by Anna Haiar

Even When My Will Is Different

You can listen to today’s devotion by clicking on this SoundCloud link.

“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
Matthew 6:10 English Standard Version

Each spring, I painstakingly plan out my garden for the coming summer. I spend hours creating diagrams, notes, lists, photos, instructions—all kept in an organized notebook—in order to create the most optimal growing conditions for the best harvest.

Of course, all those plans go out the window based on how late (or early) a frost hits, how hot or cold or dry or wet the summer is, and numerous other inevitable curveballs. Even though everything is carefully planned, the reality is that it rarely, if ever, goes according to plan. Take today’s photo, for instance. The tomato plant was not supposed to grow where it grew. In fact, it didn’t even grow in a garden bed at all. A seed had somehow ended up in between the rows; its roots grew through the weed fabric and burrowed into the hard, unfertilized, and unwatered ground. And yet, that plant became one of my most prolific producers that summer.

When we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we may implore, “Thy will be done,” with an unknowing reservation. What we often mean is, “God, may Your will be done… according to my plans.” According to my timeline. According to what feels right, fair, or manageable to me. We struggle to pray it plainly, without conditions.

Jesus did not teach us to pray “Your will be done” from a place of distance or abstraction. He prayed it Himself, fully aware of the cost. On the night before the cross, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus knelt beneath the weight of what was coming. The suffering was so real, so crushing, that Scripture tells us His sweat became like drops of blood. And still, He prayed:

“Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.”
Luke 22:42 English Standard Version

Jesus did not pretend the cost was small. He named the fear, the pain, the desire for another way. And then He surrendered. Not because the path was easy, but because the Father’s will was good. In that moment, “Your will be done” meant betrayal from a disciple, suffering, and a cross. It meant trusting that resurrection would follow death, even when death came first.

When we pray those same words, we join Him there—in the garden, not yet at the empty tomb. We pray them while still aching, still waiting, still unsure how redemption will unfold. We pray them when healing doesn’t come, when plans collapse, when the ground beneath us feels hard and unyielding. And yet, this is where God often does His deepest work.