Chapter 2: The Blessedness of Possessing Nothing

Before God created humanity, He prepared a world full of beautiful, useful things. These "things" were never meant to live inside us — they were supposed to serve us from the outside. But sin reversed the order. The heart that once belonged to God alone became a throne for idols. Now we are full of cravings and conflicts, fighting to possess what was never meant to possess us.

At the core of this spiritual illness is our desire to own and control. The constant use of "my" and "mine" isn't innocent — it reveals a deep, possessive instinct embedded in the old self. These desires grow roots in our hearts, and we fear losing them because we've built our identities on them. The tragic irony? The very things we cling to are keeping us from the freedom and intimacy with God that we long for.

Jesus called us to renounce the self-life — that deep-rooted insistence on gain and control. He told us plainly: the way to truly find life is to lose it for His sake. The Cross is not just a symbol of belief — it's the instrument by which we kill our selfish need to possess. When we die to the self-life, we're not left empty. We finally become free to enjoy everything without being enslaved by anything. "Blessed are the poor in spirit" — these are the ones who've let go of everything, and so gain everything.

Tozer illustrates this with Abraham's test on Mount Moriah. Abraham had waited decades for his son Isaac. The boy embodied every promise, every hope, every joy in Abraham's heart. But God asked for him back — not to destroy, but to purify Abraham's love. Abraham obeyed, ready to give Isaac up completely. And at the last moment, God intervened. The point wasn't the sacrifice of Isaac, but the surrender of Abraham's heart.

After that, Abraham still had everything: his son, his flocks, his wealth. But he possessed nothing. That's the key. His inner life was free. He no longer clung to anything, not even God's gifts. His hands were open, and God reigned without rival in his heart. That's what it means to be poor in spirit.

This inner freedom is not just for Abraham. It's for us. But the road to that freedom passes through surrender. We must lay down not only our possessions, but our illusions of control, our fear of losing what we love, and even our pride in the talents and gifts God has loaned us. Nothing is truly safe until it is given over to Him. Once surrendered, everything is safer than it ever was in our grasp.

So what do we do? We come to God defenseless. No excuses. No clever theological distractions. We must name the things we cling to — people, roles, achievements, security — and ask God to take them from the throne of our hearts. He may not remove them from our lives, but He must remove them from our center. This is not a casual prayer. It is holy work. It may be painful, but it is how freedom is born.

This is not a truth to merely study — it must be lived. We must pass through the fire of real surrender, like Abraham did. There's no shortcut. The self-life must be torn out by its roots, even if it bleeds. The idols must be overthrown. The Cross must do its full work in us. Until then, we may appear spiritual, but our hearts will still be enslaved by things.

If we truly want to know God more deeply, He will lead us to this moment. It will likely come without warning — one day we will be faced with a simple but costly choice: surrender or cling. It will not come with fanfare or many options. Just one path forward, and a rival path to decline. The decision we make in that moment will shape our future with God more than we realize.

Many people fear that surrender means loss — of joy, identity, or love. But Tozer reminds us: when we give everything to God, we don't lose what matters. We gain the Source of all things. We no longer need the world to prop us up. We are anchored in the One who is eternal. And if we must let go of anything, we do so with peace, knowing we have lost nothing essential.

Father, I want to know You more, but my heart clings to things I should have surrendered long ago. I'm afraid to let go, afraid of what it will cost — but I come anyway. Tear out every idol that competes with You. Purify the inner shrine of my heart. Let nothing remain but You. I want to possess nothing, so that I may have everything in You. Amen.