I’m trying to corral some thoughts and ideas on trust: Whom do I trust? What does trust look like? Act like? Talk like? Sometimes it’s easier to talk about trust while storing up contingency plans in case someone or something doesn’t come through or turn out as you had hoped.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart . . . Lean not on your own understanding . . .
But what if, right now, that heart is feeling faded bruises? And don’t get started on understanding when all seems a mess with no hope of order. When the desire to know, to understand, seems to be told it’s pointless and foolishness. “Have faith!” “Just trust and obey!” Yet the echoes of times when you’re sure you did All the Things remind you of paths you hope – you want – to never walk again even as your carefully pick your way along unfamiliar terrain.
trust “Firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something” heralds one dictionary definition.
I’m thinking I can do that – firmly believe in the ability, the strength of an invisible God as I wait for His answers to become sight and sound, to be known. Because my understanding was told six years ago to not say my husband had cancer (it would be a negative confession). My understanding is learning, growing each day because now – don’t deny facts, but don’t forget those facts can change. The God I trust is steadfast, sure . . . bigger than all I do not know.
Whom do I trust? God. (Even though I cannot see how His hand is moving.) What does it look like? Antsy/nervous/fidgety energy. (And it’s trying to be still.) How does it act? Like a kid tired of waiting. (But who still clutches onto hope.) How does it talk? Carefully. Softly. (Even as it seems to not make a sound.)
Trust. It turns out I have it, along with a steadfast hope. And it anchors my soul in these choppy waters.