The Power of Submission
When I was pregnant for the first time, I had a singular goal—to give birth without an epidural. I had learned about potential health benefits for mom and baby with unmedicated childbirth, but I’ll be honest, those weren’t the primary motivators to choose this method of birth. The truth is, I have control issues, and allowing anything to take away my power of command was inconceivable to me. The thought of not being able to feel or move half my body during labor was not acceptable. No matter how painful the experience, I wanted to be in charge.
The nurses smirked when I gave them my birth plan, expressing their doubt in my resolve. But they didn’t know what a determined (and hormonal) woman they were dealing with. I had taken classes, written affirmations, and packed music, snacks, and scents to get me through the contractions. I was prepared, and I was strong-willed. The achiever side of my personality couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.
The joke was on me, though, because I had never experienced a contraction before. I had no experience with the paradoxical nature of childbirth. As contractions rose and fell like waves, I resisted the pain, tensing my muscles and willing my way through each one. To my frustration, every effort was counterproductive. Everything I had packed to help me navigate the pain was a distraction. My skill set to cope and strive through struggles only caused me to fight my body’s direction. The more determined I became, the more the pain increased and progress deteriorated.
I remembered the lessons from my Lamaze classes, and the ideas that had seemed ludicrous were all I had left to try. Instead of gritting my teeth and struggling through, I relaxed my muscles. As the tightening crested, I breathed in counting to four, and then breathed out counting to four. I embraced the pain and allowed it to wash over me. I submitted my will to my body’s will. I couldn’t control it, and I had to let nature take over.
It seemed impossible that something as effortless and invisible as breathing could be the answer for navigating life’s most intense pain, but hour after hour, I breathed and submitted. It took every ounce of my concentration to release my control moment by moment. I fixed my mind on uncurling my fingers and laying down my urge to control.
With an indescribable surge of energy, I delivered my daughter into the world. In the momentous adrenaline rush, I felt superhuman. I could have lifted a car or run a marathon. My body knew this was its greatest accomplishment to date.
I can’t take credit for the miracle that occurred that day in the delivery room. It happened despite me, not because of me. My power was a hindrance, and my decision to let go was the key.
The same paradoxical principle applies to our spiritual lives. In the world’s system, growing and maturing means gaining control, mastering each decision until it is muscle memory, fine-tuning every action until we make the impossible look flawless with our increasing skill. Progress means gaining prestige and building a reputation for our self-reliance and expanding capacity.
Maturing in our faith is the opposite. Every personal success we bring to our relationship with Christ is a distraction, and every talent gained in our own strength is a hindrance. We experience true spiritual maturity by letting go. We must release control, lay down our lives, and master the art of submission. In order for the Holy Spirit to work in and through us, we have to get our personal agendas out of the way.
Galatians 2:20 explains it by saying, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (NIV). If we want to live for Christ, we must stop living for ourselves. We can no longer allow our actions, thoughts, and motivations to be self-directed.
If we are called to stop focusing on our own lives, what does God call us to turn our attention toward? It is something just as invisible as breath. 2 Corinthians 4:18 says, “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
We must fix our eyes on Him. In a world chasing tangible prizes and calculable glory, God calls us to embrace His unseen Spirit until the Spirit consumes and transforms us. We uncurl our fingers from our desire to gain security or status for ourselves on earth in order to invest in the abundance of God’s imperishable Kingdom, which we have yet to see.
This is so counterintuitive; it demands every ounce of our energy and focus to bow our will to God’s direction moment by moment. When we feel least in control, we achieve spiritual maturity, not because of our efforts, but in spite of them.
The world may laugh at this definition of maturity. Culture will call it a waste. But we know that denying our desires creates space to embrace God’s desires. Laying down our citizenship on earth enables the right to be called His child. Not chasing temporary things leaves energy to pursue the eternal ones. Each time we release our grip, we grow in unseen, yet unshakeable ways. We mature in our faith.
To the outside world, submission doesn’t sound like maturity, but we know the truth. When we meet God face to face, we will hear the words “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23). When all of God’s creation is finally healed and restored, our tired bodies will be transformed, and we will swell with intense fulfillment. We will rejoice in completing our greatest accomplishment, the one we were created before time to achieve—glorifying our Father!
—Written by Erin Greneaux. Used by permission from the author.
