grace given me

I am woman, hear me… surrender. That’s not exactly the anthem my generation grew up singing. As a Gen X’er, I came of age in the 80s and 90s during a season when feminism felt bold, individualistic, and a little rebellious. We were a generation that prided ourselves on independence. We were told: go to college, get the job, make your own money, don’t rely on anyone else. And I didn’t just hear it — I internalized it. At one point, I distinctly remember coming into agreement with this mindset: I will never depend on anyone.

It felt powerful. Responsible. Wise, even. But when I said “anyone,” I meant anyone. Not a man. Not my husband. Not even God. God gives us free will. He will let us build our own towers if we insist. He will allow us to white-knuckle our lives in the name of strength. And I did. I built a career, a family, a life on grit and determination. There was a cool pride in my punk-rock rebellion. But rebellion, at its core, is isolation. It says, I don’t need you.

Somewhere along the way, I unknowingly stepped out from under covering. When I determined I would not depend on anyone, I slowly made myself my own source. In hindsight, it’s painfully clear: I had made myself my god. Scripture warns us, “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall” (Proverbs 16:18). I wasn’t outwardly arrogant — I was capable, driven, responsible. But beneath it all was a quiet agreement with independence that crossed into self-sovereignty.

I subconsciously diminished my husband from the very role my soul actually longed for him to play — provider, protector, trusted partner. I dishonored God’s design while telling myself I was simply being strong. And spiritually? I was resisting God. Though God blessed me in many ways — because he is good regardless — in other ways I toiled in vain. “Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1). What I thought was protecting me was actually limiting me. What we build in our own strength requires our constant striving. What God builds, God sustains.

The striving should have tipped me off. I was tired. Tired of holding it all together. Tired of being strong. Tired of being my own source. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Rest wasn’t weakness. It was surrender. But surrender felt like betrayal — betrayal of the woman I thought I was supposed to be. Yet scripture whispers a different kind of strength: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5–6). I had leaned entirely on my own understanding.

When I finally surrendered, God rushed in. Not with condemnation. But with tenderness. He had been waiting — waiting to be my Abba Daddy. My provider. My protector. “You did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry, ‘Abba, Father’” (Romans 8:15).

Abba. Father. I could breathe again. I had hope again. I began to see that he had big, bold plans that I could never have manufactured on my own — much less sustained. “Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 3:20). I could dream again. Vision returned. Joy returned. Peace returned. Because he is just better at being God than I ever was.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe: God is the ultimate defender of women — because he is the Creator of women. He dignifies us. He strengthens us. He speaks to us. He entrusts us. Jesus elevated women in a culture that marginalized them. The Proverbs 31 woman is strong, entrepreneurial, wise — but her strength flows from reverence: “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” — Proverbs 31:30

The feminist movement stands for many things I can get behind — dignity, opportunity, voice. But the subtle lie creeps in when feminism itself becomes an idol. When empowerment quietly shifts into self-exaltation and strength begins to look like separation rather than partnership. God never asked us to carry the torch alone. He asked us to walk with him. Jesus said, “Apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Nothing. Not “less.” Not “not as well.” Nothing of eternal substance.

Maybe surrender isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom. What if the bravest thing a strong woman can do is trust? Trust God as provider. Trust him as protector. Trust his design. Trust his timing. Because what he builds, he sustains. And he will take you further than grit ever could.

Lord, thank you for being my Abba daddy — my protector and provider. My source of strength, peace, and joy. Thank you that you never stopped pursuing me despite my dogged resistance and determination to do it on my own. Thank you that your kindness led me to repentance (Romans 2:4). I surrender to you. Fully. Thank you for giving me a new hope, a new vision, new passion, and new purpose. Your way is better. Life is better with you. With love from your daughter, Amen.