Today’s Reading: Exodus 13–15
Last night, I finally admitted something to God.
I wasn’t fully surrendering.
I thought I was.
I’ve been getting better at asking myself:
What is actually mine to carry?
I’ve been practicing putting down the things that belong to other people.
Their choices.
Their reactions.
Their responsibilities.
I’ve been learning that I can care deeply about something without assuming responsibility for everything happening around it.
And I really have grown in that.
But last night, while I was doing my devotional and praying, I realized there was still something I was holding onto.
The outcome.
I was putting down individual problems while still trying to mentally solve the entire situation.
What is this person going to do next?
What if their choices affect everything?
What if everything changes?
Where am I supposed to end up?
How does this work out?
And suddenly I saw it.
I might have been surrendering pieces of the situation.
But I was still trying to carry the ending.
Alright God, I Hear You
My devotional was about surrender.
Again.
And as I sat there thinking about everything that had happened, I actually said it out loud:
“Alright God, I hear You.”
Because I finally understood what I was still doing.
I was asking God to take control while simultaneously trying to predict every possible outcome myself.
And those two things don’t exactly work well together.
So I gave it to Him.
Not just the individual problems.
The whole thing.
The outcome.
Where I end up.
What other people choose to do.
What changes.
What doesn’t.
What happens next.
None of that is mine to carry right now.
And almost immediately, I felt peace.
Not answers.
Peace.
There’s a difference.
I still don’t know how any of this ends.
But for the first time in a while, I realized:
I don’t need to know how this ends.
I only need to make the next right choice.
Take the next right step.
And trust God with everything beyond it.
Maybe Surrender Is Somewhere We Return
I also know myself well enough to know something else.
I might have to surrender it again tomorrow.
Actually, there’s a pretty good chance I will.
Something will happen.
Someone will say something.
I’ll get frustrated.
My brain will decide it has been personally appointed to predict the next seventeen possible outcomes.
And I’ll probably reach for it again.
But maybe that doesn’t mean I failed at surrendering it tonight.
Maybe surrender isn’t something we accomplish once. Maybe it’s somewhere we learn to return.
That thought gave me hope.
Because I’m starting to recognize the return.
I’m noticing myself sooner.
And today, I decided to practice it intentionally.
Notice. Check. Choose.
I woke up with one goal:
Pay attention.
And I can absolutely say that surrender stayed at the forefront of my mind today.
When something happened and I immediately felt frustration rising, I tried to catch it.
Notice.
Okay. I’m frustrated.
Not:
I shouldn’t be frustrated.
Not:
This feeling is bad.
Just notice it.
Then:
Check.
What is actually mine to carry here?
Is there something I need to do?
Is there a decision that’s actually mine?
Is there a conversation I need to have?
Or am I picking up someone else’s responsibility again?
But today I realized there’s another question I want to add to the check:
What is this producing in me?
Because I don’t think the goal is to divide emotions into good ones and bad ones.
Fear can tell me something.
Anger can tell me something.
Frustration can tell me something.
Even anxiety can alert me that something needs my attention.
The question is what happens when I feed them.
Where does this thought take me if I keep following it?
Toward clarity?
Courage?
Patience?
Compassion?
Peace?
Faith?
Or am I moving deeper into resentment?
Fear?
Obsession?
Judgment?
Control?
Chaos?
That feels different.
The goal isn’t always to choose what feels good. It’s to notice what produces good.
Because sometimes the next right choice feels incredibly uncomfortable.
Setting a boundary doesn’t always feel good.
Walking away doesn’t always feel good.
Admitting you’re wrong definitely doesn’t always feel good.
Doing the right thing can still be difficult.
So after I notice and check:
Choose.
What is the next right response?
Handle what is mine.
Release what isn’t.
And stop demanding that I know what happens afterward.
And Then I Read Exodus 13
This is where I had one of those moments where all I could really do was notice.
Because yesterday I had been thinking about Moses and how long everything with Pharaoh continued.
Again and again, Moses had to go back.
And the thought I couldn’t shake was:
A long or difficult process isn’t automatically evidence that you’re on the wrong path.
Then today I continued into Exodus 13–15.
The Israelites are finally leaving Egypt.
After everything.
After Pharaoh.
After the plagues.
After Passover.
They’re finally moving forward.
And then I read that God didn’t lead them by the shortest route.
I stopped there.
Because…
Seriously?
After everything I’ve been thinking about?
The longer route wasn’t the wrong route.
There was a shorter way.
But God knew what they didn’t.
He knew what they were ready for.
He knew what they weren’t ready for.
And the route that probably would have made less sense to them was being chosen with knowledge they didn’t have.
That one landed.
What If I’m Measuring the Route Wrong?
I think sometimes I assume that if I’m moving in the right direction, the path should become clearer.
Straighter.
Maybe even easier.
And if it doesn’t?
I start questioning the path.
Why is this taking so long?
Why am I still dealing with this?
Why isn’t this resolved yet?
Why do I keep ending up here?
But Exodus 13 gave me a different question:
What if I’m measuring the route by distance while God is measuring it by what I need along the way?
I don’t know why every difficult season lasts as long as it does.
And I don’t believe every detour or delay should automatically be labeled God’s plan.
Sometimes we make choices that create longer roads.
Sometimes other people’s choices affect us.
Sometimes life is simply hard.
I don’t want faith to become an easy explanation for every difficult thing.
But I also don’t want to assume:
Longer = wrong.
Because sometimes the shortest route isn’t the one we’re ready to walk.
And maybe I don’t need to understand why the route looks the way it does before I continue walking it.
