I Am No Longer My Own, But Yours

Abiding in Hope

by

Practicing Faith

“I am no longer my own, but yours. Put me to what you will, place me with whom you will. Put me to doing, put me to suffering. Let me be put to work for you or set aside for you, Praised for you or criticized for you. Let me be full, let me be empty. Let me have all things, let me have nothing. I freely and fully surrender all things to your glory and service. And now, O wonderful and holy God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, you are mine, and I am yours. So be it. And the covenant which I have made on earth, Let it also be made in heaven. Amen.”

As a United Methodist pastor and lifelong Methodist, I have heard the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer a time or two. I have recited it in worship and devotion, attended a study based around it, led Covenant renewal services, and bought bookmarks with the prayer listed on them. I have encountered this prayer dozens of times in one way or another. And yet recently, at about 3:00 AM, the words of this prayer entered my head and took on a brand-new meaning. 

We have a four-month-old, Sully, who is the light of our lives. And yet as much as we were eager to welcome him into the world, nothing could prepare me for how my life would change in so many different ways with his arrival. Changes to how I use my time, how I plan my day, how much sleep I get, how we spend our money, how and when I can work; small things like when I can work on the house and big things like how large I can dream about my career. Don’t get me wrong, they are all good changes, because they are for the sake of our family. I am so delighted to be a dad. But all told, my life is much different now. 

And, so, during one early morning feed a month or so ago, in a moment of sacred serendipity, Wesley’s words came to mind, but now with a new tone. I spoke them to Sully: 

“I am no longer my own, but yours. 

Put me to what you will, place me with whom you will. 

Put me to doing, put me to suffering. 

Let me be put to work for you or set aside for you, 

Praised for you or criticized for you. 

Let me be full, let me be empty. 

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.”

My schedule is no longer my own, but his. My time is no longer my own, but his. My wallet is no longer my own, but his. My home, my dreams, my life—it’s no longer my own, but his. Because I need him and he needs me. I will be put aside sometimes, put to doing more things for him, praised by him sometimes, and no doubt criticized in others, set aside at times so he can grow and flourish. And already I have been empty, his mother even more-so, so that he can be full. We are no longer our own, but his. 

I don’t mean to over-glorify the role of a parent. If I did that, then I would fail to recognize all the ways that I am not going to do this right. Already there have been times where I have been called to be empty for him, but chose to be full. I know that as a parent there will be moments to celebrate and there will be moments where I miss the mark entirely. But I also choose to remember that this role, as hard and as sacrificial as it is, is one of true joy. 

John Wesley had no biological children, though married to a widow with four children for a while, so I doubt that he had any of this in mind when he wrote the Covenant Prayer. But if we are to learn about God through our lives, then I choose to learn about God through my kid.

To remember that as much as I will be asked to give, it is not in vain—it is for the good of the kin’dom.

To remember that my response to God’s faithfulness is to be willing to put to use, often much more than I’d be willing to do by own comfort standards.

To remember that God’s love in Christ first arrived as a young child, an infant who needed loved, cared for, and provided for—even as he would soon be one providing for the world.

Sometimes I’ll have all things, sometimes I’ll have nothing. And, though the prayer doesn’t say this, sometimes, especially in this wild ride of parenthood, I know I’ll have both. For I know that love is a not a zero-sum game. Indeed, God knows that better than I. 

The Rev. Brian E. Williams serves as pastor of Pella United Methodist Church in the Iowa Annual Conference. This post is republished from the conference's spiritual formation series, "Abiding in Hope."