My youth pastor once told me about how his wife, on the drive to her grandfather’s funeral, slammed the backs of her hands on to her thighs, palms up in desperation to have God take control. She was letting go.
I have a hard time letting go of things. My grasp can be pretty tight. Its not that I just have a firm grip, I have a complicated grip on things. I dig my fingers in deep, weaving whatever I have my mits on up to my wrists, around and around, so really it would take a knife to cut me loose.
But, what I think is an unbreakable bond between me and the object is a mere piece of twine in God’s eyes. He’s calling me to let go, throw my palms up in surrender to His plans, His ideas, His love.
Contrary to what I think on a daily basis, my grasp does not equal control. Grasping is my finite attempt to reach an infinite God.
He is already right in front of me and won’t ever leave.