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Pastor Ernest Smith begins by reflecting on his own journey as a church planter and the lessons God has taught him. One of the most persistent teachings has been this: your idea of success is not always—and is rarely—God's idea of success.
Smith admits to playing the comparison game constantly. He compares himself to others and wonders why his church isn't as large as Lakepointe, or why he isn't as fit as other pastors. He recognizes that this comparison can literally compare him right out of God's will. While success itself isn't necessarily bad, when it becomes the primary thing we chase—when achieving certain things becomes the source of our happiness, satisfaction, and joy—it becomes destructive.
Pastor Tim Keller offers a crucial insight: "More than other idols, personal success and achievement lead to a sense that we ourselves are God. That our security and value rest in our own wisdom, strength, and performance."
When we place success above our relationship with God, it becomes destructive. We've all witnessed the fallout:
The fundamental question becomes: How do you know if what you're doing is truly for God, or if it's for your own success and name?
Smith challenges us to consider who we view as successful. Often, our definition of success comes from the people we admire—parents, business owners, athletes, influencers. We think: if I could just be like that person, then I'll get what I long for.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, Smith's hero was José Canseco. He had fame, money, and was at the top of his game. Yet Canseco's life didn't age well—wrapped up in drug scandals and failed marriages. Smith wanted that version of success, believing it would bring the happiness he longed for.
Yet we see a pattern among those who achieve everything the world considers successful. Consider these testimonies:
Success may bring fame and money—the things we think are important—but it ultimately doesn't give us what we truly long for. What we long for is hope, peace, joy, and real life. And those things can only be given to us by God.
To explore this tension, Smith turns to an obscure story from the Old Testament: the account of Naaman in 2 Kings 5.
Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was "a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram." His name means "pleasant." He's described throughout as honorable and great—so great that God used him to give victory to Aram over Israel. Few people in the Old Testament received such a role, yet God used this man.
But then comes the twist: "He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy."
Here is the profound irony: Naaman had control over almost everything in his life through his success. He could achieve what he set out to achieve. But he could not control his own health. Leprosy wasn't merely a rash or skin disease—it was deadly, it isolated him from others, and it slowly consumed him. A man with tremendous power and control faced something completely beyond his control.
Naaman's household included a young girl, a slave taken captive during a border skirmish. Most scholars believe she was only 10, 11, 12, or 13 years old. She was taken from her home in Israel and now served Naaman's wife.
Yet this nameless, powerless girl does something remarkable. She says to her mistress: "If only my master would see the prophet who was in Samaria, he would cure him of his leprosy." She's referring to Elijah, one of Israel's greatest prophets.
Smith finds this fascinating. Here is a girl in a situation she didn't ask for and didn't want. She misses her home, her family, her friends. And yet she remains faithful to God in her circumstances. Not only that, but God uses her—a common, nameless person—to create a miracle with international significance.
This reveals something crucial: God is still in the business of using common, nameless people to draw others to himself. He's looking for people willing to be faithful in their current situation, even when they didn't ask for it and don't want it. Even when it's painful. God asks: Will you be faithful in the midst of that? And if you will, I'll use you to draw others to myself.
When Naaman hears about this prophet, he approaches the king of Aram and asks permission to go to Israel. The king grants it and even gives him a letter for the king of Israel.
Naaman arrives fully prepared. He brings his horses, his chariots, and an enormous sum of money—the biblical text indicates it's equivalent to roughly $7.5 million today. He has a letter from the king, he has wealth, and he's going to purchase his healing.
But when the king of Israel reads the letter from Aram saying "send me a man with leprosy so I can heal him," the king tears his clothes in panic. "Am I God? Can I kill and bring back to life? Why does this fellow send someone to me to be cured of his leprosy? See how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me?"
When Elijah hears of this commotion, he steps in and sends word to bring Naaman to him. But here's where the story takes a turn that exposes everything Naaman believes about success and control.
Naaman arrives at Elijah's house with all his entourage—his horses and chariots. But Elijah doesn't even come outside. He doesn't open a window. Instead, he sends a servant out with a simple instruction: "Go wash yourself seven times in the Jordan and your flesh will be restored and you'll be cleansed."
Smith pauses here to make a point. If someone showed up at his house with a pickup truck full of money—even just $750—he would come out and greet them. He would shake their hand. But Elijah? He doesn't even acknowledge Naaman's status, his wealth, or his importance.
