It’s time to lay it on the Altar

Some days I feel like I'm winning at life.  

I packed lunches for my kids with actual fruit, finally got that pile of laundry completely folded and put away, and even made time to drop off cookies to our neighbor that moved in 6 months ago.  I mean...c’mon! Someone hand me a trophy because clearly, I have my life together.

But then, somedays, God gently reminds me that I am, in fact, not running the universe and everything comes to a screeching halt.  

Ever been there?
For me, that moment happened at the DMV this week.
 
(Because let’s just be serious…. there is nothing that humbles a woman of God like the DMV.) 
 
I took my son to take his driving test.
 
As we walked inside, I was trying to act calm and be a good mom.  I was constantly repeating “Caleb you’re a great driver. You’ve got this! Deep breath, buddy. This is going to be easy.”
 
But inside… I was shaking like a leaf and praying desperately like we were back in the middle of January doing 21 days of Prayer and Fasting at my church.

They called Caleb’s number and together we walked up and met the instructor at the window…and that’s when she gave me news that rattled me to my core.

Instead of patiently waiting inside while he did his test, I had to RIDE in the passenger seat while they installed cameras and a phone inside our car to monitor his driving during the test.  

WHAT?!?!

Seriously…. why on earth did I agree to bring him to this.  

Where was STEVE?!

Then, to make matters even worse, before the test even began, the instructor walked out to our car, looked at me with absolutely no trace of humor and said, "Mom...you may not speak, gesture, coach, sigh dramatically, gasp, or make any noise during the driving test. If you do, he will automatically fail."

I wanted to die inside, and had no earthly idea how I was going to manage doing none of those things for the next 15 minutes.

I mean, c’mon, y’all.  I've been training for this role of motherhood for sixteen years!!

Talking?
That's motherhood.

Coaching?
That's motherhood.

Dramatically gasping when my children make questionable decisions?
Also motherhood.

You're telling me my only job today is...to sit there?

Sweet mercy. 

I literally sat on my hands and tried as hard as I could to not say a word, but my inner dialogue was out of control.

“Use your blinker.”
“Watch the yellow lines.”
“Please don't hit the cones.”
“Caleb…You’re getting really close to the cones.”
“AHHH!  Why are you turning so close to those cones?!”

I wanted to coach him so badly…. but all I could do was to keep my mouth shut and do everything in my power to sit quietly.

It was the most stressfull 15 minutes of my life, but as he pulled into that final parking spot and finished his test, I realized something...

For sixteen years I'd been sitting in the driver's seat of motherhood, and all at once, God quietly and carefully moved me into the passenger seat.  
As we quietly waited for his instructor to return, I felt God whisper to me:

“Beth... You won't always be able to reach Caleb. There will be tests you can't take for him. Roads you can't drive for him. There are many decisions coming up that you can't make for him. As hard as it is for you to accept, your assignment was never to control his future. Your assignment was to prepare him, and then trust Me with him…. because remember, Beth....I’ve got Him.”

Moments later the instructor returned and congratulated our new driver, (heaven help us all!) and without warning the reality of all of it hit my heart and tears filled my eyes.  

Caleb thought they were tears of joy for his success, and they partly were, but the root of my tears were because I knew God was whispering to me….

“Beth…it’s time to release him to my hands.”
 
And that whisper became a word for me…and maybe it’s a word for you, too.

Because sometimes God asks us to release our grip on the things we treasure most... not because He wants to take them away, but because He wants to remind us that He’s the One holding them all along.
 
Let’s just be real for a minute.  Trusting God is easy when the stakes are low.
 
It’s easy when the prayer is small, and when the outcome doesn’t touch the deepest parts of our hearts.
 
But trusting God becomes something entirely different when it involves what we treasure most.
 
Our kids.
Our marriages.
Our dreams.
Our future.
Our identity.
Our security.
 
It’s one thing to trust God with the things we care about, but it’s another thing to trust Him with the things you cannot imagine losing.
 
That day at the DMV, I realized that trust isn’t proven in the big dramatic moments, it’s proven in the quiet ones. The ones where no one is watching. The ones where your heart is whispering, “Jesus, I’m not sure I can do this. I need your help.  Lord, please hold what I can’t.”

Abraham knew that feeling.

Genesis 22 tells us that God asked him to take Isaac, the son he waited decades for and the son who represented every promise God had ever made…and place him on the altar.
 
Scripture says: “Take your son, your only son, whom you love…” (Genesis 22:2)
 
God acknowledged Abraham’s love for Isaac and acknowledged the cost ahead, and yet, God asked Abraham to trust Him more with what mattered most.
 
And that’s where I’m inspired because Abraham didn’t understand the plan, and He didn’t know the ending…but he knew the character of the One asking.

Sitting in that Toyota Camry, I realized Abraham's story wasn't just about an altar on a mountain…it was about every moment God's people choose surrender over control.

I was reminded that God goes where I can’t. He rides in every car my son drives. He's already waiting at every intersection before Caleb ever reaches it. He's present in every moment I'll never see, and He'll always arrive before I ever could.... 
and that’s the truth that steadies me during this new reality I’m trying to embrace.

God doesn’t replace my presence in Caleb’s life.  
He faithfully goes where my presence never can.

Maybe your altar doesn't look like mine. Maybe it isn't a DMV parking lot.
Maybe it isn't a sixteen-year-old gripping a steering wheel alone in the car for the first time.

Maybe your altar looks like a college dorm room, or a cold doctor's office, or an empty chair at the dinner table.
Maybe it’s a marriage that's hurting, or a dream that's hanging by a thread.  
Maybe your altar is a lonely car ride after dropping off your 6th grader at middle school for the first time, or checking your watch countless times as you wait for your kindergartener to finish their very first day of school.

Whatever it is, you know what it feels like to hold something so tightly because you're terrified of what will happen if you let go.

But here's what I'm learning….

We were never meant to carry the weight of being someone else's Savior.

We were only ever called to trust the One who already is.

So today, sweet friend, let’s open our hands, not because what we’re holding isn't precious.....but because it is.
And precious things deserve the safest place possible.

Remember that surrender isn't losing your grip on what you love...
it's transferring it into the hands of the God who loves it even more. 

So, whatever your Isaac is today, it’s time to place it on the altar.

It’s time to trust the God whose character has never changed. The God who loves what you treasure most and will always love it more perfectly than you ever could.

Sometimes faith looks heroic. But sometimes it looks like sitting quietly in the passenger seat, keeping your hands still, closing your lips, opening your heart, and trusting the God who carried you this far, is more than capable of carrying the people you love. 

Because the beautiful truth is this:  You were never holding everything together.

God was.

He always has been.

And He always will be.