You have given me so much responsibility, Lord, that I often don’t feel capable of handling your trust. I feel lacking, tired, and pushed to the maximum. But in the midst of all this pressure, you call me to realize that my burden is not heavy. It is light. You carry what I am unable to carry on my own. You carried the weight of my sin to the cross, and because of your love, I can know the freedom of your Spirit structuring my days—empowering what you deem important—letting me know when something is not a priority or when it is. The things that wait to be handled—both the real and perceived responsibilities—are in your control when I allow you to direct my days.
“Trust in the Lord and do what is good,” the psalmist wrote. “Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you your heart’s desire. Commit everything to Him. Trust Him. He will help you. Be still in His presence, and wait patiently for Him to act” (Psalm 37:3-7). I trust you with all my heart—not just a portion of my heart, but with all of it. I surrender my understanding for yours. I seek your wisdom instead of my own. I look beyond my failures and weaknesses and realize you are my only strength. Fear is never my master. You are. I choose to delight in you, Lord. I choose to praise you in the storm. My sacrifice of praise is my gift to you. In my offering I discover that you have taken the weight of responsibility upon your shoulders. The things you have called me to handle are yours. If I allow you to guide and direct and choose what is important for each day, I am no longer overwhelmed. I am no longer lacking.
I will trust you. Not just say it, but live it—breathe it. I will not carry the weight you never meant for me to carry. I will rejoice and delight in you. You are faithful, and you never fail me. You never change. You are constant, and I can always rely on you. I commit every decision and every responsibility to you. I give you my tired heart, and I rest in your purpose. There is no rush. There is no struggle. There is no need to make something happen that perhaps you never intended. My will is no longer at war. It is free for you to make your own.
© 2017 Lynn Lacher