This infuriates Naaman. Look at his response in verse 11: "But Naaman went away angry and said, 'I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy.'"
Naaman is incredulous. Doesn't Elijah know who I am? Doesn't he know that I defeated Israel? That I'm a valiant soldier? That I'm powerful? That I have all this money and a letter from the king?
Naaman expected a great ceremony, a spectacle. He imagined Elijah would come out and perform some impressive ritual, waving his hand dramatically over the leprosy. That's what success looks like in Naaman's world—visibility, recognition, a grand performance.
But he doesn't get what he wants. And this is the crucial insight Smith offers: Successful people are not used to not getting what they want. They're in control. They know what to do. They go out and do it and find success. Naaman is no exception—and his anger reveals how deeply his identity is tied to his ability to control outcomes.
Naaman's anger reveals a deeper truth: successful people are not accustomed to not getting what they want. He has always found success because he knows what to do, takes action, and achieves his goals. But now he's denied what he expects, and his response exposes how deeply his identity is tied to his ability to control outcomes.
Why does an honorable man like Naaman become angry? Because the idol of success has to be maintained. When we pursue things other than God—achievement, a certain lifestyle, a particular job title, a specific reputation—that level of success demands constant maintenance. People will work destructive hours, damage their families, and sacrifice their wellbeing just to keep a paycheck or a title.
Parents understand this dynamic. A child's misbehavior at home might seem manageable, but the same behavior in public triggers anxiety: What will people think? We control and manage everything around us because we must maintain our image of success.
This extends to our lifestyles. When prices skyrocket at the grocery store, we don't cancel our streaming services. We think: I have a level of living I must maintain. The idol demands it.
Here's what's crucial: Either you remove success from its throne and put God back in his place, or it will come crashing down on you. When it crashes, it leaves destruction in its wake—ruined marriages, fractured families, damaged relationships with children, failed businesses, broken churches.
Success itself is not inherently bad. The problem arises when we chase achievement and possessions believing they will bring happiness and fulfillment, all while removing God from his rightful place. Then the idol inevitably collapses.
But we have a choice. We can remove the idol of success today and restore God to his throne, or we can watch it destroy us.
Naaman's anger deepens when Elijah gives him the command: go dip yourself in the Jordan River seven times. Naaman questions both the practicality and the simplicity of this instruction.
The practicality seems absurd. The Jordan River is muddy and nasty, while the rivers of Damascus—the Abana and Farpar—are crystal clear, converging in what Arabs called "the garden of the world." Why would muddy water heal him when pure water would not?
But more than that, he questions the simplicity. All I have to do is take a bath and I'm healed of leprosy? It sounds ridiculous. No medicine has worked. No cure exists. Surely something so profound cannot be so simple.
"Are not Abana and Farpar the rivers of Damascus better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn't I wash in them and be cleansed?" So he turned and went off in a rage.
How many people today miss the healing God offers because we question the simplicity and practicality of the gospel? The message sounds too easy, so we dismiss it.
The gospel is actually remarkably simple: You and I are all sinners. Sin means not measuring up to God's perfect standard. Unless you're perfect, you're a sinner—which puts us all in the same company.
Sin separates us from God. He cannot coexist with sin. There is nothing you can do to make yourself right with God—not church attendance, not giving, not good deeds. Nothing.
The only way to be made right with God is through Jesus. The consequences of sin is death, but Jesus took that punishment on himself. He died for us. But he didn't stay dead—he rose three days later, proving his power over sin and death. And he offers us life.
He offers us life.
Some of you came here today specifically for this message. Maybe you don't even know why you're here. Your mother invited you. A friend was coming. You were in traffic and found yourself here. But God drew you here. He knows your name and your story, and he knows exactly what you need.
For some of you, this may feel like your last chance. You've thought, I'll try one more time, and if it doesn't work, I'm done. If that's you, know this: God sees you. He deeply cares about you. He sent Jesus to die on the cross for your sins so you could have hope, life, and true healing—just like Naaman experienced.
Naaman's servants demonstrate greater wisdom than their master. Look at what one servant says:
"My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more then when he tells you just wash yourself and be cleansed?"
Naaman listens. He goes down to the Jordan, dips himself seven times, and is immediately healed. His flesh is restored, becoming clean like that of a young boy.
