An uneasy surrender

I've been trying to pray the "thy will be done" bit of the Our Father. It's a bit countercultural for a woman with a determined, independant, on my own two feet kind of approach to life. I do however want, with my whole heart, to fulfill my life as given and I think the man upstairs is the one with the map. So, I'm moving from saying it to praying it.

I think it's fleshed out pretty well by St. Ignatius's suspice:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, 
my memory, my understanding
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
 
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
 
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace.
That is enough for me.

Another gem from Joyce Rupp captures the challenge...

Dear God,
why do I keep fighting you off?
One part of me wants you desperately,
another part of me unknowingly
pushes you back and runs away.

What is there in me that
so contradicts my desire for you?
These transition days, these passage ways,
are calling me to let go of old securities,
to give myself over into your hands.

Like Jesus who struggled with the pain
I, too, fight the "let it all be done."
Loneliness, lostness, non-belonging,
all these hurts strike out at me,
leaving me pained with this present goodbye.

I want to be more but I fight the growing.
I want to be new but I hang unto the old.
I want to live but I won't face the dying.
I want to be whole but cannot bear
to gather up the pieces into one.

Is it that I refuse to be out of control,
to let the tears take their humbling journey,
to allow my spirit to feel its depression,
to stay with the insecurity of "no home"?

Now is the time. You call to me,
begging me to let you have my life,
inviting me to taste the darkness
so I can be filled with the light,
allowing me to lose my direction
so that I will find my way home to you.