There is a point in faith where effort must give way to trust. Not because effort is wrong, but because effort has limits — and God does not. I’ve learned that true peace doesn’t come from trying harder, explaining more, or carrying what was never mine to hold. It comes when I finally allow myself to fully surrender, and just as importantly, when I allow others the dignity of their own surrender.

Surrender is not passivity. It is not giving up. It is choosing alignment over control. It is saying, “God, I trust You enough to stop interfering.” That includes interfering with outcomes, with timing, with people’s growth, and even with our own need to be understood.

For a long time, I thought loving people meant helping them see, helping them change, helping them get free. But what I’ve learned is that God never asked me to do His job. Conviction belongs to Him. Transformation belongs to Him. Awakening belongs to Him. When I try to force surrender — mine or someone else’s — I am actually standing in the way of what God is already doing.

True surrender begins internally. It starts when I stop negotiating with God and simply agree. When I stop asking Him to fix things my way and start trusting that His way is already right. When I stop explaining my pain and allow Him to heal it without performance. That kind of surrender brings a quiet strength — not loud faith, not anxious prayer, but settled confidence.

And once I surrendered myself, I realized something even harder: I must also let others surrender in their own time. Some people are not ready. Some people are still holding onto control, fear, pride, or comfort. And that is not my burden to carry. God does not rush souls. He invites them.

When we try to push people into surrender, we often do it out of love — but love that is mixed with fear. Fear that they won’t change. Fear that they’ll miss God. Fear that they’ll suffer. But God is not afraid. He is patient. He knows exactly how to reach every heart, and He doesn’t need our pressure to do it.

Letting others surrender means releasing the need to correct, convince, or rescue. It means trusting that God is speaking even when we are silent. It means understanding that silence can be obedience, and restraint can be faith. Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is step back and let God move without commentary.

Surrender also teaches us boundaries. When I surrendered, I learned that I don’t have to absorb other people’s resistance. I don’t have to argue with unbelief. I don’t have to justify my walk. I don’t have to prove God’s presence — His work speaks for itself. My role is to remain aligned, not reactive.

There is a deep peace that comes when you stop trying to manage spiritual outcomes. When you realize that God’s sovereignty does not require your anxiety. When you understand that obedience is not loud, and faith is not frantic. Sometimes faith looks like waiting. Sometimes it looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like letting go — fully.

In surrender, God teaches us humility. Not the kind that diminishes us, but the kind that frees us. We stop striving to be right and start resting in being held. We stop performing faith and start living it. And in that place, God does what only He can do — gently, precisely, and on time.

So I choose surrender.
I choose to trust God with myself.
I choose to trust God with others.
And I choose to believe that what He begins, He will complete — without my interference.

That is freedom.
That is faith.
That is surrender.

There are moments when God calls us to do something that feels bigger than us. We see the assignment clearly, but when we look at ourselves, all we can see are our weaknesses. That’s exactly where Moses found himself. God spoke directly to him, gave him clear instructions, and yet Moses responded with fear. He didn’t doubt God’s power — he doubted his own ability. “I can’t speak well,” he said. “I’m not the one.”

What’s beautiful about this moment is not Moses’ fear, but God’s response to it.

God did not take the calling away. He did not shame Moses or lower His expectations. Instead, He reminded Moses that He is the One who gives speech, ability, and purpose. And when Moses still struggled, God provided help. Aaron was assigned to stand beside him, to speak what Moses received from the Lord.

This tells us something deeply comforting: God does not require us to be fearless to obey Him. He does not wait for us to feel confident before He moves. He already knows where we feel weak — and He plans for it.

Sometimes we assume that needing help means we are not ready, not qualified, or not strong enough. But in God’s kingdom, help is not a sign of failure. It is a sign of grace. God often answers our insecurity not by removing the assignment, but by surrounding us with support while we grow into it.

Moses still had to go. He still had to trust God. He still had to show up. Aaron didn’t replace him — Aaron assisted him. And over time, Moses grew into the very confidence he thought he lacked. The one who once said, “I can’t speak,” eventually spoke with authority, clarity, and boldness.

Today, if God has placed something on your heart and you feel hesitant because you don’t think you’re enough, remember this: God already accounted for your weakness when He called you. He knows what you need, and He will supply it — whether that looks like a person, encouragement, timing, or strength you don’t yet see.

You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to do it alone. You just have to be willing.

God tells us not to judge, and you know why? Because when we judge people, we’re looking strictly on the outside of their life. We looking at their clothes, their past, their mistakes, the rumors, the mess… and we refuse to understand something real simple: everybody who has ever walked this earth has problems. Everybody. Nobody is perfect. Nobody is squeaky clean. Nobody has it all together like they pretend.

And let me go deeper…
Right now, people are listening to folks on YouTube who’ve had very questionable paths. I’m talking about stories that would make some church folks clutch their pearls. And guess what? They follow them anyway. Why? Because those people are relatable. Because those people ain’t pretending. Because those people know what it feels like to fall flat on their face and still get back up through the grace of God.

People don’t listen to perfection.
People listen to truth.
People listen to testimony.
People listen to what they can relate to — which is being human.

And listen… that’s why so many folks online are gaining influence. Not because they’re perfect, not because they holier-than-thou, but because they remind people that it's okay not to be perfect. They remind people that only God saves — not your résumé, not your background, not your image, not your reputation. Just God.

See, the problem with judging folks is that we forget this:
If God waited for perfect people to preach His word, nobody would be preaching. Nobody would be teaching. Nobody would be testifying. There would be no gospel being spread because none of us are spotless.

So when God uses somebody with a messy past?
When God uses somebody who’s been through it?
When God uses somebody who still ain’t got every piece of their life together?

Let that person HAVE IT. 🙏
Let them do what God called them to do.
Because sometimes it takes an imperfect messenger to reach an imperfect listener.

People relate to brokenness because they themselves are broken. People relate to struggle because they themselves are struggling. People relate to testimonies of deliverance because they themselves are praying for deliverance.

And that’s why I say what I say:
If it takes an imperfect person to share the gospel so folks can know they can be saved — then let that person have it.

Stop judging people who God already forgave.
Stop blocking doors God already opened.
Stop criticizing voices God is using to reach the lost.

Because at the end of the day, we’re all human…
But He is the Savior.
And that’s why the gospel works — because it meets people right where they are, not where we think they should be.