What's remarkable is that it wasn't Naaman's power that healed him. It wasn't his reputation. It wasn't his wealth. It was the grace of God—God choosing to do something great in his life.
Naaman had to be obedient, but obedience meant surrender. And in that moment, he learned a profound truth: true success is found in surrender.
Naaman had pursued success his entire life. He had achieved it by every measure that matters in the world. But now he's discovering that true success in life comes through letting go.
Here's what I know about human beings: You and I will pursue success and achievement, believing that if we can just get this one thing, then we'll have what we ultimately want. At some point—maybe when you're twenty, maybe in your thirties or forties, maybe not until you're eighty—you'll realize that the pursuit of those things didn't deliver what you truly wanted.
What we ultimately want is God's best in our lives. We want peace. We want hope. We want joy. We want life itself. And the only way to truly receive these things is to submit to God, trusting that he is in control.
Trust that God has you. He sees you. He knows you. He is good enough and powerful enough to have your back. We simply have to trust that he's in control.
When Naaman finally understands, his response is complete:
Then Naaman and all his attendants went back to the man of God. He stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the world except in Israel."
True success is knowing, seeing, and trusting that God is in control. It's firmly believing that he's good enough and big enough to take anything you give him. When you do give him those things—whatever they are—he will come through. You will see incredible things happen in your life.
But let me be honest: this is hard. I'm a control freak. I like to be in control, and I have a really difficult time trusting that God is in control.
Yet he constantly asks: "Will you trust me? Will you trust me?"
I've learned this lesson over and over through church planting. When we started, we didn't know what we were doing. We had to trust him. We've gone through many challenging moments—being portable for ten and a half years, being kicked out of our school, doing parking lot worship services. During COVID, our state had spies coming into churches to report to the governor about our practices. And all I could think was: God, you better be in control. And he kept saying, "Just trust me."
But God has been teaching me this most intensely in my personal life over the last year and a half. My wife experienced a traumatic situation at work—so serious we had to involve the Civil Rights Commission. She chose to step down from a job and career she loved. Since then, we've walked through emotional, mental, and financial hardship from losing that income.
My natural instinct is to control everything—the work situation, the investigation, the income. I think, I'm a man. I've got this. We're okay. But God keeps asking, "Will you just let me be in control? Will you trust that I'm good enough and powerful enough to handle this?"
My wife is naturally better at releasing things to God. It takes me longer. I'm more stubborn. But as I've been releasing this situation to him, God has shown up in unbelievable ways.
My wife has received incredible healing. God is using her in the lives of many women in our church who've gone through similar situations. I'm watching my wife flourish in ministry—not ministry attached to a paycheck, but ministry with eternal impact. And through it all, our trust in God is deepening. We're learning more every day how good he is, how powerful he is, how he provides.
It's easy to preach about these things. It's much harder to live them when you're walking through them. But we all walk through something.
So here's my question to you: Is there something in your life that you've been trying to control? Something you think, If I can just get this, then I'll look a certain way, have a certain reputation, be okay.
Maybe it's in your business. I've talked with many people starting businesses or facing challenges who say, "I have to learn to just give up control to God."
Maybe it's in your marriage. Your spouse and you aren't on the same page. You think if you can just control the situation, you'll be in a better place, or they'll do what you want.
Maybe it's with your children. Perhaps your kids have walked away from the Lord. With every fiber of your being, you want them to experience the joy of God again, to come back to church. And God is saying, "Will you just trust me? I love your kids more than you do."
Maybe you're a parent of a special needs child. You don't know what your next step is. God is saying, "Just trust me. I made them. I know what they need. I know what you need."
Maybe it's your health. You've received a difficult diagnosis. The doctors say it won't be long. When Naaman received a similar diagnosis, God brought complete healing.
I'm not saying that if you give something to God, everything automatically turns around in your favor. But I am saying that nothing turns around in your favor unless we give it to God. We have to trust him. We have to release control.
You may still have questions and doubts—and that's completely fine. But trust that he sees you, knows you, loves you, and is saying, "Come home."
As I pray for us, I'm going to ask you to do something with your posture. Pray with open hands.
Identify the area of your life where you can see you're trying to control something. When you're controlling, you hold on tightly. But when your hands are closed, you can't receive. If God has something for you today, open your hands and say, "God, here it is. I want to receive whatever you have for me."
When you release control, you make space to receive.
