When Self-Sufficiency Becomes Our Default

The Renewing of Our Minds: God's Renovation Project

I don’t know about you, but self-sufficiency and relying on God feels like a dance whose steps change every season.

Just when I think I’ve learned to trust in one area, another season arrives and reveals another place where I’ve unknowingly slipped back into relying on myself. Apparently, there are always new dance moves to learn.

For me, self-sufficiency doesn’t always look like fierce independence. More often, it looks like overfunctioning, running on automatic pilot, or trying to manage my own distress. Another way to describe it is carrying more than God ever intended me to carry.

Over the years, I’ve realized these responses became almost automatic, leaving me free to focus on everything else demanding my attention.

One of those automatic responses has been soothing myself with food. Since I was a child, when uncomfortable emotions or distress surfaced, food often felt like the quickest way to find relief. Over time, a familiar pattern emerged: distress...food...relief. Before long, it became my default response.

God designed our brains to create pathways. Neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to form new pathways—has fascinated me because science continues discovering what God has known all along.

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind...”
—Romans 12:2

Notice Paul doesn’t say, renew your mind once. He speaks of renewing—an ongoing process.

Someone once described renewal as a renovation, and that picture has stayed with me.

Have you ever lived in a house during a renovation? Nothing feels settled. There’s dust where you don’t want it. Walls are open. Furniture is moved. Life feels inconvenient. Even though the end result will be beautiful, the middle is messy.

When I stop and think about my mind being under renovation, it gives me a more patient perspective. Maybe there’s room for a little more grace while things still feel unfinished.

The truth is, my self-sufficient heart desperately wants things settled. That’s probably why the words “I’m still in progress” can land so differently depending on the season. Sometimes they fill me with hope. Other times they honestly annoy me.

I wonder if ‘how things land’ might be a clue.

Maybe the places where I most resist being “under construction” reveal places I didn’t even realize I’d begun depending on something other than God.

For me, it has often been certainty, control, and the desire to know.

If I’m honest, my desire to always know, always have a plan, and always feel settled can unknowingly become a counterfeit savior. Ouch. That’s convicting. I don’t want certainty to become the place I run for security. I want that place to belong to God alone.

I wonder if God, in His kindness, uses the distress we inevitably experience to expose what we’ve been relying on. I’m not suggesting He creates our suffering. But I do believe He lovingly meets us there, using even difficult seasons to reveal where we’ve misplaced our hope and begun depending on something other than Him.

Isn’t that what we hope to do as parents? If we saw our children placing all of their hope in something we knew could never truly satisfy, wouldn’t we lovingly help them discover something better?

I think our heavenly Father does the same.

Renovations don’t happen overnight, and neither does the renewing of our minds. Most of the time, it’s one finger at a time. We loosen our grip just enough to discover that God really is faithful. Then we loosen another finger. Little by little we learn that we don’t have to hold everything together ourselves.

And then...life changes again.

Before long, I notice my shoulders inching toward my ears. My jaw is tight. My neck aches. My body is telling me something long before my mind catches up.

Maybe our hands have found the steering wheel again.

I’ve driven enough snowy and icy roads to know what white-knuckling feels like. By the time I arrive, my whole body is tense. I’ve been gripping the steering wheel so tightly that I’ve completely lost awareness of my body.

I wonder how often I do that in everyday life.

Aundi Kolber describes this as “white-knuckling”—ignoring the warning signs from our minds and bodies in order to survive overwhelming situations. Often, overfunctioning isn’t something we choose. It’s something we learned.

That description has stayed with me.

What if noticing our white knuckles isn’t something to shame ourselves over? What if it’s simply an invitation? To pause. To breathe. To ask, Lord, what am I gripping so tightly right now?

Because this renovation isn’t ultimately my project. It’s God’s.

When I went back to read Ephesians 6 recently, I noticed something I’d somehow skimmed over before. Paul begins by saying, “Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” Not my power—His. Then he tells us to put on the full armor of God and to stay alert.

Perhaps staying alert means expecting the battle instead of being surprised when it comes.

The enemy would love for us to believe we’re on our own—that if we’re going to make it through this season, it’ll be because we tried harder, planned better, or held on tighter.

Maybe God hasn’t simply been renovating the way I think. Maybe He’s been renovating the way I trust.

We all have our own version of white-knuckling. Mine has shown up through food, overfunctioning, certainty, and the desire to know. Yours may look different. The outward expression may vary, but underneath it all we may be asking the same question: What am I trusting to hold me together?

I wonder if that’s why this dance keeps changing every so often. Not because we’re failing, but because with each new season God gently reveals another place where He’s inviting us to trust Him instead of ourselves.

The renovation isn’t finished yet. Mine certainly isn’t.

Now every time I notice the white knuckles, it doesn’t have to become a reason for shame.

It can become a doorway back to trust. A place where I hear Him gently whisper, “You’re carrying something I never asked you to carry. Come...let Me hold it with you.”

Reflection

Where do you tend to turn when life feels uncertain, overwhelming, or out of control?

Where might God be inviting you to loosen your grip—not with shame, but with compassion—and trust Him with what you’ve been trying to carry on your own?

Continue the Conversation

If this reflection resonates with you, I’d love to invite you to continue the conversation.

Whether you’re navigating struggles with food, body image, emotions, perfectionism, or simply feeling tired from carrying too much on your own, you’re not alone.

You can explore more reflections, learn more about the work I do, or simply connect with me here.

May you find yourself loosening your grip, one finger at a time.

‘Til next time,
Lisa

♡

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