THE ART OF LETTING GO

The Art of Letting Go

Have you ever seen the picture of the little girl holding a teddy bear?

She’s clutching this small teddy bear against her chest while Jesus stands in front of her with His hand out, asking her to give it to Him. What she can't see is that Jesus is hiding a much bigger teddy bear behind His back.

She doesn't want to give hers up.

Why would she?

She loves that teddy bear.

It’s hers.

And she has no idea what He is holding behind His back.

What We Know

I see this with my own kids.

Sometimes it is incredibly difficult for them to give up their toys. Part of the problem is that they don't feel like they're getting anything in return. Even when we ask them to share, sometimes they immediately expect the other person to share something back.

If I give this up, what am I getting?

I think we ask God the same question.

The little girl doesn't know that the teddy bear behind Jesus' back is bigger than the one she's holding. All she knows is that she has grown fond of hers. She has become attached to it.

We do the same thing with our lives.

No matter how unhealthy, painful, or chaotic our lives become, we can still become attached to them because they are what we know.

It's our normal.

It's our identity.

It's who we are in that moment.

So when we're asked to give that up for something we cannot see yet, it's terrifying.

We aren't just being asked to release something bad.

We're being asked to release something known for something unknown.

And I think that is where we begin to experience just how deep the love of Christ really is.

You Can't Receive With Closed Hands

Think about the simplest exchange.

If someone is handing me something large enough that I need both hands to receive it, I have to put down whatever I'm already carrying.

I can't receive it with two closed fists.

That's the part of letting go that I missed for years.

I kept asking God to give me something new while refusing to release what I already had.

I wanted peace while holding onto the things creating chaos.

I wanted freedom while holding onto control.

I wanted a different life while desperately protecting the one I had built.

My hands were full.

And then I wondered why I couldn't receive anything different.

Sometimes Letting Go Starts With Letting It Hurt

The art of letting go doesn't necessarily mean that the first time something hits you, you immediately release it forever.

Sometimes letting go begins by simply allowing something to run its course within you.

We all have those moments.

We hear something.

We feel something.

Something touches a nerve.

And instead of dealing with it, we suppress it. Ignore it. Sweep it under the rug.

Then, months or years later, we discover that the issue has become much bigger than it ever needed to be because we never addressed it when it was small.

Think about a cavity.

You feel that little pain when you eat something sugary—and man, do I love sugar—but you ignore it.

Then you ignore it again.

Eventually, what might have required a simple filling becomes something much greater.

I'm saying this as someone with bridges, crowns, and root canals in his mouth.

I'm speaking from experience.

Some things don't disappear because we ignore them.

They grow.

Sometimes the first act of letting go is simply allowing ourselves to acknowledge:

This hurts.

This isn't working.

Something has to change.

And sometimes your life is at stake, and you have to stop suppressing what God has been trying to work through you.

The Life I Didn't Want to Lose

This was incredibly difficult for me because I had built the life I thought I wanted.

I wanted to be a basketball trainer.

I wanted to coach basketball.

I wanted to make more than $20 an hour.

I didn't want to punch a clock.

I wanted control over my schedule and the flexibility to work whenever I wanted. I could coach basketball, train players before or after school, deliver during the day, work in real estate, and piece everything together on my terms.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was mine.

And getting help threatened all of it.

I eventually had to accept that simply attending a meeting here or there wasn't going to be enough for me. Trying to fix everything while preserving the rest of my life exactly as it was wasn't going to work either.

I needed more.

I needed a full revamp of my life.

I needed surrender.

I needed to let go.

And I fought like hell not to.

What Was I Actually Holding Onto?

Here's what's interesting.

I wasn't necessarily fighting to keep alcohol or marijuana.

Those weren't the real things I was afraid to lose.

I've said before that alcohol and marijuana weren't the problem for me. They were my solution to my problems—and then that solution created even more problems.

So underneath my fear of giving them up was another fear:

What if I'm not okay without them?

What happens when anxiety comes?

What happens when life hurts?

What happens when I'm uncomfortable?

What happens when I have to sit with myself?

What happens when the thing I've used to escape is no longer available?

That's what I was holding onto.

But there was something else.

Reputation or Character

I was also holding tightly to an image of myself.

I cared about my reputation.

I cared about what people thought about me.

I cared about appearing successful.

I wanted people to see the coach, trainer, husband, father, hard worker—the guy building something.

But eventually I had to confront an uncomfortable truth:

My reputation was who people thought I was. My character was who I actually was.

And I didn't like who I was becoming.

Recovery forced me to stop asking, How do I protect this image?

Instead, I had to start asking:

Who do I actually want to become?

For me, the answer couldn't simply be a better version of myself.

The character builder had to be Christ.

I needed to let go of the person I was trying so desperately to appear to be and allow Christ to begin shaping the person He wanted me to become.

Because I began to believe that what He could create from my life was far greater than anything I could manufacture myself.

But first, I had to open my hands.

A Sketch and a Canvas

For years, I prayed for God to change my life while simultaneously trying to tell Him exactly what He was allowed to change.

Fix this—but don't touch that.

Take this pain—but leave my plans alone.

Give me freedom—but let me keep control.

Give me a new life—but make sure it still looks like the old one.

That's not surrender.

I was asking God for something new while clutching what I already had.

Like that little girl with the teddy bear, I couldn't see what was behind His back.

I only knew what was in my hands.

And I was terrified to lose it.

That's the art of letting go.

It isn't believing that what you're holding has never mattered.

It isn't pretending that releasing it doesn't hurt.

And it isn't knowing exactly what you're going to receive in return.

Sometimes it's simply trusting enough to loosen your grip.

Because for years, I was holding onto a sketch of the life I had created while asking God to hand me a new canvas.

Eventually, I had to put the sketch down.

I had to open my hands.

And let Him paint.