Pastor Ernest Smith begins by reflecting on his own journey as a church planter and the lessons God has taught him. One of the most persistent teachings has been this: your idea of success is not always—and is rarely—God's idea of success.
Smith admits to playing the comparison game constantly. He compares himself to others and wonders why his church isn't as large as Lakepointe, or why he isn't as fit as other pastors. He recognizes that this comparison can literally compare him right out of God's will. While success itself isn't necessarily bad, when it becomes the primary thing we chase—when achieving certain things becomes the source of our happiness, satisfaction, and joy—it becomes destructive.
Pastor Tim Keller offers a crucial insight: "More than other idols, personal success and achievement lead to a sense that we ourselves are God. That our security and value rest in our own wisdom, strength, and performance."
When we place success above our relationship with God, it becomes destructive. We've all witnessed the fallout:
The fundamental question becomes: How do you know if what you're doing is truly for God, or if it's for your own success and name?
Smith challenges us to consider who we view as successful. Often, our definition of success comes from the people we admire—parents, business owners, athletes, influencers. We think: if I could just be like that person, then I'll get what I long for.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, Smith's hero was José Canseco. He had fame, money, and was at the top of his game. Yet Canseco's life didn't age well—wrapped up in drug scandals and failed marriages. Smith wanted that version of success, believing it would bring the happiness he longed for.
Yet we see a pattern among those who achieve everything the world considers successful. Consider these testimonies:
Success may bring fame and money—the things we think are important—but it ultimately doesn't give us what we truly long for. What we long for is hope, peace, joy, and real life. And those things can only be given to us by God.
To explore this tension, Smith turns to an obscure story from the Old Testament: the account of Naaman in 2 Kings 5.
Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was "a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram." His name means "pleasant." He's described throughout as honorable and great—so great that God used him to give victory to Aram over Israel. Few people in the Old Testament received such a role, yet God used this man.
But then comes the twist: "He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy."
Here is the profound irony: Naaman had control over almost everything in his life through his success. He could achieve what he set out to achieve. But he could not control his own health. Leprosy wasn't merely a rash or skin disease—it was deadly, it isolated him from others, and it slowly consumed him. A man with tremendous power and control faced something completely beyond his control.
Naaman's household included a young girl, a slave taken captive during a border skirmish. Most scholars believe she was only 10, 11, 12, or 13 years old. She was taken from her home in Israel and now served Naaman's wife.
Yet this nameless, powerless girl does something remarkable. She says to her mistress: "If only my master would see the prophet who was in Samaria, he would cure him of his leprosy." She's referring to Elijah, one of Israel's greatest prophets.
Smith finds this fascinating. Here is a girl in a situation she didn't ask for and didn't want. She misses her home, her family, her friends. And yet she remains faithful to God in her circumstances. Not only that, but God uses her—a common, nameless person—to create a miracle with international significance.
This reveals something crucial: God is still in the business of using common, nameless people to draw others to himself. He's looking for people willing to be faithful in their current situation, even when they didn't ask for it and don't want it. Even when it's painful. God asks: Will you be faithful in the midst of that? And if you will, I'll use you to draw others to myself.
When Naaman hears about this prophet, he approaches the king of Aram and asks permission to go to Israel. The king grants it and even gives him a letter for the king of Israel.
Naaman arrives fully prepared. He brings his horses, his chariots, and an enormous sum of money—the biblical text indicates it's equivalent to roughly $7.5 million today. He has a letter from the king, he has wealth, and he's going to purchase his healing.
But when the king of Israel reads the letter from Aram saying "send me a man with leprosy so I can heal him," the king tears his clothes in panic. "Am I God? Can I kill and bring back to life? Why does this fellow send someone to me to be cured of his leprosy? See how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me?"
When Elijah hears of this commotion, he steps in and sends word to bring Naaman to him. But here's where the story takes a turn that exposes everything Naaman believes about success and control.
Naaman arrives at Elijah's house with all his entourage—his horses and chariots. But Elijah doesn't even come outside. He doesn't open a window. Instead, he sends a servant out with a simple instruction: "Go wash yourself seven times in the Jordan and your flesh will be restored and you'll be cleansed."
Smith pauses here to make a point. If someone showed up at his house with a pickup truck full of money—even just $750—he would come out and greet them. He would shake their hand. But Elijah? He doesn't even acknowledge Naaman's status, his wealth, or his importance.
