yes, even your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple. (Lk. 14:26 NLT)

Hard words. But that is what living out “Lordship” means. He must be in control, when we yield ourselves to him as Master, the one in charge. Not me, but God. And when I know that he is the Sovereign King, and truly loves me, and promises to be my Shepherd and care for me, then I can rest in peace. And wait.

I remember a day when I was in seminary, studying Hebrew, when the class was dealing with how to understand this verse:

But I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content. (Ps. 131:2 NIV)

The men in the class were confused about why the psalmist would liken himself to a weaned child. I realized that I was the only one there who had breastfed babies, so I raised my hand and shared the truth that makes it meaningful. Before being weaned, when the mother holds the baby to comfort them, they will root around for that source of milk. It is the weaned child who will just nestle against the mother’s chest for comfort; that is enough.

I have calmed and quieted myself, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother’s milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me. (Ps. 131:2 NLT)

When I have calmed myself and left my cares on God’s lap, I am content. He will take care of me and of my concern. Letting go, relinquishment, is trust. And that is our calling!

The LORD is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving. (Ps. 28:7 NLT)

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[1] Edman, V. Raymond. The Disciplines of Life. (Wheaton, Illinois: Scripture Press Foundation, 1948), 118.

[2] Merton, Thomas. New Seeds of Contemplation. (Abbey of Gethsemani, Inc.: New Directions, 1961), 46