The White Flag Looks Good on Me

They say the hardest thing in life is letting go–unless, of course, you’ve tried releasing a clingy WhatsApp group chat or deleting your food delivery app during a fast. But jokes aside, most of us walk around with a kung-fu grip on something: our careers, our image, our relationships, our ten-year plans… even our Netflix password. We clutch, we control, we convince ourselves that if we just try hard enough, stay smart enough, or pray just right, we can keep everything from falling apart.

Enter The Genius of Surrender by Pastor Muriithi Wanjau. This isn’t your feel-good, Insta-inspo Christianity. It’s a beautiful punch in the gut–the kind you didn’t know you needed until you exhaled and realized you’d been holding your breath your whole life.

From the first page, Pastor Muriithi Wanjau makes it crystal clear: surrender isn’t optional. It’s the gospel. The central message of Jesus wasn’t “get your act together” or “attend church and try not to sin too loudly.” It was, “Lay it down. All of it. Your pride, your plans, your perfect five-year vision board.” In other words: white flag, up. Hands off. Tap out. (If you’ve ever seen a wrestling match, you get the vibe.)

And let’s be honest–most of us would rather wrestle God than wave a white flag. We’re addicted to the illusion of control. It feels productive. Powerful. Safe. But as Pastor Muriithi Wanjau brilliantly unpacks, that illusion is the real danger. Our rebellion–dating all the way back to Eden–has cracked the very fabric of creation. Every form of death we experience today, whether physical, emotional, spiritual, relational, or even environmental, traces back to this stubborn refusal to let God lead.

The genius of surrender isn’t that we lose. It’s that we finally live.

Using vivid biblical stories that feel more like dinner conversations than theological lectures, Pastor Wanjau shows us how Jesus always goes for the jugular–not to shame us, but to free us. He doesn’t shame the rich young ruler; He simply touches the idol of wealth. Nicodemus, the brilliant religious scholar, gets lovingly asked to start from scratch. The Samaritan woman’s string of relationships is exposed, not to condemn, but to offer her water that won’t run dry. The thief on the cross, clinging to pride with his last breath, is offered paradise in exchange for surrender. And Zacchaeus? Let’s just say he gave up corruption like it was going out of style–and got salvation thrown in as a bonus.

Each of these encounters drills home the same point: surrender is not weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s not about performance or perfection–it’s about giving up our fake thrones so the real King can sit down.

One of the most piercing ideas Pastor Muriithi Wanjau presents is this: if Jesus had dinner with you today, what would He lovingly ask you to surrender? That question hits different, doesn’t it? It did for me. Turns out, Jesus isn’t asking for a bite of your garlic bread. He’s reaching for your pride. Your carefully curated identity. Your backup plans.

And just when I thought I had a decent handle on surrender, A Tale of Three Kings by Gene Edwards took the lesson deeper. Where Pastor Muriithi Wanjau calls us to lay down control, Edwards asks us to drop our spears. Through the lives of Saul, David, and Absalom, he paints a haunting picture of leadership, heartbreak, and the quiet strength it takes not to retaliate. David, chased by a king who should’ve been his mentor, chooses not to throw spears back–even when justice was on his side. He lets God write the story.

That’s the kind of surrender that guts you. The kind that demands silence when your name is dragged. The kind that whispers, “Let it go,” when everything in you screams to fight. It’s the harder road, yes. But it’s also the holier one.

So I’ve started practicing my own daily act of surrender. Each morning, before emails, before Instagram, before the coffee even hits, I sit quietly and ask, “Lord, what am I still holding onto?” Some days, the answer is obvious: control. Fear. My obsession with a tidy ending. Other days, it’s sneakier: the need to be liked, the drive to be right, the pressure to have everything figured out. I name it. I release it. Again and again. It’s not always neat, and it’s rarely easy. But it’s freeing. And I’m lighter for it.

This journey–this genius of surrender–isn’t about becoming super-spiritual or holier-than-thou. It’s about finally coming home. It’s about trusting that God’s hands are safer than our hustle. That we don’t have to prove ourselves to be loved. That when we lay down what’s killing us, we open our hands to receive what truly brings life.

And so, dear reader, if you’ve made it this far–first, well done. You deserve a cookie (or at least a long exhale). But more importantly, I invite you to reflect: What are you still gripping that God is asking you to release? What idols have crept in under the banner of ambition or self-protection or “just being realistic”?

You don’t need to figure it all out today. Just start with a question. Start with honesty. Start with your own white flag.

Because when you surrender, you don’t lose.

You live.