This infuriates Naaman. Look at his response in verse 11: "But Naaman went away angry and said, 'I thought he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy.'"
Naaman is incredulous. Doesn't Elijah know who I am? Doesn't he know that I defeated Israel? That I'm a valiant soldier? That I'm powerful? That I have all this money and a letter from the king?
Naaman expected a great ceremony, a spectacle. He imagined Elijah would come out and perform some impressive ritual, waving his hand dramatically over the leprosy. That's what success looks like in Naaman's world—visibility, recognition, a grand performance.
But he doesn't get what he wants. And this is the crucial insight Smith offers: Successful people are not used to not getting what they want. They're in control. They know what to do. They go out and do it and find success. Naaman is no exception—and his anger reveals how deeply his identity is tied to his ability to control outcomes.
Naaman's anger reveals a deeper truth: successful people are not accustomed to not getting what they want. He has always found success because he knows what to do, takes action, and achieves his goals. But now he's denied what he expects, and his response exposes how deeply his identity is tied to his ability to control outcomes.
Why does an honorable man like Naaman become angry? Because the idol of success has to be maintained. When we pursue things other than God—achievement, a certain lifestyle, a particular job title, a specific reputation—that level of success demands constant maintenance. People will work destructive hours, damage their families, and sacrifice their wellbeing just to keep a paycheck or a title.
Parents understand this dynamic. A child's misbehavior at home might seem manageable, but the same behavior in public triggers anxiety: What will people think? We control and manage everything around us because we must maintain our image of success.
This extends to our lifestyles. When prices skyrocket at the grocery store, we don't cancel our streaming services. We think: I have a level of living I must maintain. The idol demands it.
Here's what's crucial: Either you remove success from its throne and put God back in his place, or it will come crashing down on you. When it crashes, it leaves destruction in its wake—ruined marriages, fractured families, damaged relationships with children, failed businesses, broken churches.
Success itself is not inherently bad. The problem arises when we chase achievement and possessions believing they will bring happiness and fulfillment, all while removing God from his rightful place. Then the idol inevitably collapses.
But we have a choice. We can remove the idol of success today and restore God to his throne, or we can watch it destroy us.
Naaman's anger deepens when Elijah gives him the command: go dip yourself in the Jordan River seven times. Naaman questions both the practicality and the simplicity of this instruction.
The practicality seems absurd. The Jordan River is muddy and nasty, while the rivers of Damascus—the Abana and Farpar—are crystal clear, converging in what Arabs called "the garden of the world." Why would muddy water heal him when pure water would not?
But more than that, he questions the simplicity. All I have to do is take a bath and I'm healed of leprosy? It sounds ridiculous. No medicine has worked. No cure exists. Surely something so profound cannot be so simple.
"Are not Abana and Farpar the rivers of Damascus better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn't I wash in them and be cleansed?" So he turned and went off in a rage.
How many people today miss the healing God offers because we question the simplicity and practicality of the gospel? The message sounds too easy, so we dismiss it.
The gospel is actually remarkably simple: You and I are all sinners. Sin means not measuring up to God's perfect standard. Unless you're perfect, you're a sinner—which puts us all in the same company.
Sin separates us from God. He cannot coexist with sin. There is nothing you can do to make yourself right with God—not church attendance, not giving, not good deeds. Nothing.
The only way to be made right with God is through Jesus. The consequences of sin is death, but Jesus took that punishment on himself. He died for us. But he didn't stay dead—he rose three days later, proving his power over sin and death. And he offers us life.
He offers us life.
Some of you came here today specifically for this message. Maybe you don't even know why you're here. Your mother invited you. A friend was coming. You were in traffic and found yourself here. But God drew you here. He knows your name and your story, and he knows exactly what you need.
For some of you, this may feel like your last chance. You've thought, I'll try one more time, and if it doesn't work, I'm done. If that's you, know this: God sees you. He deeply cares about you. He sent Jesus to die on the cross for your sins so you could have hope, life, and true healing—just like Naaman experienced.
Naaman's servants demonstrate greater wisdom than their master. Look at what one servant says:
"My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more then when he tells you just wash yourself and be cleansed?"
Naaman listens. He goes down to the Jordan, dips himself seven times, and is immediately healed. His flesh is restored, becoming clean like that of a young boy.
