Surrendered in the Sand: Obeying Without a Map

I kept re-reading the text from my friend Cathy:

“Hey! I was praying for you this morning and felt like God was saying it was time to look again at the desires of your heart. And to surrender them to Him.”

I sat there, staring at the words.
Not because I didn’t want to surrender—
but because I wasn’t even sure what my heart wanted anymore.

Between teaching, motherhood, marriage, and the chaos of daily life, I hadn’t paused to ask what was actually going on inside me. It wasn’t that I didn’t have desires—I just couldn’t name them. Or maybe I was too afraid to.

I’ve said, “Lord, I surrender this to You” so many times. But lately, those words have felt more like habit than trust. Not because I’ve stopped believing—but because I’ve felt lost. Disoriented. A little stuck in the desert.

Then I heard a line from a sermon on YouTube that stopped me in my tracks:

“Surrender is not a feeling. Surrender is not an emotion. Surrender is obedience to what the Holy Spirit says. How quickly do you respond when He speaks?" (David Diga Hernandez)

That line wrecked me—in the best way.
Because lately? Obedience has felt like walking in the dark with no flashlight.

Obedience in the Wilderness

I know I keep coming back to Hagar’s story—
I’ve probably mentioned her more times than I can count lately.
But this is the story God keeps bringing me back to.
This is where He has my attention right now.

Because when I think of uncertain obedience, I think of her.

She didn’t ask to be caught in Abraham and Sarah’s story. And when it got too hard, she ran. I can’t say I blame her.

But what stands out in Genesis 16 is this: when Hagar runs away, God doesn’t scold her. He meets her in the wilderness, calls her by name, and gives a hard instruction:

“Return to your mistress and submit to her.” (Genesis 16:9 ESV)

No explanation. No roadmap. Just a call to trust.
And Hagar responds by giving God a name:
El Roi—“The God who sees me.”

Sometimes obedience starts not with clarity, but with the comfort of being seen.

Letting Go of What I Can’t Control

There are dreams I’ve held quietly—like more time at home with my family, owning a small business, or the perfect teaching opportunity. But as my husband and I prayed about our next steps, we didn’t always agree. And in that space, I sensed God asking me to surrender—not forever, but for now.

And that’s been hard.
Not because I doubt Him, but because surrender can feel like grief. Like silence.

But even in that, I’ve sensed Him whisper:

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.” (Psalm 32:8 ESV)

God’s guidance isn’t always loud. But it is personal.

When the Wilderness Deepens

Hagar’s story doesn’t end in chapter 16. In Genesis 21, she’s sent away again—this time with her son. No plan. No backup. Eventually, the water runs out—and hope does too.

She lays her son under a bush and walks away, unable to watch him die.

“She lifted up her voice and wept.” (Genesis 21:16 ESV)

But God shows up. Again.

“God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water.” (v. 19)

The well had been there all along—she just couldn’t see it.

It reminds me of 2 Kings 6:17, where Elisha prays for his servant:

"Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.”

Sometimes, the answer is near—but we’re too tired, too discouraged, or too heartbroken to see it.
That’s when God steps in and helps us look again.

What Surrender Looks Like Right Now

That sermon line still lingers:

“Surrender is obedience to what the Holy Spirit says.”

For me, that’s meant:

• Showing up even when I feel dry
• Laying down my timeline for dreams I still carry
• Trusting that my husband’s wisdom might be part of God’s provision
• Being honest with God when all I can say is: “Help.”

Surrender isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it looks like faithfulness in the fog.

The God Who Sees… Still

So maybe surrender isn’t about getting answers.
Maybe it’s about learning to trust the One who sees what we can’t.

Like Hagar, I haven’t been given a map.
But I’ve been given something better:
The assurance that I am seen.

And so are you.

When the desert feels endless…
When obedience feels costly…
When hope runs dry…

El Roi sees you.
And when the time is right—He’ll open your eyes to the well.