NoMoreDeadlyDoing – Learning to live by grace, not striving.

Tag: surrender

  • The Small Deaths

    Each breath will mirror the last,
    exhaled into nothing—
    into death like the past,
    sacrificed to become
    what alone could last.

    And many more to come—
    little last gasps for air,
    for control.
    They sacrifice every care—
    leeches of life
    that cling to the soul.
    They take until
    they swallow me whole.

    They follow me everywhere;
    I run away,
    yet still find them there.

    What falls away
    was never fit for the task.
    And good riddance—be gone,
    you lingered far too long,
    stealing my focus
    from the important tasks.
    For what now is right,
    you would have kept wrong.
    So I surrendered my fight
    for a worship song.

    Search my heart,
    and remove what doesn’t serve You.
    Tear it away—
    run a spear straight through.
    Do not leave behind
    what cannot be reproved,
    nor anything that keeps
    me from what
    You’d call me to do.

    When my eyes close
    for the final rest,
    may my life return
    to Your precious breath.
    When my soul departs,
    may all the small deaths
    that came before
    have prepared me
    to praise You more—

    to strive after holiness,
    as only You can be;
    to be raised up,
    and to know You
    as the waves
    know the sea;

    to be made whole,
    now and for eternity.

  • All of These Treasures

    All of these treasures
    buried with me in the tomb
    gave way to robbers,
    leaving only rotten fumes.

    The hoarded delight
    once stole my might,
    and traded it for wisdom
    seen only in hindsight.

    Oh, what a wretched man
    I have been.
    Oh, that I found
    delight in my sin.

    Is this heart too
    late to mend?
    Or can the bruises
    further rend—
    pulling apart
    the poison
    from the heart?

    I stand above
    these empty things—
    and this is what I fought?

    My hands were full
    of useless glitter,
    and while I filled them,
    my soul did wither.

    Like the garden,
    the snake still slithers,
    and I listened
    to his whispers.

    But now the heel
    has crushed the head.
    I am alive,
    though I was dead.

    I see I made my bed,
    surrounded by
    all of these shiny things.
    Yet still You gave me another,
    and removed the pain—
    for now I lose the world,
    and count it as gain.

    The eyes deceive
    based on what
    the heart desires.
    Though they seem harmless,
    many pretty things
    lead to fire.

    My own faculties conspired
    against my soul,
    but surrender
    to my Savior
    was the only thing
    that made me whole.

    And now He gives
    many beautiful treasures—
    but none of them
    are meant to be the goal.
    No, that is left
    for only His glory to behold:
    to seek only Him
    in all things—
    I’ll no longer buy
    the lie they sold.

  • The Unexpected Calm I Found Through Fasting

    It still surprises me how something as basic as food—something I always believed was essential for clear thinking—can be removed, and instead of irritability, I find calm. It goes against everything I assumed about hunger and mood. But I’m beginning to learn that fasting affects far more than the body; it reaches into the deeper parts of the spirit first.

    If I were to fast simply to “try it out,” I doubt it would have the same effect. The calm seems tied to intention—the willingness to set aside something good in order to seek something better. When fasting becomes an offering, even a small one, something inside shifts. The noise lessens. The heart steadies. The spirit grows quiet enough to hear again.

    There are biological explanations, of course—studies showing that fasting can influence cellular repair, hormones, and mental clarity. But the kind of fasting I’m doing doesn’t reach those thresholds. I’m not doing extended fasts or strict schedules. Mine is simple and unplanned: skipping breakfast and lunch on days when I feel overwhelmed or disconnected from God. It usually begins as a tug—a quiet sense that I need less distraction and more dependence.

    Yet even in this small practice, the effects have been real. On the days I fast, my thoughts drift toward God without effort. I find myself praying more, reading Scripture more, and turning toward spiritual things with a hunger that runs deeper than the physical one I’m ignoring. It feels as though fasting empties just enough space inside me for God to fill it.

    I don’t want fasting to become a performance or something I try to master. I want it to remain an act of surrender—letting go, slowing down, and remembering the One who actually holds all things together. And if nothing else, fasting has become a surprising way to hand over my anxiety and regain perspective. When everything feels out of control, choosing to fast reminds me that I’m not.

    It reminds me that He is.