From Struggle to Surrender - A Journey of Grace
God told me it was time to share the burden
Over the past three posts in Hannah’s Heart, I have written about what it means to meet God in the storm, to move from struggle into surrender, and to bring hidden weight into His light. There is one moment from Because She Believed where all three came together for me.
It happened on the morning we returned home from the hospital without our daughter.
As we drew closer to the house, everyone was quiet, absorbed in thoughts too heavy for words. My mind returned to the struggle I had carried with God during the weeks before Kristen died. I had written only a few milestones in my journal. Most of that journey had remained between the Father and me.
How could I explain the unexplainable to Julie? How could I tell my wife—Kristen’s mother, who had just lost her baby girl—about the burden I believed God had been preparing me to carry?
The storm had become a place of intimacy
When I prayed on Easter Sunday, “Father, show me Your heart,” I did not understand what I was asking. In the weeks that followed, I wrestled with a growing heaviness I could not fully name. During The Passion musical, I wept as I sensed God showing me something of His grief over sin and the death and separation it brought into His creation.
I want to be clear: I do not believe Kristen died because God was punishing her for a particular sin or because I asked to see His heart. I was seeing, in a deeply personal way, the terrible cost of the brokenness sin brought into the world—and the heart of the Father who gave His Son to overcome it.
The struggle was painful, but God was intimately close through it all. In my weakness and despair, the light of His glory and grace shined even brighter. What felt like a storm was the Refiner at work washing away the last pretense of my pride and self-sufficiency.
That is what I meant when I wrote about finding intimacy in the struggle. Honest prayer does not offend God. Our questions do not drive Him away. Sometimes the place where we wrestle most deeply is the place where we discover that He has been holding us all along.
Surrender gave me grace for the next step
We arrived home shortly before seven that morning. Before we lay down hoping sleep might give us enough strength for the journey ahead, I sat beside Julie, took her hand, and prayed.
It was not an eloquent prayer. It was simply a prayer of thanks to our Father—for His goodness and grace, for His love and mercy, for His nearness, and for the years He had given us to be Kristen’s mom and dad.
Gratitude did not cancel our grief. We were not calling the loss good. We were acknowledging that God had been good to us in the middle of a pain we could not yet comprehend.
“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” (Psalms 34:18 NLT)
We slept restlessly. Eventually, we got up because there was much to do to prepare for the celebration of Kristen’s life. That was surrender in its most practical form: not having every answer, not feeling strong, but receiving enough grace to take the next step.
Surrender is sometimes misunderstood as giving up. For me, it was releasing my demand to control an outcome I could not control and placing myself in the hands of the One who could carry me. The grief remained. The questions remained. But grace was there also.
And His grace kept winning.
Love brought the burden into the light
After we showered and dressed, I took Julie’s hand and sat with her on the edge of our bed.
“Do you remember what I said at the hospital?” I asked. “Sometimes God has bigger plans than we can imagine.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I remember.”
“This is one of those times,” I said.
Then I asked whether she remembered watching The Passion with me a couple of months earlier and seeing me cry through the entire musical.
“Yes.”
I told her that was when I believed God began showing me His heart regarding sin and preparing me for the possibility that Kristen would leave us. I told her I had sensed Him asking me to trust that He could bring a purpose larger than anything I could imagine out of the struggle we would walk through.
I was not saying that Kristen’s death was a gift. The gift was the grace God had given me in the weeks leading up to that night: a glimpse into His grieving heart, an intimacy that sustained me, and a quiet assurance that death would not have the final word.
Julie looked at me with kindness and said,
“I’m so sorry you had to carry that burden by yourself. I knew something was weighing on you because you had been so quiet and introspective.”
Then she asked,
“With such a heavy burden, did you ever think about sharing it with me?”
I answered honestly.
“No, not really. Although the struggle with God over Kristen was difficult, it was also intimately beautiful. There was a delicate balance between the struggle and God’s grace—and His grace always won in the end.”
She hugged me. She told me she was sharing the burden with me now, and that we would continue this journey of faith together.
That moment taught me something about bringing our burdens into the light. Not every quiet season is rooted in shame or fear. Some things begin in the secret place with God, before we have words for anyone else. But a private season with God is not meant to become permanent isolation.
There came a time when the burden was no longer mine to carry alone.
God had joined Julie and me as one flesh. Sharing what I had carried did not transfer my experience to her or tell her how she should grieve. It invited her into the truth of what had been happening in my heart. She responded not only by receiving my words, but by offering me compassion and choosing to walk beside me.
The burden did not vanish when it entered the light. It became shared.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)
Grace can win without making grief small
I still cannot explain everything about that season. Faith did not tie every loose end into a neat answer. Surrender did not remove the pain of our loss. Bringing the burden into the light did not remove the road we still had to walk. But it did give context to the journey.
But grace met us there.
- Grace was present in a tired prayer beside the bed.
- Grace was present when two grieving parents took each other’s hands.
- Grace was present when words that had lived only between God and me were finally shared with Julie.
- Grace was present in Julie’s kindness: “You do not have to carry this by yourself anymore.”
That is the thread connecting the storm, surrender, and light. The storm drew me into intimacy with God. Surrender loosened my grip on what I could never control. Light allowed the burden to be shared with the woman God had given me to walk beside.
His grace did not make our grief small. His grace made it possible to keep walking through it together.
When your own burden feels too heavy
Perhaps you are carrying something you cannot yet explain. Maybe your prayers feel more like wrestling than worship. Maybe you know God is asking you to surrender, but your hands still feel tightly closed. Or perhaps you have stayed silent so long that the silence itself has become another weight.
Begin by pouring out your heart to God. He already knows what you carry, and He is not intimidated by your pain.
“Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us.” (Psalm 62:8)
Then ask Him for wisdom about the next faithful step. There may be a season when a burden is held privately with God. But when He provides the right time and a safe person, do not mistake isolation for faithfulness. Let someone who loves you help carry what was never meant to crush you.
Sharing will not always produce an immediate answer. It may not change the circumstances at all. But truth spoken in love makes room for comfort, prayer, and companionship. It reminds us that God often carries us through the hands and hearts of His people.
The storm may still be raging. The surrender may still be daily. The light may enter only a little at a time.
But grace is there.
And grace still wins.
A prayer for the burdened heart
Father, You see every burden we carry, including the ones we cannot explain. Meet us in the storm and draw us near. Teach us to surrender what we cannot control without denying the pain we feel. Give us wisdom to know when to be still with You and when to bring our burden into the light. Lead us to safe and loving people who will walk beside us. Let Your grace be greater than our fear, our questions, and our grief. Remind us that because of Jesus, sin and death will not have the final word. In Jesus’ name, Amen!
