On Control

For most of my life, I thought my greatest weakness was impatience.

I wanted answers quickly. I wanted problems resolved. I wanted difficult seasons to end as soon as possible. I thought I simply struggled with waiting.

Lately, though, I've begun to wonder if impatience was never the real issue.

I think it was control.

That realization stung a little.

Control sounds so much uglier than impatience. Impatience almost sounds innocent, like someone tapping their foot while waiting in line. Control reaches much deeper. It quietly believes that if I think hard enough, pray hard enough, analyze every possibility, and prepare for every outcome, then maybe life won't surprise me. Maybe suffering won't catch me off guard.

The problem is that life has never asked for my permission before changing.

One phone call can change everything.

One diagnosis.

One betrayal.

One unexpected grace.

No amount of overthinking has ever prevented any of those things from happening.

So what exactly have I been trying to control?

The future.

Not because I wanted to manipulate God, but because uncertainty makes me uncomfortable. If I know what's coming, I can prepare myself emotionally. At least that's what I tell myself.

But the truth is... I rarely prepare.

I rehearse.

I replay conversations that never happen. I invent scenarios that don't exist. I answer questions no one has asked. My imagination becomes convinced that it is helping me, when in reality it's only stealing today's peace in exchange for tomorrow's uncertainty.

The strange part is that I know better.

I know what Scripture says.

I know what trust looks like.

I've admired Abraham for years. I've reflected on Our Lady's surrender more times than I can count. I've prayed novenas asking God to teach me abandonment to His will.

And then I catch myself trying to write tomorrow's chapter before I've even finished today's page.

It's almost funny.

Almost.

The more I pray, the more I realize that God isn't asking me to become someone who never thinks about the future. He's asking me to stop trying to possess it.

There's a difference.

Hope looks toward tomorrow.

Control tries to own tomorrow.

Hope says, "Lord, I trust You."

Control says, "Lord... just tell me what's going to happen."

I smile a little as I write that because it sounds exactly like me.

I've spent so much time asking for certainty when perhaps what I've really needed was courage.

The courage to wake up each morning and simply live the day I've been given.

To love the people in front of me.

To do my work well.

To laugh when something is funny.

To cry when something hurts.

To pray without trying to negotiate the outcome.

Maybe that's what surrender actually looks like.

Not giving up hope.

Not pretending I don't care.

Not becoming indifferent.

Just loosening my grip.

Little by little.

Finger by finger.

Until the future no longer feels like something I have to carry.

Perhaps that's why Jesus spoke so often about today.

Today's bread.

Today's cross.

Today's worries.

He never invited us to live twenty years at once.

Only this day.

And if I'm being honest, this day is usually much lighter than the one my imagination creates.

I don't know if I'll ever stop wanting answers.

I suspect that's part of being human.

But maybe I can become the kind of woman who no longer mistakes certainty for peace.

Because they aren't the same thing.

Peace isn't knowing what's going to happen.

Peace is knowing Who is already there when it does.

And for today...

I think that's enough.

💜