trying too hard
the difference between giving up and surrender
It's fall, so if you come to our house in the next few weeks, I'm warning you, there will be quail in the main bathroom again. But they don't stare or gawk, and you can pretty much do your business in peace.
Our last hatch of the year was at the end of August and for the first time, we had to help a few of the quail out of their shells. And if you know about hatching chicks of any kind, you know you're not supposed to do that.
Three of them were stuck, though. They had done most of the work themselves already, but the incubator's humidity was off and it had been too long; they were going to die anyway. Their shells were just too dry and wouldn't crack the rest of the way open...so I helped. One at a time, I took their warm eggs from the incubator and held them in my hand. With fear and trembling, I slid the tine of a fork into the widened crack, widened it a little more, and popped them back in the incubator.
They made it, but two out of the three really struggled – and we did, too. Their toes would not straighten out, so we painstakingly splinted them with bandaids. They had splayed legs (common even in otherwise healthy chicks) so we popped them in small jars for teacup therapy. We tried every trick we knew, and learned a few more from the internet.
By day two, one of the chicks was better but it was clear that the other one's leg had stiffened wrong and it was still walking on curled toes. It seemed happy enough for the time being, even though it struggled to get around like the other chicks who were zipping all over the place.
How do you put something out of its misery when it doesn't seem miserable yet? Do you wait for the misery to come, or do you keep praying for a miracle? There are much bigger livestock to apply this too, and I'm grateful we only deal with poultry.
The other chick seemed fine until day three, when it somehow got caught under the food dish and twisted itself all up. It could only spin in circles, could not get right side up again, and was obviously miserable. We couldn't wait long after prayer for a miracle, so off that one went, too.
And here's what I kept wrestling with that seemed to vocalize so many other struggles: Do we keep praying and trying, or do we give up?
At what point do we know we've really given it all we've got?
And, are we really giving up at that point, or are we surrendering?
Which brings me to one of our annual meetings for Reagan, our adoptive daughter. She is nineteen, with many special needs, and she can be finished with school, or she can have up to two more years. It gives us some structure for her life, so we've taken it a year at a time, and decided to keep going for now.
But that means we also have to decide what to do about math.
Math has always been so hard. Not just in the normal sense because math is hard for some kids, but haaard because she doesn't have any comprehension of so many concepts. Money, spatial relations, telling time, they all mean nothing to her. Even simple addition and subtraction is a fight, and whatever aspect we don't do all the time, she forgets.
So the spiral method of learning – when you cycle through various concepts and eventually revisit them to review before moving on – has never really worked for her. By the time the same concept comes around, she has to learn it all over again. And often, she doesn't want to. So it's a battle, and after 13 years it feels like one that's very much not worth fighting anymore.
She has struggled, and we have, too. We've tried all the tricks. We keep explaining, we keep praying for a miracle.
And aside from math, she's happy. She doesn't care what grade she's in or that her siblings can zip all over the place around her.
Like I said a minute ago: Do we keep trying, or do we give up? At what point do we know we've really given it all we've got?
But also: After 13 years, is it really giving up? Or is it surrendering, so we can move on to other things? Because the line between those feels super blurry.
Sitting across from our contact teacher, I finally ask, "Does she have to do math? I mean, it's been thirteen years. She's been in first grade workbooks for the last eight or nine of them, and cannot get through them. Can we just be done?"
Exasperation and tears. It feels so much like failure. All this time, and we could not get her farther than this.
But on the other side of the desk, our teacher nods.
"Yeah, you can be done." More tears. Because as much as it feels like failure and finality, it also feels like relief.
What is the difference between surrender and giving up? I'm still sorting this out, but I think a big part of it has to do with control. I don't mean controlling others, or even self control, but how much control we actually have over an outcome. Because sometimes (often) we take an unhealthy amount of responsibility onto ourselves for those outcomes.
We influence, yes, but we don't cause other people (and certain situations) to change. We pray, we love, we act...but people make their own choices, they decide their own character. And when we're working harder than they are for a better outcome, that's a good time to surrender it.
Many sincere, dedicated believers struggle with tremendous confusion about when it is biblically appropriate to set limits.
– Cloud and Townsend, Boundaries
We invest affection, love, time, prayer, creativity, and effort into these situations. And when it all comes to nothing – or at least, seems like nothing, in the long run – it all feels wasted.
For the ignored friend, the parent of the prodigal, or the spouse who is neglected, abandoned, or abused – at what point do we quit trying so hard, quit striving for the change that someone else can only choose for themselves? We never stop praying, but when do we stop reaching out, trying so hard, waiting for the other person to mature and grow?
