Every accomplishment. Every success. Every step forward I’ve ever taken in life—It’s all You, Lord.
I’ve been reminded of this over and over again: none of it is mine. None of it has come from my strength, my intelligence, or even the clarity of my words. The truth is, if anything good has come from my life, it’s because You allowed it. You authored it. You brought it to pass.
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit,” says the LORD of hosts.
— Zechariah 4:6
I don’t always turn to You first. Sometimes I draw up plans in my own mind—brilliant strategies, clear steps, long-term visions—and they feel wise. They look right. They might even be supported by Scripture and sound counsel. But in the quiet of my heart, I know they weren’t born from abiding.
They were born from ambition.
Ambition isn’t always bad, but when it replaces dependence, it becomes a substitute for the Spirit. And I’ve learned—often the hard way—that when I chase what I can do without pausing to ask what You are doing, I end up building things that might look impressive but lack lasting fruit.
Over the years, I’ve seen how powerful a surrendered life can be.
I’ve had seasons where You clearly carried me—where I knew that I was in over my head, and yet peace flowed like a river. I said the right words when I didn’t know what to say. I made the right decisions when logic didn’t support them. I led well when I should’ve been overwhelmed.
That’s how I know it’s not me.
Because when I rely on You, it works. When I try to carry it on my own, I burn out.
And still—my heart drifts toward self-reliance. It’s subtle. It’s deceptively easy to think that because You worked through me before, I now understand how You move, and I can take it from here. I start managing Your plans instead of waiting on Your voice.
But fruit doesn’t come from memory.
It comes from connection.
From abiding.
So today, Lord, I lay it all down.
I lay them at Your feet.
I don’t want to live by cleverness.
I want to live by Your call.
Not because it’s safer. It’s often not.
Not because it’s clearer. It rarely is.
But because it’s You.
And if it’s You, it’s enough.
One of the hardest lessons You keep teaching me is how to wait.
Waiting doesn’t mean inaction. It means trust. It means I stop manipulating outcomes and start listening. It means I surrender my desire for control and open my hands to Your timing.
You’ve never rushed.
And yet You’re never late.
Help me remember that Your pace is part of Your plan. That delay is often Your mercy, giving me time to grow before stepping into something bigger than I can handle.
Waiting is where roots grow deep.
Waiting is where dependence becomes real.
So I won’t just wait passively.
I’ll wait with expectation.
There’s nothing I want more than to finish this life knowing I lived it with You, not just for You.
I don’t want to run ahead.
I don’t want to look back.
I want to walk in step with Your Spirit, trusting You with every detail—even the ones I don’t understand.
So here I am again, Lord.
Everything I am,
Everything I dream,
Everything I hope to be—
I give it to You.
Not because I’m holy, but because I’m Yours.
Not because I’m strong, but because I’ve learned that Your strength flows best through weakness.
If you’re reading this and you feel worn out—if your plans are heavy, if your progress feels slow, if your spiritual life feels hollow—it might be time to lay it all down again.
Not because your plans are bad.
Not because your ideas aren’t valuable.
But because you were never meant to carry them alone.
God’s Spirit is not a last resort when your ideas fail.
He’s the first voice, the only power, and the true source of fruit that lasts.
If you’ve been trying to do it all in your own strength, this is your invitation:
He will direct your steps.
He will speak to your heart.
He will carry the weight.
And when it’s all said and done, you’ll look back and say with peace:
“It wasn’t me. It was all Him.”
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the LORD of hosts.”
— Zechariah 4:6