When surrender is worship
Is it a lack of desire or are you grieving an outdate version of yourself?
What are you good at?
A question we hear often—sometimes in the middle of stagnation, sometimes in the throes of mental anguish. We desire clarity. Once we had it—a clear directive, a sense of where we were headed. Then, at some point, God threw a curveball, exposing where our trust was lacking. Now, we’re out here treading water, barely staying afloat.
No? Just me?
I always know when I’m entering a transition. The mental disruption comes first, long before the physical shift—the kind of shift we call change.
Change happens.
It’s inevitable.
It’s unavoidable.
It’s coming.
And when it does, transition should have prepared us.
I’m the one who will tell you to cry. Cry and cry and cry some more. It cleanses the soul. It proves empathy still lives within. It’s where we come to the end of ourselves, making space for God to take up residence again. Even if we never stray from His leading, new lessons come with every step forward, creating a void for God to inhabit.
How will change find us?
In surrender or resistance?
Sometimes both.
The faster we accept that we don’t understand, the sooner we can grasp our limitations and our absolute dependence on Jesus. Resistance creates the need for rest. And God—arms wide, always by our side—is simply waiting for our flesh to catch up with what our spirit already knows.
You think it’s a lack of desire.
You’re really grieving an outdated version of yourself.
You can’t fully grasp who you are becoming, but the reflection in the mirror no longer aligns with the transformation happening inside.
And in that place, we are called to build an altar to the Lord. A place of remembrance for what He has done and what He is doing within us.
It’s here, in grief, on the cusp of wonder, that we realize surrender is worship.
Obedience isn’t a catchy slogan.
Faith isn’t just a concept.
It’s a way of living. A way of experiencing "life more abundantly" that God promised for those who believe. Even when weeping and mourning show up as part of the same package as joy.
Worship in pregnancy has looked more like surrender than I know how to articulate. I have cried more tears than I can count. And even in the deep unknown, there—in the middle—I learned to lay down my need for control and free-fall into the arms of the Father. Surrounded by the community He planted me in. Anchored by their presence. Held up by my husband, a pillar of strength for me in my uncertainty.
Pregnancy has exposed my heart.
And yet, worship never ends. It’s ever-evolving, yet always constant.
Worship isn’t just something we do—it’s who we are. It’s embedded in our DNA, a natural response of reverence to our Creator who decided, before time began, that you and I would be part of a larger story.
Our perspectives are shaped by our experiences, but those experiences aren’t always transparent. They’re rose-colored, mosaic-wrapped, woven from the intricate details of generational decisions—leading to the one willing to break what doesn’t align with what God said.
The one who has to know what God said.
By understanding who He is.
Allowing him to guide us into the unknown future where he already exists.
Surrender is worship.
Your heart will be exposed.
So the next time someone asks what you're good at, may your answer be: I’m unafraid of change.
With intentionality,
Janae Carlee
I, too, am in this space. I definitely started during pregnancy has continued through 8 months post party. It's weird. It's uncomfortable. But surrendering to the unknown is such a leap of faith. I believe that God will reward it in time. For now, I guess my only job is to sit in it. 😵💫
In a similar season. The in-between. The liminal space. Allowing God to move in my life without wanting to control. Surrender is truly worhsip. I am grieving an outdated version of myself, allowing my new identity in Christ to come forward -- fully.