The Yielded Heart
Fall garden
“Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus:
who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God,
but made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Him the form of a servant.”
— Philippians 2:5–7
Dearest Daughters,
Jesus showed us what true submission looks like. He laid aside His godhood, stepped into our weakness, and served us from within our human frailty. He didn’t remain above our suffering—He entered it. He took on our limitations, felt our temptations, and loved us from that place of shared humanity. In the end, He submitted to the greatest reduction of all: death itself. And yet, in that surrender, He revealed the deepest power of love.
There is, however, yet another counterfeit version of this kind of true submission. It’s not rebellion in the obvious sense; it’s subtler and more deceptive. It is the flurry of “good works” we choose for ourselves. We fill our days with “this for the Lord” and “that thing for the Lord,” but underneath, we are driven by our own will rather than obedience. These are works of the flesh rather than the fruit of the Spirit. On the surface, they may look admirable—busy hands, charitable deeds, impressive devotion—but God is not looking for the appearance of labor. He’s looking for the surrender of love.
Every person is given a place to experience His lordship, a setting in which to lay down her own works and receive His. That place is always love. It’s not about doing everything; it’s about yielding everything—our time, our work, our thoughts, our dreams, our homes, even our identity—back to Him so that He might reign again over what is already His. That is the beauty of the Body: each one of us, a member under the same Head, offering up our small part of creation to be made holy through obedience.
Jesus Himself modeled this perfectly. He laid down all His rights as God, clothed Himself in our weakness, and served us from the inside of our limitations. That is the path He set before us. Those are the steps we are asked to walk in, the cross we are called to carry. True submission begins when we can say, “I will get inside this situation and love the way God would love. I will do here what the Lord Himself would do.” When we live that way, submission becomes a mission.
Yet when we resist that design—when we decide that what God has given us to do is too small, too hidden, or too demanding—we often begin to see Him as harsh, distant, or unreasonable. We may not say it outright, but we begin to feel as though God is an austere master, reaping where He has not sown and asking more than we can give. This feeling usually comes when we have not invested where He asked us to invest.
Jesus told a story about a master who entrusted his servants with talents—sums of money to care for in his absence. Two of them invested and multiplied what they were given. But one servant refused. To him, the task seemed too small and unworthy of his energy. He buried it, waiting to hand it back, and when the master returned, he said, “I knew you were an austere man.” But the truth was, his view of the master had become twisted because he hadn’t entered into the joy of the work.
This happens to us, too. When our work, in our small-mindedness, feels invisible—raising children, tending a home, serving a husband, encouraging a weary friend—it seems insignificant in the world’s eyes. But when we neglect those sacred callings, they become heavy burdens rather than holy gifts. When we fully invest our love, however, those same tasks become joy. What once felt like bondage becomes abundance. The small things we thought didn’t matter become treasures when done in obedience and faith.
If you want to know what really matters, think of someone who’s just learned she has a short time to live. If she’s a dental hygienist, she doesn’t suddenly wish she’d cleaned more teeth. The accountant doesn’t regret not balancing a few more ledgers. The doctor doesn’t lie awake wishing he’d performed a few more surgeries. No, the heart immediately turns to love—to family, to relationships, to the moments that were real and eternal. We all know this deep down. It’s written into us. Even those who live distractedly will often see clearly when death draws near.
This is why God calls us to invest in the places of love now, not later. Every small act of service, every unseen task done with faith, becomes a way of washing the feet of Christ’s Body. Each is an altar where something in us is offered up so that His life might flow through ours.
But submission, does not mean bowing your head in defeat. It does not mean tucking your tail or silencing your thoughts. Submission means yielding—yielding to a higher purpose, to the flow of God’s design. When I think of yielding, I often think of the expressway that runs through our town. There’s a ramp that enters it, and at its end, a single sign: Yield. You can’t stop completely there, or the cars behind will crash into you. But you can’t rush forward blindly either, or you’ll collide with the traffic already in motion. You have to watch and listen—to those ahead, those beside you, those following close behind—and find your rhythm, your speed.
That’s how submission works in the Spirit. You don’t freeze, and you don’t force. You stay attuned to God’s timing, to the movement of others in His plan, and you merge. You move forward at His pace, fitting yourself into the larger current of His will. Yielding is not stopping; it’s not crashing. It’s finding that holy balance where your life flows in harmony with His purpose.
When you live this way, even the smallest act becomes sacred. Every humble moment becomes a place of worship. And slowly, your heart will find that peace that comes only when love and obedience are one and the same.
With all my love,
Mom
