To Lift My Hands

I sit on the floor and weep.

I just don’t understand why I can’t reach up with my hands.

What is it that keeps me standing with them at my side, heavy and unmoving? Why do I find it so hard to just reach up and out, giving it all to him? It would be so easy, yet I find it impossible. It doesn’t seem like a tall order, really. How much energy does it take for a person to lift their hands and then lift their head? For me it is the tallest order. I am so afraid.

At first, I thought my fear was attached to what the people around me would think. I quickly realized- no one even cares. Not one person is going to notice me whether my hands are at my sides like lifeless weights, or raised to the ceiling in infinite praise. They are all too busy fighting their own internal battle of release.

Release is what it really comes down to. Release of self, release of control and release of worry.

To release worry, I must ask him to take it from me; strip it away until I am bare to the soul. Once worry is released, the real work begins. Releasing control is not something to be taken lightly. It means to fully give everything to him, not holding on to one tiny fragment for any reason. The beauty in releasing control is in the grace and mercy which follows.

He doesn’t want me to suffer in this way- this baggage is not for me to carry. He alone is prepared to shoulder every single decision and every single transaction at every single defining moment. He alone is willing to suffer all the consequences of all the things I need to happen for the betterment of myself. He whispers in the quiet moments- “Come to me, hand it over. I will take it from you so you may find some rest.” Then I weep some more because I just don’t have it in me.  I just have not been able to cross the line to relinquish whatever power I thought I had to begin with.  When I can’t give up my control, how will I ever give up myself?

Giving up myself is the purest form of worship I can offer to a savior who never asks anything of me except my loyalty and commitment. He doesn’t expect me to be perfect. He doesn’t want me to quit being me. He will not condemn, judge or betray me. He wants my love. He wants all of me, forever. He asks for so little in return, and I feel so unworthy.

Finally, I am on to something.

I am unworthy.

I don’t fully understand grace, mercy and the will to be forgiven. I don’t fully understand how to get from sinner to saint. I want to raise my hands and face; I want to take in all the son has to offer. I want to be free of the self-oppression I have imposed upon myself for so long. I just don’t have the strength. I am not brave. My courage is shaken. To give up myself I need to raise up my hands and look to the savior. I need to say I’m sorry. I need to lay it all down and walk away from it. I know this is the next step. But how do I lift my arms when they are so heavy? How will I force my eyes open and look up to him, knowing I do not live up to the righteous standard?

I must find a way, I must be still and listen to the whispers of the Holy Spirit. I must hear the voice when it says let go. I must draw from strength I am not familiar with. I must lift my hands one at a time. I must give of everything I have to become everything he wants me to be.