Find My Friends … and Fix My Control Issues

I have an app on my phone that gives me the illusion I’m running a tight ship. It’s called “Find My Friends.” But really, it should be called “Find My Control Issues.”

Thanks to this handy little dot-tracking miracle inside of my phone, I can see where my daughters are at any given moment. (Please don’t tell them I can still track them. They’re in their early 20s now, and I’m trying to be chill.)

Lydia recently finished her master’s at Cambridge in England, and I loved watching her dot cruise alongside cobblestone streets, like something out of a storybook.

And Anna is about to move to Indonesia to serve full-time in ministry, which means her dot will soon be floating on the other side of the world.

You’d think I’d be obsessively monitoring their global whereabouts. But oddly enough, I checked that app waaaay more when they were teenagers – especially during winter mornings while they drove to school. I’d refresh the screen frantically, trying to make sure our daughters made it safely.

If the dots froze on the screen?

Clearly, they were in a ditch.

And if the dots moved too fast?

Probably an ambulance.

One day, I told a friend how “responsible” I was, with all my dot-watching. She didn’t miss a beat: “Wow,” she said dryly. “It’s incredible how your obsessive tracking prevented all those accidents.”

Touché.

That’s when it hit me: Sometimes my so-called “care” is really just control dressed up as concern. I had confused vigilance with virtue, anxiety with love. And in trying to play God, I was missing the peace He actually promises.

Hi. My name is Jennifer, and I’m a recovering control freak.

Over the years, my control freakery has affected my parenting, for sure. But truthfully? I have actually wanted to run the show in nearly every other area of life, too.

For a long time, I lived like God was a helpful assistant instead of the actual boss of my life.

I wanted His help – but only if He stayed in His lane. If I truly let Him lead, I was afraid of what would happen.

I’d hand over my marriage … sort of.
My kids? Okay, but only if You promise nothing bad will happen, God.
My finances? I mean, I’d like to trust You, but the electric bill is due Tuesday.

Letting God lead felt so risky, so out-of-my-hands.

But maybe the greatest freedom begins when we admit we were never meant to be in charge in the first place.

I looked at the way John the Baptist responded when people asked who he was. His answer? “I am not the Christ” (John 1:20 ESV). Just like that, John drew an important boundary between who he was, and who he wasn’t.

I didn’t cross-check the Greek or anything, but I’m pretty sure God isn’t taking applications for His position.

Repeat after me: “I am not the Christ.”

We can stop trying to run the world and instead remember that we are not the Savior, not the Solution, not the CEO.

We are beloved followers of the One who doesn’t need to refresh a phone screen to see where His children are.

When we stop trying to be Jesus, the astonishing result is that we actually become more like Him. We hear the Father more clearly. We see the paths before us. We become more like Jesus, not by trying harder, but by trusting deeper.

Today, if you’re tempted to track everyone and fix everything, take a deep breath and say it one more time:

“I am not the Christ.”

And then?

Rest in the beautiful news that you don’t have to be.