Excerpt
Release, Rest, Remain
Day 1The gym smelled like rubber and determination. The air was thick with the sound of weights hitting the floor, the steady rhythm of breath control, and the occasional encouragement from our trainer.
I was in the zone. Checking my form in the mirror, I watched as my body moved with precision—squat, swing, breathe, repeat. My leggings and tank top clung to my frame, damp with sweat, but I felt strong. My kettlebell was heavy, but it was mine. I had control.
Then I glanced over at my husband.
Seriously?!
Effortless. Relaxed. He swung his kettlebell like it was weightless, like he was tossing a set of keys in the air. My competitive side flared.
If he can throw that thing around like it’s nothing, surely I can pick it up.
So, in a moment of completely unearned confidence, I walked over to his weight. I planted my feet, gripped the handle, and pulled.
Nothing.
Okay, maybe my form was off. I reset, making sure my feet were grounded. I bent my knees, engaged my core, and tried again. This time, I got the kettlebell off the ground, but that was as far as I got. My arms refused to lift it any higher. Swinging it through the air? Not happening.
Meanwhile, my husband—completely unbothered—finally noticed what I was doing. One eyebrow raised, his face said everything: Why would you even try?
It was then that I had a revelation: His weight was never meant for me to carry.
That moment in the gym was humbling. But isn’t that just like life?
We carry so much—worries about the future, the weight of people’s opinions, and the pressure to meet the never-ending demands of daily life. We carry the responsibility of provision, making sure everyone is taken care of, from our families to our co-workers to the friend who always seems to need one more thing from us. We carry the pressure to keep it all together, to be the reliable one, the strong one, the one who makes it look effortless.
And now, in this digital age, we carry even more. We are constantly aware of the heaviness of the world—the tragedies, the injustices, the suffering of people we will never meet but still grieve for. It’s an unbearable load, yet we convince ourselves we have to hold it all. We push ourselves past our limits, refusing to release what is too heavy.
But here’s the thing: We were never meant to carry the weight of the world.
Jesus knows our tendency to carry weights we were never meant to bear. He knew it about His disciples too.
For three years, the disciples’ lives had revolved around Jesus. They had left everything to follow Him—their jobs, their routines, their sense of stability. He was their teacher, their leader, their friend. But now, as they walked with Jesus after the Passover meal, He was telling them that He was leaving.
I imagine His words must have settled heavy on their hearts. They had watched miracles unfold, heard truth straight from His lips, and built their lives around His presence. And now He was preparing them for a reality in which He would no longer walk beside them.
They couldn’t cling to the vine while holding on to everything else.
To step into what was next, they had to release their expectations of how things were supposed to go, their fear of an unknown future, and their desire to hold on to Jesus as they had always known Him. Would they be able to let go of control and trust that, even in His absence, He was still guiding them?
As they walked toward the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus didn’t hand them a step-by-step plan or a list of rules to follow. Instead, He gave them a picture of a vine and its branches.
Remain in me, and I in you. Just as a branch is unable to produce fruit by itself unless it remains on the vine, neither can you unless you remain in me. (John 15:4)
He spoke words that would stay with them long after He was gone. Words about remaining, abiding, and bearing fruit. But beneath those words was an unspoken invitation to release. Because to remain in Him, they would have to let go of everything that kept them from staying connected. They couldn’t cling to the vine while holding on to everything else.
Have you ever been there? I’ve been there more times than I can count. And what I’ve come to realize is that I can’t force myself to release anything without first trusting the One I’m releasing it to.
We often resist release because it feels like losing control. But what if release isn’t about loss? What if it’s about making room? What if letting go isn’t falling? What if it’s finally being held?
This is the starting point of our rhythm. Before we can rest, before we can remain, we must release.
Over the next nine days, we’ll explore the things we keep holding on to—fear, control, expectations, self-reliance—and what happens when we finally let them go. We’ll wrestle with questions like:
• What fears keep us from releasing control?
• Why do we struggle to surrender our expectations?
• What happens when we resist the pruning process?
• How does abiding in Jesus help us release?
• How does releasing lead to true spiritual rest?
We’ll spend time in John 15:1–8, lingering over Jesus’s words and what they teach us about release. Each day will take us deeper into this passage, inviting us to let go of what is keeping us from fully abiding in Him.
Does digging deeper feel overwhelming? Are you already stressing over the questions we’ll wrestle with? Exhale, friend. You don’t need to figure everything out. Letting go doesn’t begin with your achievements or efforts. It begins with God’s presence. Today isn’t about forcing your way forward; it’s about leaning into the One who never lets go.
The Vine and the BranchesThe Invitation to ReleaseRead these words from the beginning of John 15. Imagine yourself walking with Jesus. It’s late, the air is still, and He turns to look at you as He speaks. His words aren’t rushed. He knows exactly what you need to hear.
I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. Every branch in me that does not produce fruit he removes, and he prunes every branch that produces fruit so that it will produce more fruit. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I in you. Just as a branch is unable to produce fruit by itself unless it remains on the vine, neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. The one who remains in me and I in him produces much fruit, because you can do nothing without me. If anyone does not remain in me, he is thrown aside like a branch and he withers. They gather them, throw them into the fire, and they are burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you want and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this: that you produce much fruit and prove to be my disciples. (verses 1–8)
JournalAs you read today’s devotional introducing the idea of release, what situation, person, or idea was placed on your mind and heart? What would it look like to release that situation, person, or idea to Jesus? If you’re hesitant or resistant, why do you think that is? Use the space below to journal your answers.
