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Tiny Little Surrenders: One Month of Letting God

Tiny Little Surrenders: One Month of Letting God

Last updated on: August 6, 2016 at 8:00 am by Kerry Connelly

Tiny Little Surrenders: One Month of Letting God 2016-08-06T07:50:50-04:00 Kerry Connelly

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Sometimes, the tiniest little surrenders make for the biggest God moves, the huge kind of check mates from the Great Almighty that make your eyes go a little misty and send shivers across your skin.

I’m reading a book called The Surrender Experiment. Don’t freak out — but it’s not a Christian book. It’s a lot about yoga, and meditation, and there’s a Temple of the Universe in there. It’s about mindfulness and about surrendering to the flow of life. It’s about peeling your soul away from your chattering brain, and all your preferences, your anxieties, your comforts.

You know. Kind of like dying to yourself.

My coach recommended the book to me, because I’m experiencing a shift in my business after making a rather bold move to — you know, I have stop to say I hated this phrase when it first came out but it’s really the best way to describe this — consciously uncouple from my largest client.

Ugh. We can all do the little shiver dance at the fact that I had to use that phrase.

Okay, you good?

So I was having just a little bit of a freak out because money has always been the thing my anxiety latches on to like one of those little sucker fishes latches on to the side of the glass fish tank (my guess is my sub-conscious pulled that one out of the trip to Adventure Aquarium the kids and I took the other day).

Money fears are so huge for me.

The book is a lot about quieting the mind and going with the flow. And seriously, I’d do pretty much anything to shut myself up sometimes.

I want to surrender to what God has for me. I want to lay down in the deep, wide, dark pool of trust, the crystal cool waters of his caring for me. I want to stop forcing things and just go with God’s intricate, beautiful flow. I want to lay down my wants, which in so many ways are truly born of the world, not of God.

The book said something — and it’s late and I’m tired so I’m not going to go look up the exact page — about how life happens. It always works out. Every day, the earth wakes up and it’s taken care of. So why should I worry? Of course it reminded me of what Jesus teaches us about the flowers. And I decided I wanted to be a freaking flower.

I want to just trust God that the sun will rise and warm me, that my petals will be well dressed, that the rain will water my roots. I want to stop being so obsessed with all my wants and just be content with what I’m given. I want some inner peace that surpasses all understanding and I want to feel the presence of God’s own heart beating in my chest, longing for his longs*.* I want morning cups of coffee to be mystical experiences. I want the Spirit to pulse through my veins.

So I decided I’d try an experiment. I decided that August would be the month of surrender. (Committing to being un-anxious for any longer than a month makes me, well, anxious).

I decided I would rest a lot — like, whenever I felt like it, instead of forcing work to happen when it just wasn’t, but pretending it was by sitting at my desk. I decided that if I was really producing something, then great, but if not, then I’d get up from my desk and go read a book, or go for a walk, or something. I decided to take days off for play dates — both for my kids, and for my grown up friends. Mommy play dates.

I decided to stop worrying about where the money was going to come from, if the book deal is going to happen, if that partnership would work out, if I’m going to be able to pay the bills in September. I decided to just let God take care of me, instead of telling him all the time what I think needs to happen like I was a boss-lady to the God of the Angel Armies or something.

I decided I would try to say yes to most of the things that life presented to me. I would not jump out of an airplane, or vote for Donald Drumpf if suddenly the election got moved to August. But pretty much every other reasonable opportunity that might make me otherwise slightly uncomfortable, I decided to say yes to.

My friend Nicole got a whiff of this and immediately her eyes started practically watering with glee. She began scheming in her head all the “opportunities” she was going to create for me. I immediately told her she was excluded from my month of surrender. She is still busy looking up the legalities of whether I can do that or not.

So I decided to start saying yes. Yes to that coaching opportunity that I know I need but will cost me money that maybe I don’t actually have. Yes to the kids when they ask for extra ice cream. When the weather report threatened a thunderstorm on the only day I could take the kids to the fair, I said, “C’est la vie” and let it go, reminding myself their disappointment does not have to be mine to carry (but definitely a good reason to hug them — the weather turned out fine, by the way). I maybe said yes to one glass of wine too many last night, but it was with my septuagenarian mom, and so life says, yes, get drunk with your mom while she’s still here to giggle with, every fucking chance you get. (Besides, it only takes 2.5 glasses.)

So I was happily going along, thinking hey, this yes thing ain’t so hard. Nothing too big and scary and hey, there kind of is this weird peace that’s happening in there, right behind my heart. A calm, still pool of the sweetest water, where everything is chill. It’s not there all the time, but this letting go and saying yes stuff gives me tiny glimpses of it here and there, like when you’re driving past a forest of trees but can catch with only the quickest gander the glimmer of water behind.

So I was happily going along, surrendering and shit, when a big shot dude in Christendom Facebook friended me. I am always a little surprised when this happens, but I am starting to get used to it, because I’ve gotten to start hanging out with such cool people — at least on Facebook — and sometimes there’s cross over, and maybe they think I’m someone else.

