Where Shallow Meets Deep: Surrendering to the Heart
- Christopher Mckinzie
- Aug 10
- 3 min read
Some days I feel like I’m getting it right. I’m showing up, checking boxes, moving forward. And then, without warning, I feel like I’m messing it all up again. The push and pull between progress and setback, light and shadow, saint and sinner - it can wear on you.
But here’s the truth I keep circling back to: my heart is not keeping score. My heart doesn’t tally failures or demand perfection. It waits, patiently, like a steady flame - ready to welcome me home every single time I find my way back.
This is what surrender really feels like. Not dramatic, not cinematic, but a thousand small moments of softening when I want to fight.
Shallow and Deep
Life is rarely one-note. Most days are a mix of shallow and deep.
On the surface, we go through the motions: errands, emails, obligations, the conversations where we smile even when our insides are raw. That’s the shallow layer - not unimportant, just not the whole picture.
And then there are the deeper currents. The ache in the chest you can’t explain. The longing to be seen, to be known, to belong. The sudden rush of joy or grief that takes your breath away. These are the depths - the places we resist going but can’t avoid forever.
What I’ve learned is that the heart lives in both. It’s not about choosing one or the other. The invitation is to notice the shallow for what it is, and then to be brave enough to swim into the deep when it calls.
The Sinner and the Saint
When I first started exploring this theme, the image that came to me was “sinner vs. saint.” Two sides of the same face. One half lit with warmth, forgiveness, and grace. The other draped in shadows - the regrets, the mistakes, the patterns we’d rather keep hidden.
But the longer I sit with it, the less I see them as enemies. The sinner side is honest. It admits to hunger, to failure, to doubt. The saint side is aspirational - it reminds me what’s possible, what love is asking me to grow into. Together, they make me whole.
To surrender to the heart is to stop banishing one side of myself in favor of the other. It’s to let the light and the shadow meet in the middle, to let them sit at the same table and learn from each other.
Coming Home
The poem I shared in the video grew out of this wrestle. It’s a love letter to my own heart - the part of me that keeps calling me back when I’ve wandered too far.
Some days it feels like a gentle whisper. Other days it feels like a desperate cry. But always, the heart says: Come home. You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to be perfect. You are welcome here as you are.
And isn’t that what so many of us long for? To finally exhale, drop the armor, and believe that we are already enough?
A Practice of Surrender
Here’s what I’ve been trying lately:
Notice the push-pull. When I feel myself swinging between shallow and deep, sinner and saint, I name it. Naming softens the shame.
Pause before reacting. Sometimes surrender looks like one long breath before I hit send, speak the sharp word, or retreat in silence.
Return to the body. My heart doesn’t live in my head. It beats in my chest. Placing a hand there, even for 10 seconds, is enough to remind me where home really is.
Offer compassion inward first. It’s easier to extend grace to others when I practice giving it to myself.
The Invitation
If you’re reading this, maybe part of you is tired too. Tired of the fight, the self-criticism, the never-enough. Maybe part of you longs for a softer way - a way that doesn’t demand you win the war between your shallow and deep, your sinner and saint.
Here’s my reminder: you don’t have to choose. You are both. And your heart is big enough to hold it all. Surrender isn’t weakness. It’s a homecoming.
So the next time you feel like you’re messing it all up, pause. Put your hand on your chest. And listen. Your heart is already here, waiting to meet you where shallow meets deep.
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