Written by Alicia White
January 29, 2020, was the scariest, most traumatic, life altering, and darkest day of my life and my family’s life, as we lost our seventeen-year-old daughter, Hope, by suicide. Not expecting or ever imagining our sweet, beautiful, Jesus-loving girl to ever take her life, finding her was an immediate out of body experience that left me with the darkest of dark images that are engraved into the depths of my mind and soul.
The torment of the guilt, shame, failure, and “should of’s” and “would of’s” robbed me of peace, and for moments, still does. Along with questioning my self-worth as a mom and family minister who had given her whole married life to raising our four kids in the ways of the Lord and teaching them how to have an intimate relationship with the Father, I questioned my very foundation of belief in Jesus. What I thought I knew about Jesus was abruptly and painfully ripped out from underneath my feet. What remained were questions of the Father’s protection, His word, His sovereignty, and His love.
As the wrestling intensified and I tried to find my footing again, I began to hear the Father speak to me: “Alicia, I am inviting you into a new place of trust. The trust I am inviting you to will shift your entire perspective of My truth and My kingdom. 
This higher place of trust will demand everything to be consumed at the altar. There will be nothing left in your hands. Are you willing? It’s the road to your healing that I am offering you.”
Abraham and Isaac
This place would be known as abandonment as I began my journey of the road less traveled. In today’s Christian culture, abandonment is not a term we hear much. It seems to carry with it negative inferences and images that we become uncomfortable with very quickly. Surrender is the term preferred, written about, sung about, taught on. At first glance they sound synonymous with each other. Although they do have similarities, they are also much different from each other.
Those tender first steps we walk with the Father as He beckons us to the cross come from a place of surrender. Here we find an exchange of the heaviness of life to the light yoke of Jesus. We find the love of the Father stretched out on a cross meant for us, but Jesus took our place.
As parents, the image of surrender fits inside the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham, in an authentic desire to obey and please the Father, takes his child by the hand and goes up to the mountain of sacrifice. Did he do it with a knowing in his spirit that the Father really would not take his son? We do not know. But we do know that he went through the motions of being a good father and parent and surrendered his son into God’s hands. For Abraham, surrender and obedience came with a ram in the thicket. God had provided a “way out” of the imminent death of his child. Abraham’s reward was to hold his promise (his son) in his arms for the rest of his days on earth.
As children of God, we shout out with sounds of joy as we pat ourselves on the back and say, “I surrender all,” as if we have made our walk up to the mountain of sacrifice as well. But what happens when that ram never reveals itself; when the cross is made for you and not Jesus?
What happens when you take your child by the hand and lead them to the foot of the cross and find out you do not get to hold your promise for the rest of your days? What happens when you look in horror at an altar that is marked with your child’s death and the reality that there is no ram to sacrifice instead as a way out?
The More Difficult Way of Abandonment
Abandonment. This is the longer and deeper walk on the road less traveled. Abandonment is to relinquish the right and ownership to what I hold most dear to my heart. Abandonment is to hold no desire or feeling of ownership of a thing or person, willingly giving up all rights and responsibility to another. One who is fully abandoned to the Father has no desire for ownership of their life or the things they even love. Abandoned children of God do not have a desire to take back what was never theirs to begin with. There is no power struggle between deity and man in this place of holy abandonment.
Abandonment requires the release of all BUTS. We all have BUTS that are some of our best kept secrets of unrelinquished control over our life. They hide in the depths of our soul keeping our flesh in a place of comfort and security. If we dare to unmask them in a place of honesty and vulnerability, they sound a bit like this:
“Take my life, Jesus, BUT not my job. Do what you want, Jesus, BUT do not make me do that. I give you my marriage, Jesus, BUT I am not the one that needs to change. I give you all of me, BUT don’t let me get sick and die.” And let us be , honest moms and dads, the biggest BUT in the room for us is, “Jesus, I give you my children, BUT keep them safe and from harm’s way.” BUT when the Father takes away your BUT and what you believe contradicts truth, what foundation will you stand on?
In one moment, what I thought I knew about Jesus and the Father was pulled out from underneath me and the mask suddenly came off my BUT that had been there all along. After all the years we spent declaring the word over our children, pleading the blood, interceding, teaching them the Word and taking 
them places to encounter His presence, the worst of all darkness had just happened? How could He allow this to happen? I trusted Him. Or did I?
Are We Being Honest With Ourselves?
The harsh truth is that I trusted Him on my own terms; the BUTS stood between us. I had to ask myself that if the perfect will of the Father meant that Hope was safer received in heaven than saved for earth, was I going to be ok with that? Could I trust the Father when no BUTS stood between us? I felt uncomfortable, I felt insecure, I felt no place to stand my footing, until I realigned my perspective with His and came to this resolve:
- I abandon my right to Hope. She was never mine and I have no rights to her.
- I abandon my responsibility to save her into the hands of the only One who can.
- I abandon my rights to receive the answers to all my questions.
God’s ways and thoughts are not mine. I finally released my control to the Father and removed the BUTS. This is the journey of abandonment.
