Surrender. The very concept raises hackles. Who actually WANTS to surrender… something… anything… everything?
Most of us.
On Tuesday night, we were at Victoria Bryant State Park in Georgia, and we had to write something on a piece of firewood that we needed to surrender. I wrote CONTROL. I like Control, and as I said to my Squad, I drive a stick shift for a reason. I like that POWER. Clearly this was something I needed to surrender. After writing my word on my firewood, AIM staff pointed us toward a path and said ‘Go.’ It was calm, quiet, peaceful.
This is Georgia. This is Georgia in August. It is hot. And sticky. Sweat is pouring off of me. I have a small backpack on with water in it, and I am drinking often. Just as often though, I am spilling the water on me to cool off. To refocus on my task at hand. The trail wove through the forest over small hills and down into a valley. The trees seemed to be illuminated by the sun, almost glowing with their vibrancy at times. The path on which I walked was littered with random plant matter, most of it in varying states of decay, and therein began my prayer. “God, eat away at my need to control. Replace MY control with YOU.’ It was steady, changing constantly, depending on whether I was going up a hill, heading down a slope, or coming into a corner. Each step for me was measured, it had meaning. It was a prayer walk. I just let my mind ruminate on Control, Trust, Responsibility and my roles with each other things. It was intense at moments.
The weight of the wood wasn’t too bad. But the rough edges dug into my skin. I had written my word boldly, so that at no point on my journey would I forget what I was surrendering. The wood was always there, the bark digging into my arms or the sharp angle cutting into my hands. This was not going to be a peaceful surrender. Two hours later, when I arrived at the stopping point, I was ready. I was ready to surrender my need to CONTROL everything. I placed my burden at the foot of a rough-hewed wooden cross. A sense of peace fell over me, and I knew I had chosen the right word and the right prayers along the way.
After dinner that night, we burned our burdens, one by one, yelling them out for all to hear and hurling them into the flames.
