One phrase I’ve heard repeatedly throughout my life was, “Hand it over to God.”
To which my mind would respond, “Okay… how?”
It’s not as if I can forward my bills to God. Though I wouldn’t mind.
There is, of course, the profound truth of Christ taking our sin on the cross. That is certainly one way we “hand it over.” But that’s not what people usually mean when they say it in the middle of everyday frustration.
More often, “hand it over” is what someone tells you when you’re venting. You’re overwhelmed. You’re angry. You’re hurt. And the response comes quickly: “Just give it to God.”
The implication is that peace should follow immediately. As if there’s a spiritual switch you flip and the tension evaporates.
If only it were that simple.
For years, I thought handing something over to God meant asking Him to fix it. “Lord, take this burden from me.” Which translated into: change them, fix this, resolve that, make me feel better. My prayers became a to-do list for God.
I wasn’t surrendering. I was managing.
And I misunderstood something fundamental. Handing it over was never about dictating an outcome. It was about releasing control.
When It Became Real
There came a time when this idea stopped being theoretical.
Someone close to me hurt me emotionally. It wasn’t a single moment. It was a pattern. A cycle. And when I realized the ripple effect was beginning to wound other people I loved, I knew something had to change.
The problem was I didn’t know what that change should look like.
What I did know was this: I was miserable.
It was affecting my thoughts, my mood, my work. I found myself replaying conversations in my head. Imagining future confrontations. Venting to safe people, yes, but still dwelling on negative emotion. It was eating at me.
Looking back, I can see something else clearly. There was a small fracture forming in my character. I was justifying bitterness because I felt wronged. I was rehearsing frustration. I didn’t label it as sin at the time. But it was. Not because I was hurt, but because I was allowing that hurt to fester.
When my eyes were opened to that reality, the next step became clear.
It was time to step back.
That decision wasn’t dramatic. It was painful. It felt like failure. It felt like loss. But it was necessary. The cycle had to stop, even if I didn’t fully understand what that would mean long term.
The Guilt That Wasn’t
Following through helped. But it didn’t bring instant relief.
Instead, I was haunted by questions.
Had I really done all I could?
Was I overreacting?
Was I making too big a deal out of this?
I labeled the feeling as guilt. I assumed I was doing something wrong by creating distance. So I beat myself up over it. Over and over.
In prayer, something shifted. Slowly, I began to understand that what I was feeling wasn’t guilt.
It was grief.
I wasn’t mourning a decision. I was mourning a relationship. More accurately, I was mourning the relationship I wished I had. The version that never quite existed the way it should have.
Understanding that mattered.
When I understood I was grieving, not failing, the weight lightened. But the thoughts were still there. They branched into other relationships. Old wounds. Old fears. Every step forward felt like two steps back.
I was exhausted.
“Come to Me”
That’s when I was reminded of Matthew 11:28–30. Jesus invites the weary and burdened to come to Him and take His yoke upon them. A yoke implies partnership. Shared load. Direction guided by someone stronger.
It certainly felt like too much for me to carry alone.
My first instinct was to think, “Okay. Give it to God.”
Then I laughed.
Because what did that even mean?
For once, instead of dismissing the phrase, I decided I was going to find out.
The Box
Let me say something important here. How you hand something over to God depends on you, the specific circumstance, and your relationship with Him. There is no formula. No universal script. No spiritual technique that works the same way for everyone.
Surrender is personal.
In my situation, I decided if I didn’t understand it spiritually, then I would at least engage with it practically. I chose to take the phrase literally.
In prayer, I imagined taking all of it. The hurt. The frustration. The confusion. The grief. I pictured packing it into a box. Every memory, every argument, every what-if.
Then I imagined physically handing that box to God.
My prayer was simple.
“Lord, this box is too heavy for me. I can’t carry it on my own. Please, let me give it to You.”
Afterward, I felt lighter. Not healed. Not finished. But lighter.
The next day, the emotions came roaring back.
My mind was racing. My chest felt tight. The thoughts were louder than before. And then it hit me.
I had taken the box back.
Without realizing it, I had picked it up again and started rummaging through it.
So I tried again.
In prayer, I packed everything back up. Closed the lid. Handed it back.
“Lord, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I took this back. I know it’s too heavy for me. Here. This is Yours.”
And then I did it again the next day.
And the next.
What Changed
Over time, something profound happened.
The problem didn’t magically disappear. The relationship didn’t instantly repair. The past didn’t rewrite itself.
But my grip loosened.
The rehearsing stopped. The obsessive thinking slowed. The emotional charge dulled. I wasn’t pretending it didn’t hurt. I just wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.
That’s when I understood what “hand it over” truly meant.
It meant surrendering the right to manage the outcome.
It meant acknowledging that I could set boundaries without controlling hearts.
It meant trusting that God could work in ways I couldn’t see.
And it meant accepting that some grief doesn’t resolve cleanly. Some losses are real. Even when they’re necessary.
What Scripture Actually Promises
Jesus never promised that coming to Him would eliminate hardship. He promised rest for the soul.
There is a difference.
Casting your anxieties on Him doesn’t mean they vanish. It means you stop pretending you were built to carry them indefinitely. Trusting with your whole heart doesn’t mean you understand everything. It means you acknowledge that your understanding is limited.
Being yoked with Christ means He sets the pace. He bears the strain. You walk with Him in obedience. Step by step.
That is not weakness.
That is freedom.
A Practical Word
If you’re holding something heavy right now, here is what I learned.
Be specific.
Name the weight.
Acknowledge your limits.
And if you have to imagine a box, imagine the box.
Then hand it over.
And when you realize you’ve taken it back, don’t spiral into shame. Just give it back again.
Surrender is rarely a one-time act. It’s often a daily discipline.
Sometimes a moment-by-moment one.
Closing Thoughts
I used to roll my eyes when people said, “Hand it over to God.” Now I understand they weren’t offering a cliché. They were offering an invitation.
An invitation to stop trying to rule over what you were never meant to control.
The burden may still exist.
But when you finally release it, you discover something steady beneath you.
God doesn’t always remove the box.
But He is strong enough to carry it.
And you were never meant to.