Grip & Release

I like to be in control.

When I was younger, one of my favorite albums was Janet Jackson’s Control. But more than the album itself, the song by the same name was my favorite.

“Got my own mind. I wanna make my own decisions.
When it has to do with my life, I wanna be the one in control.”

At that age, control sounded like freedom. It sounded like independence. Like the promise of one day being fully in charge of my own life.

And even though the artists and soundtracks have changed over the years, that message is still the same: Be independent. Take charge of your own destiny.

Our culture treats control as something to aspire to.
The more control you have, the more successful you must be.
The less you need, the stronger you appear.

Somewhere along the way, that idea settles in deeper than we realize. Not just in how we work or plan or decide, but in how we understand freedom itself.

We begin to believe that freedom means being in charge.
That strength means not needing help. That maturity means being able to say, “I did this on my own.”

And rarely do we stop to ask whether that story is actually true.

Here’s some breaking news, it’s all a farce.

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No one is or can be independent, and we are definitely not self-made.

And I say that as someone who has often taken pride in being able to say I’m independent. Self-sufficient. Someone who can figure things out. Someone who doesn’t need to ask for help. Even now, it costs me something to admit how much that identity has meant to me.

Scripture has always been clear about this though.

When Job questioned God, God did not respond by explaining Himself. He responded by reminding Job who he was and who he was not.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” (Job 38:4, CSB)

It was not meant to shame him. It was meant to reorient him. To remind him Who sustains the world and who does not.

Jesus presses that same truth in a different way when He asks,

“Can any of you add one moment to his lifespan by worrying?” (Matthew 6:27, CSB)

So much of what sustains us happens without our permission or participation. We can’t even guarantee our own waking. Our alarm clocks are meaningless without God’s sustaining breath.

And yet, we live as though we are holding everything together.

The idea that we are self-made begins to unravel when we slow down long enough to notice how much of life is received, not produced.

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If we are honest about what Scripture reveals, then control has never really been ours.

God permits.
God prevents.
God provides.

Everything we experience fits somewhere within that reality.

There are things God allows to unfold, even when we do not understand them.
There are things He restrains, often without us ever knowing what we were spared from. And there are things He provides so faithfully that we begin to mistake them for guarantees.

“The heart of a person plans his way, but the Lord determines his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9, CSB)

That verse does not dismiss planning. It reorders it.

We are not passive, but we are not sovereign either.
Our role is not to manage outcomes, but to live faithfully within what God allows, with what He gives, and through what He withholds.

This is where the tension shows up.

Because it is one thing to say God is in control in theory.
It is another thing to live as though He actually is.

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I keep coming back to the words I loved so much growing up:

“Got my own mind. I wanna make my own decisions.
When it has to do with my life, I wanna be the one in control.”

I hear them differently now.

What once sounded like confidence now sounds like needing the final say.
Like trusting God, but still wanting to decide how things should go.

Living as though God is in control means we stop confusing control with responsibility.

We look to God to provide, protect, intervene, and sustain us when things fall apart or move beyond what we can manage.

When circumstances are out of our hands, we pray.
When outcomes are uncertain, we ask God to show up.
When something goes wrong, we instinctively ask Him why.

In those moments, we are comfortable acknowledging His responsibility.

But control is different.

Control would mean yielding our need to have the final say.
It would mean releasing the belief that we should decide how things play out.
It would mean trusting God not only to respond to what we cannot manage, but to lead even where we still want influence.

And that’s harder to do than we admit.

We want God to be responsible for us, but we do not actually want to let go.
We want His help with what feels beyond us, while holding tightly to what we believe remains within our reach.

Our careers.
Our relationships.
Our children.
Our health.
Our futures.

And in doing so, we live in a quiet contradiction.
Saying “God is in control,” while functioning as though we actually are.

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Scripture is clear that this struggle is not just about behavior.

It is about trust.

“Cursed is the person who trusts in mankind, who makes human flesh his strength, and whose heart turns away from the Lord. But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him.” (Jeremiah 17:5, 7, CSB)

That passage does not describe open rebellion so much as redirection.
A heart that slowly turns away. A trust that subtly shifts.

And we do not notice because it feels so reasonable.

“There is a way that seems right to a person, but its end is the way to death.”
(Proverbs 14:12, CSB)

What seems right is often what feels safest.
What feels most familiar.
What keeps us from feeling exposed or dependent.

This has always been the pattern.

“Some trust in chariots and others in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.” (Psalm 20:7, CSB)

Control becomes tempting when trust feels risky.
When letting go means admitting we are not as secure as we would like to believe.

Scripture does not call us to master our lives.
It calls us to submit ourselves to God.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your cares on Him, because He cares about you.” (1 Peter 5:6–7, CSB)

What is entrusted to us is not the outcome, but our obedience.
Not the future, but our faithfulness.
Not the direction of our lives, but the posture of our hearts.

Not control. Consecration.

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I am learning this in real time.

I am in a season I have never been in before. One that is difficult and emotionally draining. A season where staying faithful requires more than words.

I am still praying. Still listening.
Still spending time with God.
Still trying to trust Him, even when nothing appears to be changing and things sometimes seem to be getting worse instead of better.

I decided that I no longer want to control anything. I do not want to try to force outcomes or manage what comes next.

I just want to understand. To know what God is doing. To know what He is waiting for. To know if there is something I am supposed to do differently.

Yet even this desire “just to know” might be just another way of holding on.

Yes, surrender means releasing outcomes and timelines. I think it also means releasing the need for clarity altogether.

In the words of my dad, we have to learn to “enjoy not knowing.”

Lately, I have been asking myself whether this surrender will last.
Whether I will continue to trust God once this season passes, or whether I will slowly return to trying to manage my own life again.

I don’t ask that question with fear.
I ask it with humility.

And with a quiet prayer that whatever God is forming in me now will remain, even when circumstances change.

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As the first month of this new year comes to a close, may we all lay down what we were never meant to carry.

The outcomes we cannot guarantee.
The futures we cannot secure.
The people we cannot change.

Because control was never ours to take.
But rest has always been ours to receive.

Let it be so.

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Reflect. Write. Pray. Return.

Reflect

Where are you trusting God in theory, but still holding on in practice?

Write

Complete these sentences:

• Right now, I am trying to control…

• I believe if I don’t control this, then…

• What I’m really afraid of is…

• If I truly trusted God with this area, I would need to…

Pray

Father, I choose today to lay down [name the specific thing].
I confess I don’t know how this will unfold, and I don’t know how to stop needing to know. Teach me to enjoy not knowing.
Help me trust You not only with what I cannot manage, but with what I think I still can.
You permit. You prevent. You provide. And You are enough.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Return

As you move into the coming week, notice when the urge to control surfaces.
In response, slowly open your hands, palms up, and say aloud:

“This was never mine to control. I release it to You, God.”

Wait a few seconds in silence, receiving God’s peace.