But then the next day, I got a Facebook message from him. Like, he did it on purpose. And it said, “So, hey! So and so said I should reach out to you because maybe you’d be interested — I’m putting together a trip for bloggers to Jordan in October — it’s basically all expenses paid, we’ll be guests of the government, see holy sites, camp out with Bedouin in the desert. You have to apply right away — time is of the essence. You in?”

He said Jordan like he was saying, Hey, wanna go to NYC and see a show? He said camp out in the desert with Bedouin like he was saying, We’ll get bagels in Time Square before curtain. Like it was something that would take a modicum of effort, happens all the time, and wasn’t, you know, in the Middle East.

I felt my eyes go back up to the word Jordan to give my brain the confirmation it needed. I noticed all the thoughts going through my brain. Holy fuck is he serious? Would I have to cover my hair? What is the status of women in Jordan? Is it safe? Camp in the desert? Will I have to eat goat? What kind of bugs do they have in Jordan? What will Michael (my husband) say? Shit! My passport is expired, but I can get it expedited. Do I have the guts to do this? No. This is something I should say no to. This is something I would say no to.

I noticed all these thoughts pass through my brain like that scrolling news ticker in Times Square (speaking of) but I also noticed something else — in that space behind thought where my soul is — my whole being was lit up with excitement. It was tingly and aglow, and as soon as I noticed it, the tingles exploded onto my skin in a rash of goose bumps.

I felt my fingers type YES.

Okay I’ll be honest: I did qualify it with the I gotta talk to the husband first. But I said yes.

So then I had to talk to the husband. I’m currently in the boonies of Pennsylvania, visiting my mom, who lives on a nature preserve. My husband is back home in Jersey, always on Skype for business, having his conference calls. I text him:

So…uh….babe. I just got invited to go to Jordan on an all expense paid trip to blog about holy sites. We will camp with Bedouin.

I waited….his response:

Get ur passport — that’s so awesome! Camping with Bedouin trumps any vacation story EVER.

God, I love that man.

So next I spent some time teary eyed and shivery, praising God in my heart for this incredibly opportunity. Michael went into massive man-mode, figuring things out. Within about twenty minutes he had all the info about expediting my passport, how the Jordanian government issues Visas, and probably would have ordered the car for the trip to the airport if I had let him. How can I not be madly in love with this man?

So I submitted the application to the Jordanian Tourist Board, wondering what my chances were for being approved. And then, I waited.

Eventually, I started worrying — as I often do — about travelling with a bunch of Christians. Because you know, I’m me. I have attitude and I curse and I’m just this hot mess of stuff that’s so not right in so many ways. So I Facebook messaged the guy again and told him I’d submitted the application, and what did he think my chances were, because you know, I curse, and all this other stuff, and they actually wanted to see my writing where I curse, and all this other stuff.

And he said, Well, don’t hold me to it but I looked at your application and I’d say your chances are pretty good. And this tour is for progressive Christians, and so far all of the people who are going like to say fuck, so.

And instantly, I was a lot less nervous.

The next day, I was at the County Fair — a bubble gum, cotton candy colored experience, loud and chaotic, herding four kids, a septuagenarian in a scooter, and the septuagenarian’s friend through the crowds, past the barking game hawkers (seriously wanted to kill the one who kept blowing a dog whistle), past the umpteeth fried oreo, when my phone did its vibrating dance in my pocket.

Email: We fast-tracked your application and I’m happy to tell you that you are approved. Your official notice will arrive shortly with a preliminary itinerary.

I screeched a little in the middle of the County Fair and covered my mouth in awe.

It was only day 4 of my own little surrender experiment, and I am going to Jordan. Day four. To be honest, I get the feeling God is having a whole lot of fun with my little surrender experiment. Truth is, so am I.

And there is this, too: suddenly, when I started looking at some of the sites I might get to see, like where Jesus was baptized, I long to go to Jordan. I really want to go to Jordan. I’d never have even thought of going to Jordan before, and now….I really want to. Talk about how God can shift a heart in a nano-second.

I want to wrap myself up in the sand Jesus walked on, and touch the water he was submersed in. I want to see the sights he saw every day, walk where he walked. I want to experience people, be surrounded by the cadence of speech that’s similar to what he heard every day.

And this whole thing has only encouraged me to surrender even more deeply; to jump into that crystal lake of trust with even more gusto for life — for that real life, that more and better life that Jesus promises in John 10:10. I’m desperate to lay down the part of my life that had become a cheap Chinese plastic toy life. A cluttered life of no real meaning aside from the people I love.

It’s time to camp in the desert, to live a fireside kind of life, to pick at the bones of life with my fingers, hopefully to find the place where my soul and God play. It’s time to chase down Jesus like he chases me, to know him better, to let his heart grow bigger inside me.

Jerseygirl’s goin’ camping.

In the desert.

With Bedouin.

Day 4 of my tiny little surrender experiment.

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