What's remarkable is that it wasn't Naaman's power that healed him. It wasn't his reputation. It wasn't his wealth. It was the grace of God—God choosing to do something great in his life.
Naaman had to be obedient, but obedience meant surrender. And in that moment, he learned a profound truth: true success is found in surrender.
Naaman had pursued success his entire life. He had achieved it by every measure that matters in the world. But now he's discovering that true success in life comes through letting go.
Here's what I know about human beings: You and I will pursue success and achievement, believing that if we can just get this one thing, then we'll have what we ultimately want. At some point—maybe when you're twenty, maybe in your thirties or forties, maybe not until you're eighty—you'll realize that the pursuit of those things didn't deliver what you truly wanted.
What we ultimately want is God's best in our lives. We want peace. We want hope. We want joy. We want life itself. And the only way to truly receive these things is to submit to God, trusting that he is in control.
Trust that God has you. He sees you. He knows you. He is good enough and powerful enough to have your back. We simply have to trust that he's in control.
When Naaman finally understands, his response is complete:
Then Naaman and all his attendants went back to the man of God. He stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the world except in Israel."
True success is knowing, seeing, and trusting that God is in control. It's firmly believing that he's good enough and big enough to take anything you give him. When you do give him those things—whatever they are—he will come through. You will see incredible things happen in your life.
But let me be honest: this is hard. I'm a control freak. I like to be in control, and I have a really difficult time trusting that God is in control.
Yet he constantly asks: "Will you trust me? Will you trust me?"
I've learned this lesson over and over through church planting. When we started, we didn't know what we were doing. We had to trust him. We've gone through many challenging moments—being portable for ten and a half years, being kicked out of our school, doing parking lot worship services. During COVID, our state had spies coming into churches to report to the governor about our practices. And all I could think was: God, you better be in control. And he kept saying, "Just trust me."
But God has been teaching me this most intensely in my personal life over the last year and a half. My wife experienced a traumatic situation at work—so serious we had to involve the Civil Rights Commission. She chose to step down from a job and career she loved. Since then, we've walked through emotional, mental, and financial hardship from losing that income.
My natural instinct is to control everything—the work situation, the investigation, the income. I think, I'm a man. I've got this. We're okay. But God keeps asking, "Will you just let me be in control? Will you trust that I'm good enough and powerful enough to handle this?"
My wife is naturally better at releasing things to God. It takes me longer. I'm more stubborn. But as I've been releasing this situation to him, God has shown up in unbelievable ways.
My wife has received incredible healing. God is using her in the lives of many women in our church who've gone through similar situations. I'm watching my wife flourish in ministry—not ministry attached to a paycheck, but ministry with eternal impact. And through it all, our trust in God is deepening. We're learning more every day how good he is, how powerful he is, how he provides.
It's easy to preach about these things. It's much harder to live them when you're walking through them. But we all walk through something.
So here's my question to you: Is there something in your life that you've been trying to control? Something you think, If I can just get this, then I'll look a certain way, have a certain reputation, be okay.
Maybe it's in your business. I've talked with many people starting businesses or facing challenges who say, "I have to learn to just give up control to God."
Maybe it's in your marriage. Your spouse and you aren't on the same page. You think if you can just control the situation, you'll be in a better place, or they'll do what you want.
Maybe it's with your children. Perhaps your kids have walked away from the Lord. With every fiber of your being, you want them to experience the joy of God again, to come back to church. And God is saying, "Will you just trust me? I love your kids more than you do."
Maybe you're a parent of a special needs child. You don't know what your next step is. God is saying, "Just trust me. I made them. I know what they need. I know what you need."
Maybe it's your health. You've received a difficult diagnosis. The doctors say it won't be long. When Naaman received a similar diagnosis, God brought complete healing.
I'm not saying that if you give something to God, everything automatically turns around in your favor. But I am saying that nothing turns around in your favor unless we give it to God. We have to trust him. We have to release control.
You may still have questions and doubts—and that's completely fine. But trust that he sees you, knows you, loves you, and is saying, "Come home."
As I pray for us, I'm going to ask you to do something with your posture. Pray with open hands.
Identify the area of your life where you can see you're trying to control something. When you're controlling, you hold on tightly. But when your hands are closed, you can't receive. If God has something for you today, open your hands and say, "God, here it is. I want to receive whatever you have for me."
When you release control, you make space to receive.
