I've noticed lately that something in my ego bristles at the word “surrender.” I can't shake off the military connotations, and that throws my whole relationship with my Higher Power into an adversarial mode. Then, when I try to soften my heart and become willing to let go of my way, my will, I stubbornly don't want HP to have Her way, either.

But reframing the story in my mind, I feel the release and relief of a different kind of surrender. I can imagine being lost in a dark forest. Thorns and clinging vines block my passage, the sun's bright face is obscured by tall trees. I don't know what wild beasts or poisonous creatures are stirring, to my right and to my left. Darkness is coming and I am cold, hungry and afraid. In this situation, I would gladly surrender to anyone who could tell me which direction I needed to go. Thrashing around in an unknown place filled with hidden dangers doesn't usually lead to good outcomes.

If I was turning myself over to someone I know and trust, it would be an even easier decision. And I do know this Higher Power who demands my surrender. She is the one who fills my life with the tender love and care of my friends and family. My Higher Power offers me birdsong and flowers, sunshine and dramatic, sweeping storms. The third step invites me to turn my will and my life over to God's care, not to an indifferent commander of an opposing army.

Surrender itself is not the cause of my pain or discomfort. It's the resistance to surrender that makes every decision seem a burden, every step a hard slog. Giving up on having things my own way means difficulties begin to melt away and choices become more clear. When I let go of the idea that I am the sole keeper of life's answers, it is humbling – but it feels infinitely better than forcing my way alone through a hostile landscape.

Surrendering my own will and waiting for an understanding of what my Higher Power wants for me often seems an impossible task, especially when I view it over a period of weeks and months. On the days I have managed it with any kind of success, I have moved minute-by-minute in a careful dance of “do the next right thing.” Do the dishes. Call the doctor. Pay the bills. Take a nap. When I am able to trust my actions moment-by-moment, I build hours and then days on a foundation of God's will.

But moving forward, I can't always know that I am surrendered to HP. It is only looking backwards in time that I see how those “next right thing” moments stack up and offer me direction. It takes perspective to see the long-term fruits of the program. When I am surrendered, with a moment-by-moment dependence upon a kind and loving H.P., my program promises me a life filled with God's “ease, balance and grace.” That's something worth surrendering for.

-Karyn Zweifel