Powerful people do not try to control other people. They know it doesn't work, and that it's not their job. Their job is to control themselves....A powerful person's choice to love will stand, no matter what the other person does or says.
– Danny Silk, Keep Your Love On
We can't just wait for them to change. Sometimes we use waiting as an excuse to not make changes of our own, but we have to be responsible for the changes we should make, and responsive to the things the Lord is telling us to do.
With fear and trembling, sometimes we hold these situations like dry, not-quite-hatched eggs, and we carefully try to help them open. And sometimes it works. But also, sometimes it doesn't. After we have obeyed, the outcome isn't up to us.
Hear me, friend: God does not hold us hostage for miracles. He does not need us to strive for them.
And on the other end of things, He does not depend on our steadfast maintenance of the status quo to buy Him time, either.
Circumstances are one thing, but relationships are even stickier. What do we do when someone we love repeatedly shows how little they care, or they seem to thrive in creating chaos, or they indulge their immaturity by hurting you in passive aggressive ways? It's hard to just move on and go about the daily tasks of life, to put on the mask and pretend things are fine, because that's what this other person is doing and you know how wrong it is.
Some relationships we just have to let go of. Many friendships are for certain seasons and then they fade away. But certain relationships – like family members, or people you have some kind of ongoing work, ministry, or community partnership with – don't just fade away. Somehow in these situations, we have to figure out how to love steadfastly, in the way that covers the multitude of sins, because of their proximity.
This kind of love brings us to endurance. We can't change the other person, and we often can't change our circumstances or proximity. So we do have to stick it out, and that can feel a lot like failure, giving up, and lowering our standards. This is so far beneath what I wanted this situation to look like. Ugh.
So we pull out all the tricks we know for this, too. We pray. We forgive. We set boundaries. And sometimes we wonder why we have to settle for so much less than what God surely intended for this situation.
It is hard to forgive and even want to keep trying when they use that proximity to make a show of how much more they care for others than you, and they make sure you see it. It is hard to overlook, to keep showing grace, to keep your cool inside your own boundaries. And boundaries, for the record, are limits placed out of love and protection. They are not a cloak for rudeness couched in a desire to avoid responsibility.
As we surrender the outcomes that are out of our control, are we really settling for less? Or is God training us for more?
Because His character hasn't changed. His will for us and the other person has not changed.
Are we really lowering our standards? Or are we moving on so we can fight other battles – the ones we have a hand in winning?
One of the battles we continue to fight with (and for) Reagan is communication. She is verbal but most people can't understand her because she slurs, blends words, skips words, and generally speaks in that toddler-like manner that only parents and siblings can decode.
So here's where we stand our ground: Even when I understand what she's saying, if it's not clear, I usually have her repeat it correctly.
"Slow down and say each word so I can understand you,” I often tell her. There will come a day when she needs someone else to understand her, and if we let her get away with garble, she will regress further.
I sat next to her during worship at one of our community-wide gatherings a couple weeks ago, and prayed for the millionth time for healing in her. And because it has been a million times (but who's counting) I also prayed for healing in my own heart over the hope deferred, the things I cannot change, the things I don't know how to change, the loss of what seems like things should have been.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.
– Proverbs 13:12
I have wondered how sick my heart is, how skewed my perspective is from living so close for so long and not seeing certain answers. I have fought the battle of faith against futility, seen the shimmer of horizon through closed eyes in prayer, and knew it wasn't a vision, but tears.
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.
– Philippians 4:4-5
The fight is not about what I can change in her, but in what I am letting God change in me.
It is not about lowering my standards or expectations, but about seeing rightly the battles that I can and need to be fighting.
It is about seeing how other desires are fulfilled, and focusing on the tree of life.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
– Philippians 4:6-8
The leaves are falling outside and the season is going fast, racing toward the long winter. And we grieve over the loss of time, the speed of time, the lost opportunity of what could and should have been. In the storm and shadow of these deep struggles, our efforts can feel like such dim lights in such darkness. Our small influence, our private lives, our humble gifts, what can they do amid the raking waves in the present, violent tumult?
In that moment during worship as I looked down and watched my tears hit the hardwood floor, I knew with certainty that next to me Reagan was just giddy over the volume of the music. Delighted in the moment, flapping her hands, utterly apathetic about how I was even at that moment fighting for her.
Jesus, receive the reward of your suffering. We sang it that night, and we live it every day as we give it all we've got, and then surrender.