I arrived at the mall on a mission to revive my water-damaged cell phone. My phone had been stuck in recovery mode for nearly twenty-four hours. The “restore” screen appeared with every attempt to reboot, taunting me as carefully I followed the instructions. After countless tries, I gave up trying to fix it on my own.

Gripping my iPhone, I stepped into the store and prepared myself for the tech’s upgrade pitch. I loved my mini device and had zero interest in the new iPhone. Moreover, I didn’t think my phone had backed up my data before it crashed. I didn’t need a new phone; I needed my old phone with my information — and the possibility of losing all my personal content bothered me.

“This is a great time to trade in your phone for a free upgrade,” the tech told me. “We’re accepting phones in any condition. Even water damage.”

Though persuasive, his sales pitch failed to move me. I shook my head and adamantly refused. I just needed someone to repair my device. Please and thank you.

As I rattled off a myriad of reasons I wanted to keep my outdated phone, an inner voice broke through the chatter, interrupting my monologue: “Why do you insist on holding on to something that is broken? Let it go.”

The question immediately silenced me. My eyes watered upon hearing the still yet firm voice. The Lord had spoken. I slid my phone in the tech’s direction and surrendered my device.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll trade it in.”

I knew the Lord was dealing with me, His question spotlighting an inner struggle much deeper than an inoperable cell device. God used that moment in the store to show me myself: my tendency to hold on to things longer than necessary and staying tethered to what I’ve outgrown — jobs, places, people, friendships, relationships. Even when those things had run their course.

There is something reassuring about dwelling in the familiar. We’ve lived there for a while. We know what to expect. We wrap ourselves in the familiarity like a security blanket providing warmth and comfort on a brisk morning. But our comfort zones give us a false sense of control and relief. The familiar can cloud our perspective and judgment. We resist surrendering with clenched fists, convincing ourselves that what we hold in our hands is the best thing for us, even when it’s marred beyond recognition. Dead. Broken.

I had convinced myself that my phone would work fine if they just repaired it, but in reality, my phone had started deteriorating long before water seeped into the hardware. The battery stopped holding a charge, forcing me to carry around a portable charger everywhere. The performance lagged. And, for good reason, nobody requested using my camera to take pictures. But . . . there I was, doing everything in my power to force that phone to work and keep working for me.

Comfort zones can be a breeding ground for stagnation and immobility. I can recall times I’ve settled out of comfort, allowing fears and doubts to order my steps instead of the Maker who knows me and calls me by name. Sometimes, I rely too much on my limited knowledge instead of listening to God’s instruction to trust in Him with all my heart and, leaning not on my own understanding, submit all my ways to Him (Proverbs 3:5-6).

We serve The One who can do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us” (Ephesians 3:20). We can all reflect on moments when God came through at the right time, answering prayers in unexpected ways, flooding our hearts with awe and wonder. He upgrades our lives in the best way.

When I received my upgraded phone, I discovered my data had backed up accordingly, nullifying my fears. Nothing was lost, but much was gained. Since my upgrade, I’ve never once desired to have the old model back. I wished I had let my phone go sooner.

When God leads us to part from something, we might wrestle with relinquishing control and trusting the process. But, letting go and releasing “what is” will ultimately make room for what’s next.

I’m thankful for His gracious promptings, beckoning us to open our hands and let go, awakening us to possibilities, and reminding us there is more.

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