It is easy to say, ‘surrender to God’. It sounds noble. It sounds spiritual. It sounds like something saints do while glowing softly under a halo of warm light. But let me tell you, surrender is rarely that dramatic. Often it is as simple, and as confusing, as standing in a small church choir wondering why on earth your voice has suddenly decided to go on holiday.

I remember that particular Christmas rehearsal. I had said my prayer at home, told God I was His instrument, and came ready to sing like an obedient trumpet. The choir gathered. The conductor lifted his hands. The notes were familiar. I had sung that piece many times. Simple enough, I thought.

And then my voice betrayed me.

I stared at the music sheet as if it were written in ancient Egyptian. I tried to follow the notes. My mind went this way, my voice went that way, and the two refused to meet. It was like watching a badly dubbed movie. What I sang sounded nothing like what I intended. The conductor frowned. I frowned back. The sopranos looked alarmed. Even the tenors edged away discreetly.

Inside me began a frantic conversation. Had I lost my musical sense? Had age finally tiptoed in and stolen my pitch? Was this divine judgment for skipping choir practice the previous week?

And right then, something unusual happened. The man standing next to me began to sing. Really sing. Not a timid hum. Not a half – hearted attempt. A full throated, confident, pitch perfect burst of melody. For weeks he had barely whispered through rehearsals while I had been cheerfully drowning out half the choir.

But today, as I stumbled, he soared.

The conductor smiled at him with a pride that warmed the room. Later that evening I learnt the man had been going through deep mental stress, but had still made it for every rehearsal.

Something hit me. It was not humiliation. It was not embarrassment. It was something far bigger. I had gone to rehearsal after surrendering myself to God. And God, in His quiet way, had used that surrender to lift someone else up who had been faithful to Him, despite his problems.

Suddenly surrender no longer felt like a personal devotional act. It felt like a connection. A thread in a tapestry far larger than I could ever see. A reminder that God is not just my God. He is the God of all. And in surrender, I stop being the centre of my story.

I become part of His story.

Have you faced moments like that after surrendering to Him? Moments where things did not go as planned and yet something beautiful came out of it? Then smile, because it means God has quietly placed you in a pattern bigger than yourself. You played your part. You were used. And that is the real music of surrender…!

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