Hiking the Clouds: The Journey to Mature Faithਨਮੂਨਾ

The Waypoint of Godliness

The essence of surrender is getting out of God’s way so that He can do in us what He also wants to do through us. – A.W. Tozer

Paul told Timothy, “Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of godliness” (1 Timothy 3:16). Mystery doesn’t mean nothing can be known about God—it means there are infinite layers to God’s reality, always more to understand and learn about Him. We never “arrive.” We are humbled by how little we actually understand. This humility is the birthplace of surrender.

At the waypoint of Godliness, we learn that maturity in faith is not about achieving more, knowing more, or controlling more. It’s about surrender.

Surrender is not weakness—it is reverence. The Greek word for godliness, eusébeia, literally means “well-directed reverence.” It’s a shift in posture, from demanding answers to trusting God’s presence, from chasing certainty to embracing reality as it is.

In my own journey, I had to learn this the hard way. After projects failed, health collapsed, and plans dissolved, I stopped fighting for control. I didn’t surrender quickly or gracefully—I’m a fighter by nature. But slowly, painfully, I began to let go. I began to accept life as it is, not as I wish it to be. That meant embracing the mystery of God’s ways, my own soul, and the winding road of the future.

At the waypoint of Godliness, we discover the beauty of mystery. We realize how powerless we are to manage life or even our own souls. The illusions of certainty, control, and clarity begin to fall away.

Up to this point, we may have thought the Christian life was about figuring things out—believing the right things, praying the right way, doing enough good to show we belong. But godliness isn’t achieved by grasping. It’s found by letting go.

This is where unconditional love begins to take root. We learn to love not only people but reality itself—for what it is and for what it isn’t. We learn to forgive reality. We’re less preoccupied with fixing, perfecting, or controlling, and more willing to rest in the present moment. As Paul wrote, “Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Timothy 6:6).

Of course, this doesn’t come naturally. We long for clarity. We want God to explain himself. We want a plan. But often, the deeper answer comes in silence. Like Job, who never got an explanation, we are “comforted with riddles” (as G.K. Chesterton put it). God’s silence itself becomes our teacher.

This surrender also reshapes how we see the church. At this stage, sermons and formulas that once inspired us may now feel too simple. We may even feel tempted to withdraw from community. But godliness calls us to stay. Not because the church is perfect, but precisely because it isn’t. Our deepest experiences of faith are most needed when others around us are still learning to walk. Our limp—our wounds from wrestling with God—becomes a gift to those coming behind us.

Godliness is not about rising above the church, but serving within it. It’s about presence, humility, and surrender—loving God’s people as they are, while also calling them toward what they could be.

In the end, the waypoint of Godliness teaches us this: God is not who we thought He was, and we are not who we thought we were. Yet in that realization, we find peace. We let go of the need to explain, control, or fully understand. We open ourselves to silence, mystery, and trust.

This is the essence of surrender. This is godliness.