Surrender is to reluctantly give up what you take ownership in; what you feel is yours with a list of terms and conditions to go along with it. When an army surrenders to another, they do it by force or a feeling of “having to.” There is no real trust to the one they surrendered to. Surrender is not necessarily giving up your rights to the person you surrendered to. Just because a nation must surrender land to another nation does not mean they do not feel that land is still theirs.
A feeling of rights, or ownership, often creates a battle of trying to take back what you think is yours. We often do the same thing with our surrender to the Lord. We lay something down, and with a lack of trust and full abandonment in the Lord, the next day we are trying to pick it back up.
For months, I was in a battle with the Father, trying to put a demand on my daughter. I wanted her here with me. I was determined that God was going to answer the questions I had because she was mine and it was not fair. I had surrendered her to Jesus at the mountain of sacrifice and deserved her in my arms all the days of my life.
Giving Up Our Rights Brings Healing
True healing started to come when I decided to abandon to the Father and give up my rights to have her with me, along with not getting the answers I so wanted. The battle between heaven and earth stopped when I began to say out loud, “Father, I give up my rights to Hope, she is yours and I trust you with her.”
The strings attached to the walk of my surrender gave way to the freedom, healing and peace that I found in abandonment.
Although the pain and grief remain, the higher perspective is my gain that earth cannot satisfy. “Take up your cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24-26) was now not just a Christian cliché or my duty of obedience expecting the ram in the thicket, but a call to lay my life and the life of my family on the altar of abandonment, that we may lose our life to gain it.
I have begun the walk of abandoning my rights to have it my way, with my terms and conditions; to truly believe that the goodness of God will prevail (Exodus 34:6), and that all things work for the good of all who are called by His name (Romans 8:28).
I believe this higher walk of abandonment, this road less traveled, will become the walk to resurrection power for all of us who have partaken of His cup of suffering in such a deep sacrificial way. Vulnerability that leaves you before the cross naked, having given the unthinkable ALL, places a demand on a cloak from heaven threaded with scarlet and draped in resurrection power.
When “worthy of it all” becomes your highest worship and there is nothing left in your hands, the Father’s love and goodness will remain. Yes, the road the Father has allowed those of us who have lost a child to walk on, is a road full of pain and suffering. But I also believe it is a road of great honor and privilege that allows us to encounter and experience the Father in way that few get to. There is an intimate communion with the Father and His son, Jesus, who knows what it is like to truly give ALL. He has entrusted us to walk the road less traveled so that we may encounter His resurrection and true life that is found in full abandonment.
This is the hope of His glory; that His children 
would live a holy abandoned life and that their eyes would be fixed on eternity.
“So no wonder we don’t give up. For even though our outer person gradually wears out, our inner being is renewed every single day. We view our slight, short-lived troubles in the light of eternity. We see our difficulties as the substance that produces for us an eternal, weighty glory far beyond all comparison, because we do not focus our attention on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but the unseen realm is eternal,” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (TPT).
I pray you put on the lenses of eternity and learn to live from heaven’s perspective. The suffering of this world becomes so much dimmer with each step you take, and total abandonment becomes much easier. We will also realize that what we could not “save” our child from, is entering into their eternal home of glory ahead of us.
Some of this was shared in Laura’s recent interview with Alicia on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast. To hear that conversation, and to have Alicia pray over you, click here.
Do you struggle with guilt, blaming yourself for not being able to save your child? This is not from God, and He wants to release you. If you would like help, let us send you Ten Tips to Help Overcome Grief. (This will also put you on our list to receive a Weekly Word of Hope that you can unsubscribe from at any time.
Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents
Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.
If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.
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taught her over the years, digging even deeper into what it means to trust God when something so painful as the death of our child does not make sense.
Habakkuk wasn’t looking for answers, he was looking for peace. Answers don’t give us peace. Placing the painful mess in God’s all-knowing, loving hands and choosing to trust Him to walk with us through the darkness will.
I take heart and gain strength. (MSG)
Every morning when we wake up, at some point the realization hits us that our child is no longer here and will not be part of our day. It can feel like they died all over again.
If someone has an amputation, first they must heal, both physically and emotionally, from having that body part cut off; and the emotional healing takes much longer than the physical.
who have lost a child, anything under five years is considered fresh grief. So, I am not surprised when a bereaved parent does not believe they will ever have a life worth living again. I know I didn’t believe it.
but if they have not lost a child, they cannot possibly know what you should or should not be doing. People who have not faced the loss of a child may tell you that you need to move on, that you need to get past it, or that you need to find a way to have closure. These are all people who do not want to see you in so much pain, and they mean well, but to say it bluntly, they don’t know what they are talking about.
I realize that none of these five things specifically brought God into the process, but that is because God needs to be woven into each one of these.
wonderment at how anyone can get through this without God to lean on. Even if we are angry at Him, something in us knows we need Him. We need His strength, His peace, and His hope.
Hope is what keeps us going. It is our anchor in the storm of grief, when we feel like we are going under and can’t get back to the surface to breathe.
