I Felt Broken AGAIN, So I Prayed This Prayer

The other day, I felt broken again.

And I say again because sometimes healing doesn’t mean you never have another hard day.

Sometimes you can be doing better. You can be growing in your faith. You can be grateful for how far God has brought you. You can genuinely believe that God is working in your life...

And still have a day when everything feels heavy again.

That was me.

I felt overwhelmed.

I felt tired.

I felt like I had been trying so hard to keep everything together, and for a moment, I just couldn't anymore.

There are times when I know exactly what I want to say to God. I can pray confidently. I can find the Scripture.

I can remind myself of everything I know about His faithfulness.

But this wasn't one of those moments.

This time, my prayer wasn't beautiful.

It wasn't long.

It wasn't something I had planned.

It came from a place in me that was simply tired of carrying so much.

And my prayer became:

“God, I surrender.”

I surrender what I cannot change.

I surrender the people I cannot change.

I surrender the situations I cannot fix.

I surrender the answers I keep searching for.

I surrender the need to know what happens next.

I surrender the version of life I thought I was supposed to have.

I surrender the fear that keeps telling me I need to figure everything out.

God, I give it to You because I don't have the strength to carry it anymore.

And as I prayed, I realized something.

Maybe reaching the point where I couldn't carry it anymore wasn't the worst place I could be.

Maybe it was exactly where I needed to be.

Because I have a habit of trying to be strong.

As a wife.

As a mother.

As a special-needs mom.

As a woman who has people depending on her.

I handle things.

I make appointments.

I ask questions.

I research.

I advocate.

I pray.

I plan.

I try to find solutions.

And sometimes I become so accustomed to carrying things that I don't realize how heavy they've become until I'm breaking underneath them.

That's what happened the other day.

I wasn't just tired physically.

My soul was tired.

And I think God was reminding me that surrender doesn't mean I've lost my faith.

Sometimes surrender is faith.

It's looking at something you desperately want to control and saying:

God, I can't.

But You can.

It's admitting that I don't know how everything is going to work out.

It's accepting that I don't have an answer for every problem.

It's realizing that loving someone doesn't give me the power to fix everything for them.

It's understanding that there are some battles I was never meant to fight in my own strength.

And that is hard for me.

Especially when it comes to the people I love.

My instinct is to protect.

To help.

To fix.

To make things better.

But life has taught me repeatedly that there are things my hands simply cannot reach.

There are situations where I've done everything I know how to do and still have to say:

“God, they're Yours.”

There are circumstances where I've prayed every prayer I know how to pray and still have to say:

“God, the outcome is Yours.”

And there are moments like the other day when I have absolutely nothing left and have to say:

“God, I'm Yours too.”

Maybe that's the part of surrender I've been missing.

I'm not only surrendering the situation.

I'm surrendering myself.

My expectations.

My fears.

My plans.

My timeline.

My need for answers.

My need to understand why.

My desire to control how the story ends.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

I've read that Scripture before, but lately it has been hitting differently.

Because maybe be still doesn't simply mean sit quietly.

For me, maybe it means:

Lirann, stop trying to carry everything.

Stop trying to predict tomorrow.

Stop trying to solve things only God can solve.

Stop picking back up what you just laid at His feet.

Let God be God.

And I wish I could tell you I prayed that prayer once and suddenly felt completely different.

I didn't.

Because surrender isn't always one big spiritual moment where everything instantly feels better.

Sometimes I surrender in the morning and find myself worrying again that afternoon.

Sometimes I give something to God and realize I've picked it right back up.

So I pray again.

God, I surrender.

And if I need to pray it tomorrow, I'll pray it tomorrow.

If I need to pray it an hour from now, I'll pray it then too.

I'm beginning to understand that surrender isn't always a one-time decision.

Sometimes surrender is choosing, over and over again, to put something back into God's hands every time fear convinces you to pick it up.

So if you're reading this while feeling broken too, I don't have a perfect formula for you.

I can't promise that tomorrow everything will suddenly make sense.

But I can tell you what I'm learning in my own broken moments:

You don't have to wait until you're strong again to come to God.

You don't have to clean up your emotions first.

You don't need the perfect prayer.

Sometimes the prayer is simply:

“God, here are the pieces. I don't know what to do with them anymore.”

And maybe that's enough.

This Was My Prayer

God, I feel broken again.

I thought I was stronger than this.

I thought I was doing better.

But today, everything feels heavy.

So I'm coming to You without pretending.

I don't have the answers.

I don't know how to fix everything.

And I'm tired of trying to carry things that are bigger than me.

So, God, I surrender.

I surrender the things I cannot change.

I surrender the people I love and cannot control.

I surrender every unanswered question.

I surrender every fear about tomorrow.

I surrender the plans I made and the expectations I had.

I surrender the need to understand why everything happened the way it did.

And Lord, I surrender myself.

Take the broken pieces of me that I keep trying to put back together on my own.

Heal what needs to be healed.

Remove what needs to be removed.

Change what needs to be changed.

And if this season is changing me, help me trust the woman You're creating through it.

When I try to pick these burdens back up, remind me that they belong to You now.

When fear tells me I need to take control, remind me that You are already in control.

When I feel weak, remind me that I don't have to manufacture strength.

I can borrow Yours.

God, I don't know what happens next.

But I surrender what happens next to You.

Hold the things I can't hold anymore.

And while You're holding them...

please hold me too.

In Jesus' name,

Amen.

Maybe surrender doesn't always begin when we're finally strong enough to let go.

Maybe sometimes it begins when we're broken enough to realize we were never meant to carry it all in the first place.