[N]unbelievable Surrender

I’ve always thought I’d make a really great nun.
No, seriously. I’ve got three dream jobs: a permanent cast member on SNL, a criminal profiler for the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI (thank you, Criminal Minds) and a nun.
But believe it or not, much to my dismay I’ve got a good feeling that the nun is the least plausible of the three. As a 23-year-old fresh off the meticulously manicured lawn of my private, southern college, I’m learning that the veiled life of isolation is one I have to give up if I want to truly make my Creator proud.
I’ve been living under a different kind of veil for as long as I can remember— my soul scarred by fear, shame and self-doubt has been draped over by the fabric of popularity, leadership honors, academic excellence and early career successes. I’ve let the world build itself around me based off of who others need me to be, rather than who He needs me to be.
And all He needs me to be is fully His.
I’m learning every day that my anything is His everything— all of me is the only thing that will make Him satisfied; it is the only way He will be fully glorified. It’s not that He can’t work through my partially surrendered life, it’s that He knows the joy a fully surrendered life would bring.
The Lord reminds us of the joy that comes from total surrender in Malachi 3— the passage in Scripture that leads me to surrender more and more each day. Much like the priests Malachi describes, I feel like I’ve been cruisin’ along for a little while, thankful for a chance for some peace after uncertainty and wandering. Yet that thankful peace can slowly and sneakily turn into indifference, and I often sink into a pattern of doing things halfway. Again, much like the priests in Malachi, I still technically make sacrifices, they just aren’t my best— they are usually the things that I can give up without actually really having to totally surrender. As the priests in Malachi gave imperfect animals and called them sacrifices, I tend to give God bits and pieces of my life and call it surrender. And then, by His grace alone, as I continuously have the tendency to withhold my whole self from Him, robbing Him of what he victoriously won on the Cross, I hear Him tell me with a hope-filled firmness: “Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this…and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it” (Malachi 3:10).
It’s a dare that I have to take Him up on every single day— every moment of every day. It is so easy and so tempting to revert back to a life of partial surrender, especially when the Lord’s blessings look different than what I would choose. But this I know: God doesn’t do veils. I can’t conceal the parts of my life I don’t want Him to have because He not only needs it all, He wants it all. Today my anything looks different than it did two years ago, two months ago, and— to be blunt— even two days ago. But it is His, and I’m willing to let Him have it.
My anything moment comes each day when I choose to let Him remove the veil and find me in my hiddenness, rescuing me from the life of tight-fisted isolation I’d likely choose for myself, and shepherding me into a world where He can fill my open hands with anything He may choose.