My Life is Not My Own

In worship yesterday, there were two lines in two different songs that moved me to tears. I just couldn’t stop crying. I’ve been thinking about those lines ever since…

“I need you more than the air that I breathe.”

“You’re never gonna let me down.”

My tears weren’t sad tears or happy tears. They were overwhelmed-by-the-goodness-of-God tears. 

It’s good for us to be reminded that we need Him. Desperately. It’s the most vulnerable place to be to need Someone more than something that keeps our lungs filled to stay alive. But here in this season, I really do need Him more than the air I breathe. I don’t want to just stay alive…I want to live

I’ve been thinking a lot about this verse. It was a prayer that Jeremiah prayed. 

“I know, Lord, that our lives are not our own. We are not able to plan our own course.” Jeremiah 10:23

Our lives are not our own. When we chose Him, we chose to lay it all down. Our plans. Our dreams. Our rights. Our everything. We don’t like to think much about this truth. When the Apostle Paul says, “To live is Christ, to die is gain”, it’s much easier to skim past that verse than to count the cost of living it out. 

The theme for this month in our women’s ministry is self-control and what I’ve come to realize is that I don’t struggle with self-control when I’m fully aware that my life is not my own. If my life isn’t my own, there’s nothing for me to control. But when I start losing sight of this truth, when I start taking the helm of my life, I begin to spin out of control. 

“You keep her in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because she trusts in you.” Isaiah 26:3

I have always loved this verse. I memorized it this way…with her and she instead of him and he. God woke me up with this verse a couple of weeks ago, so I decided to dig a little deeper into its meaning. The Hebrew word for mind in this verse could also be translated as mindset or frame of mind. This word also means pottery formed by the potter. We could paraphrase the verse this way…

You keep her in perfect peace who’s settled that she is the clay, and You are the potter, because she trusts You. 

Self-control isn’t about taking control; it’s about releasing it. But not to just anyone…to Someone. The Someone that is “never gonna let us down.” He’s the potter. We’re the clay. He’s the peace-giver. We’re the peace-receiver. 

If this isn’t a truth that we meditate on daily, we’ll drift from the awareness of it. I know this all too well. When my mom died, I didn’t think there would ever be a day that would go by that I wouldn’t think of her. But after 33 years of being without her, there are many days that, sadly, I don’t remember her at all. 

Several months ago, my Dad and stepmom gave me a bag they found with some of my mom’s needlework projects. When I picked this one up, I couldn’t help but run my finger over each colorful stitch, knowing she had touched the thread too.

What was she thinking about each time her needle plunged up and down through the fabric? Surely, she was thinking of me and my sister as she stitched each word. As I ran my finger over them, it connected me to her in a way I haven’t felt connected to her in years. 

So, early this morning, I decided to go outside and plant my bare feet in the grass. His creation. I wanted to touch something He had touched. To feel connected to Him. 

There was no trace of the sun on the horizon and there were still stars in the sky over our quiet corner of the country. The dew was cold and refreshing under my feet and the only sound I could hear was the whir of the well motor in the field across the road and then there it was…the awareness.

The awareness that He is big, and I am small, and yet, He’s near

The awareness that He is in control, and I am not, and yet, I’m free

The awareness that He is the potter, and I am the clay, and yet, I’m at peace

He gave me life and breathed His breath into my lungs, and I am most aware in this moment that my life is not my own, and yet, I’m truly living.

We would like to thank Amber Curry for sharing this post.

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