Read

Luke 14:31–33 “Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”

Think

When you’re growing up, everything in your world seems to revolve around you. You’re the main character, and life is your story. Parents, teachers, coaches—they’re all background support to your rising plotline.

And to be fair, our culture feeds that narrative. Disney movies tell us to “follow your heart.” Graduation speeches tell us to “chase your dreams.” Social media tells us, “You’re the brand. You’re the voice. You’re the vision.”

But Jesus tells us something far less glamorous: “You’re not the king. You’re not the strategist. You’re not the hero. You’re the soldier in the field—and the real King is asking for your surrender.”

In Luke 14, Jesus gives us a second parable—this time, not about building, but about battle. He paints the picture of a ruler preparing for war. Before charging in, the king must assess the odds. If he’s facing an enemy twice his size, he’ll either negotiate peace—or be crushed.

The twist is this: we’re not the king with ten thousand troops. That role doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to God.

For years, many of us have read this parable thinking, “I’m the one making the wise decision about whether I’m ready for discipleship.” But in reality, Jesus is the King with the greater army. He’s not suggesting we weigh whether he’s worth following—he’s showing us that we’re the ones being evaluated.

Will we submit to him? Or will we pretend we can win without him?

It’s a sobering shift. We’re not strategizing for victory. We’re surrendering to a Kingdom far stronger than our own.

And that surrender, Jesus says, will cost us everything.

Not just the obvious sins or bad habits—but our independence. Our plans. Our preferences. Our control. It’s not that Jesus wants to take things from us just to prove a point. It’s that he knows the only way to truly follow him is to lay everything else down.

But that’s hard to do when we still see ourselves as the protagonist.

It’s like trying to hand over the steering wheel while keeping one hand on the GPS. We say, “Jesus, you lead,” but we still want veto power. We still want a backup plan. We still want to reserve the right to say, “That’s too far,” or “That’s not what I had in mind.”

Discipleship doesn’t work like that.

Surrender isn’t partial. It’s not a joint custody arrangement. It’s total abandonment of your kingdom to fully embrace his.

And this surrender isn’t passive—it’s active. It means waking up each day and giving Jesus permission to rearrange your priorities, interrupt your comfort, and override your preferences.

Imagine a soldier showing up for battle and saying, “I’m willing to fight—as long as it doesn’t get too intense. I’ll march, but not too far. I’ll carry my weapon, but I’d prefer not to use it. And if the enemy comes too close, I’ll need a break.” That soldier isn’t ready for the frontlines. He’s not fit for battle.

And Jesus makes it clear—discipleship isn’t for those who just want to wear the uniform. It’s for those willing to fight.

That means following him when it’s costly. Obeying when it’s unpopular. Trusting when the road makes no sense.

It’s easy to agree with this idea in theory. But in practice, the “everything” Jesus asks for often touches the areas we want most to keep.

It might be your career plan—the one you’ve built step-by-step, only to feel God nudging you toward something less secure. It might be a relationship that feels good, but deep down, you know it’s pulling you away from Christ. It might be your money, your time, your schedule, your reputation.

We all have something we grip tightly. But Jesus is clear: “Those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”

Not “shouldn’t be.” Not “will struggle to be.” Cannot be.

That’s not legalism. That’s love refusing to let us stay half-hearted. Because you can’t carry a cross and cling to your comfort at the same time.

But here’s the beauty: whatever we surrender, Jesus fills. Whatever we lose, he replaces with something far better. He doesn’t ask for our everything so he can leave us empty. He asks so he can fill us with his everything—his presence, his peace, his purpose.

This is the upside-down power of the gospel. We give our lives away, and in return, we find life we never knew was possible. We stop trying to be the main character, and we finally get to live inside the greater story.

Not as the star. But as someone transformed by the grace of the King.

Apply

What’s one area of your life you still try to control? Where are you acting like the king instead of the soldier? Be honest about what you haven’t fully surrendered—and give it to Jesus today. Write it down. Pray it out. Lay it down.

Pray

Jesus, I confess that I often act like the main character. I try to lead when you’ve called me to follow. I grip things that you’ve asked me to surrender. Today, I lay it down. My plans. My pride. My preferences. I don’t want partial obedience—I want total devotion. You are King. Help me live like it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.