Not My Will But Yours Be Done: Learning to Pray with Jesus in Gethsemane

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matt. 26:39)

A heart in anguish surrounded by bleeping medical equipment, my precious 7 month old daughter on the bed…“My Father, if it be possible”…. 

Treading on flip flops across the African sand, wavering with indecision, heavy laden with grief…”let this cup pass from me…” 

Laying in my bed, limbs exhausted, a heart wretchedly broken…”not as I will, but as you will”...

Moments like these throw us off balance, like a canoe caught in the waves with teetering emotions, racing thoughts, we paddle hard against forces we can’t control. And it’s in the raging wind and waves that the One who calms the storm teaches us how to pray: with trust, with faith—however threadbare it feels.

Jesus is no stranger to these storms. He knows the sting of hypocrisy in the temple courts, the sorrow of seeing His people like sheep without a shepherd, the grief of a friend’s death, and the crushing weight of waiting in Gethsemane for betrayal and suffering to come. And still—He prays.

In the garden, Jesus addresses God as “Father.” His submission flows from deep relationship and absolute trust in the Father’s goodness and sovereignty, even in the midst of the anguish He feels over the suffering ahead. As Jared C. Wilson reminds us, “In prayer you are not in the place of control but in the place of submission.”[1]

Submission begins here: seeing God as Father, resting in His goodness, and daring to entrust Him with what we cannot carry ourselves.

Submission Begins with Trust: Recognizing Who God Is

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding (Prov. 3:5)

I remember the day we first stepped onto African soil. There was eager anticipation as we traveled with our new teammates to meet our leaders and directors. We knew almost nothing—only that we were heading into a time of orientation. We didn’t know where it would take place or how we’d get there. We simply smiled and followed.

We helped load the luggage onto the roof of the vehicles, tossing up the straps. We trusted our leaders—they had done this many times before. They guided us to our destination, a three-hour drive away, to a simple guesthouse. We had no language skills, no real sense of geography, and no Google Maps in our pockets.

We had to rely on their knowledge and experience. We had to believe they were for us and would take care of us.

But trust doesn’t always come so easily. Perhaps you’ve trusted someone who failed you—who made mistakes, led you astray, or didn’t truly have your best in mind. And in the wake of that broken trust, cynicism took root.

Those experiences can make us wary. They can even make us wonder: Can I really trust God? Especially when His plans don’t look like mine.

But notice Jesus’ words in Gethsemane: “My Father.” In His darkest hour, He addresses God as Father—a title full of authority, intimacy, and care. He is the “one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist” (1 Cor. 8:6), the “one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all” (Eph. 4:6).

This is the God we are called to trust. He is perfectly righteous. Perfectly good. There’s no knowledge He lacks, no power He does not wield, no future hidden from His sight. His love is whole, full, complete. His kindness surpasses anything we’ve ever known.

Submission doesn’t start with rules—it starts with relationship. We trust God’s character—His omniscience, His goodness, His providence—even when the path forward is unclear or painful. Faith and surrender grow together: submission is an act of faith.

Trusting God isn’t just an idea we nod along to—it’s a daily choice that requires loosening our grip on control. In Gethsemane, Jesus doesn’t stop at calling God “Father”; He moves from asking for the cup to pass to embracing the Father’s will. Trust naturally leads to surrender. And that’s where submission becomes real—not in theory, but in opening our hands and saying, “Your will be done,” even when our hearts ache for a different outcome.

Do I really believe God is good when His will doesn’t align with mine?

Submission Requires Letting Go: Living With Open Hands

“Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will” (Matt. 26:39)

Have you ever noticed what happens in your body when you’re upset or resistant to something? The strain in your shoulders, the clenching of your jaw, your fists tightening? Our bodies often reflect the posture of our hearts—especially when circumstances aren’t going according to plan.

When Jesus prays, “Not as I will, but as you will,” He models for us what it looks like to release that tension. Loosening our grip on control isn’t just an abstract idea; sometimes it means literally opening our hands as an outward reflection of inward surrender. Have you ever prayed with open hands when you’ve felt that ache of resistance? It can be gut-wrenching to acknowledge our desire for control—our longing for things to be different—yet there is freedom in letting go, in trust, in exercising that muscle of faith.

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” — Isaiah 64:8

This kind of surrender requires a right view of ourselves: created beings, finite and fallen, shaped by a loving and sovereign Potter. It also requires reviving God’s promises in our minds—“that for those who love God all things work together for good” (Rom. 8:28), that His plans are “for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” (Jer. 29:11).

Matthew Henry describes this posture as meekness: “the quiet and willing surrender of the soul to His will, as He reveals it in the Bible or through His actions in the world.”[2] This meekness allows us not only to endure God’s providence when it’s painful, but to accept it—to receive both good and hard things from His hand, trusting that He knows what is best.

Meekness positions us in quiet surrender at the feet of Jesus, where we can finally release our grip and rest in the One who holds all things together. As we loosen our grip and entrust ourselves to the Father’s hands, we begin to see that surrender isn’t only about letting go—it’s about being shaped, transformed, and made more like Christ.

Where do I notice resistance in my life, and how can I practice letting go and trusting God?

Submission Shapes Us: Becoming Like Christ

“For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps” (1 Pet. 2:21)

“Not my will but yours…” wasn’t just a moment—it was the pattern of Jesus’ life.

Joel Beeke reminds us, “True submission does not mean that you don’t feel the burden of your affliction,” for we see Jesus’ anguish as He prays in the garden. The moments we are led to pray this way are often when life is hard, uncertain, and even frightening. Yet His prayer shows us that submission “means truly denying yourself and taking up your cross and following Christ.”[3]

To follow Christ devotedly, our hearts must be transformed. We need the Holy Spirit to take us from unwilling to willing, from resistance to acceptance, from self-focused to God-focused. As Mason King writes, “Discipleship to Jesus is the continual surrender of all of life to God’s good design for identity, belonging, and purpose.” [4]

Submitting to God in prayer isn’t a single decision but the ongoing posture of a heart being formed into Christ’s image. It shapes our character, humbles our pride, and deepens our trust. This kind of surrender gives us strength to persevere in ministry, motherhood, marriage, and every other arena of life. It reorients our hearts away from self and toward the glory of God.

A surrendered heart means more than accepting our circumstances; it means actively choosing to live for God’s glory. Submission reorients our desires so that our lives become a living sacrifice (Rom. 12:1), offered in obedience to the One who saved us.

When we surrender our plans and preferences, we declare with our lives that God is worthy—worthy of our trust, our obedience, and our worship. This is how Jesus lived, and it’s how we are called to follow Him: not seeking our own will, but the will of the Father who loves us.

How has surrender in a hard season shaped me more into Christ’s likeness?

Through regular, intentional habits of surrender—whether in planning our day, plodding through a crisis, or wrestling with difficult decisions—our submission to the Lord forms us. It teaches us to trust Him more deeply, loosens our grip on control, and reshapes our hearts to love what He loves. And over time, these small, unseen acts of surrender make us look more like Jesus, who prayed in the garden, “Not my will, but yours, be done.”

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1. Jared C. Wilson, Supernatural Power for Everyday People (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2018), 121.

2. Matthew Henry, Meekness (Grand Rapids: Scroll Publishing, 2020), 45.

3. Joel R. Beeke, Portraits of Faith: What Five Biblical Characters Teach Us about Our Life with God (Grand Rapids: Reformation Heritage Books, 2019), 88.

4. Mason King, A Short Guide to Spiritual Disciplines: How to Become a Healthy Christian (Nashville: B&H Publishing, 2023), 76.