And Then They Reached the Sea
As if that wasn’t enough, the story keeps going.
The Israelites leave Egypt.
They’re following where God is leading.
And then Pharaoh comes after them.
Suddenly they’re trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea.
Imagine that moment.
They’ve finally escaped the thing they prayed to escape.
And now it looks like following God has led them directly into an impossible situation.
They panic.
Honestly?
I get it.
Because from where they’re standing, they can’t see a way forward.
And that might be the part that speaks to me most right now.
They couldn’t see the way forward because the way forward didn’t exist yet in a form they could recognize.
The sea was still the sea.
The army was still behind them.
Fear made sense.
But fear couldn’t see everything.
And neither can I.
Move Forward
Moses tells the people not to be afraid.
To stand firm.
To trust that God will fight for them.
And then God tells Moses to have the Israelites move forward.
That caught me too.
Because there it is again.
The next step.
They didn’t receive a detailed explanation of the entire journey ahead.
They were told what to do next.
Move forward.
And maybe that’s what surrender is beginning to look like for me.
Not sitting still until I understand everything.
Not pretending difficult things aren’t happening.
Not refusing responsibility for the things that genuinely belong to me.
It’s releasing my demand to know how everything turns out before I’m willing to move.
I don’t need to know how this ends to make the next right choice.
Maybe that’s the piece I’ve been missing.
Surrender doesn’t require me to stop moving.
It requires me to stop believing I need to control where every step eventually leads.
I Think I’m Finally Seeing the Difference
There is a difference between responsibility and control.
I can be responsible for my choices without controlling someone else’s.
I can speak honestly without controlling how I’m received.
I can make the best decision I know how to make without controlling what happens afterward.
I can acknowledge fear without letting fear write the rest of the story.
And I can surrender an outcome without becoming passive about the part that actually belongs to me.
Maybe that’s what Notice. Check. Choose. is helping me practice.
Notice what’s happening inside of me.
Check what is actually mine to carry – and what continuing to feed this thought is producing in me.
Choose the next right response.
Then release the outcome.
And when I inevitably pick it back up?
Return.
Maybe This Is What Growth Looks Like
I’ve spent a lot of time lately wondering whether I’m actually changing.
Tonight, I think I can say I am.
Not because I no longer get frustrated.
Clearly, I do.
Not because fear has disappeared.
It hasn’t.
Not because I’ve mastered surrender.
Absolutely not.
But I’m noticing sooner.
I’m catching myself when I start carrying things that don’t belong to me.
I’m recognizing thoughts before they become entire stories.
I’m asking where those thoughts will take me if I follow them.
I’m praying before I’ve completely spiraled instead of only afterward.
I’m returning.
Maybe growth isn’t becoming someone who never reaches for control again.
Maybe growth is recognizing more quickly when you’ve picked it back up.
And knowing where to put it down.
Last night I put down something bigger than one problem.
I put down my need to know the ending.
Today I had to practice leaving it there.
Tomorrow?
I may have to do it again.
And I’m finally starting to understand that maybe that’s okay.
Questions I’m Leaving With
Am I surrendering the situation – or only surrendering the pieces I can’t solve today?
What outcome am I still trying to mentally control?
When frustration rises, can I notice it before I automatically follow it?
What is actually mine to carry here?
What is this thought producing in me?
Where will it take me if I continue feeding it?
Am I assuming a longer road means I’ve taken a wrong turn?
Can I trust that there may be things about the route I simply cannot see yet?
And when I pick something back up that I’ve already surrendered, can I return without convincing myself I’ve failed?
Today’s Takeaway
Maybe you’ve been asking God for direction while quietly hoping the direction will come with an explanation.
You want to know where this is going.
Why it’s taking so long.
Why the path isn’t easier.
Why something you thought you had already escaped seems to be chasing you again.
Maybe you’ve even started wondering whether the difficulty itself is proof that you misunderstood the direction.
But sometimes:
The longer route isn’t the wrong route.
That doesn’t mean every obstacle is meant to be there.
It doesn’t mean every difficult situation should be endured indefinitely.
And it doesn’t mean we stop examining our own choices.
It means we stop using ease as the only evidence that we’re headed somewhere worthwhile.
What Is Yours Today?
Maybe you don’t need to figure out the entire situation tonight.
Maybe you don’t need to know how this ends.
Start smaller.
Notice.
What’s happening inside of you?
Don’t judge it.
Just notice it.
Then:
Check.
What actually belongs to you?
What doesn’t?
And what is this thought, fear, frustration, or situation producing in you as you continue to feed it?
Where is it taking you?
Then:
Choose.
What is the next right thing you can actually do?
Do that.
And give God the outcome.
If you find yourself carrying it again tomorrow, return.
Surrender it again.
You haven’t failed because you needed to come back.
Maybe coming back is part of the practice.
You Don’t Need the Ending to Take the Next Step
The Israelites didn’t know everything waiting beyond the Red Sea.
They didn’t need to.
They needed enough faith for the step in front of them.
And when it was time?
Move forward.
Maybe that’s enough for you today too.
You don’t have to know exactly where the road ends to take the next right step.
You don’t have to understand why this route is longer.
You don’t have to solve someone else’s choices.
You don’t have to predict the ending.
Handle what is yours.
Pay attention to what you’re feeding.
Choose what moves you toward who you want to become.
Surrender what happens next.
And if the road looks longer than you expected, remember:
The longer route wasn’t necessarily the wrong route.
Sometimes faith isn’t knowing how the story ends.
Sometimes it’s being willing to take the next right step while you still don’t know.
And maybe that’s surrender too.
Until next time… keep noticing.