Bringing Faith to Life
Posts tagged trust
I’m taking the day off
2It's my birthday, so I'm taking the day off from worrying... about the state of the earth, whether it's terminal about the state of the nation, whether it's fixable about the state of our politics, whether they're resolvable. I am exempting myself... from chores unless I want to do them from duties unless I care to accept them from stuff that screams PAY ATTENTION! Worry and responsibility have been distracting me from what it's clear I should be celebrating ... -- the wonderful friends I have found -- a glorious family that abounds -- the generous gifts which resound -- the amazing world all around. Disclaimer: I know full well, it is my privilege to get to choose worry-free; because today no one is depending on me -- for food, for peace, for calm, for life. Even more then the ample reason to give thanks for this reality season; when I can't do what I used to, perhaps so I especially enjoy the things I get to. My pesky pups a'clambering to play On this sunshine-kissed spectacular day, Of course the first thing that I do, Is step right in the dog poo. Eh, shake it off, fertilizer, nothing to lose, For now, I've got another pair of shoes. I wonder how many things I'd worry about less If I trusted I had what's needed to clean up the mess. On this, my birthday in 2023 thank you friends for celebrating with me. I am feeling spectacularly free, a privilege I don't take lightly.
Under the overpass of life
03 years
I am paused for a sip of refreshment from the Swell water bottle I’ve pulled from its cage which is mounted on my bicycle. I have chosen this spot for a water stop because it is nicely shaded under the highway overpass. Here I can shelter from this Florida sun I’m not used to — it is January, after all. Overhead, gigantic cement girders support a six lane highway. I can hear the traffic whizzing by… at considerably more-than-highway speed.
No, I do not lament the pace of life that is passing me by, ever at breakneck speed. Rather, I am perfectly satisfied to pause and sip in this shade as the other cyclists pedal by. I acknowledge some with a nod. Others pass without even a glance. A few alert me that they’re coming. “On your left,” they say. And they are for a fleeting moment and then grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
Suddenly alone with my thoughts, I let my eyes travel upward to the giant grey girders over my head, silent and strong but massive. For a very split second, I imagine what might happen if they came crashing down. But I dismiss this thought quickly. I am confident that a capable architect, an accurate building engineer and a diligent construction crew erected this structure. Certainly, all necessary precautions have been taken and the required inspections have been made to guarantee its structural soundness and assure safety.
Standing here alone astraddle my bicycle saddle, a cycling helmet the only form of protection I have, I suddenly realize I’ve put a lot of trust in a whole host of humans I’ve never met.
In this moment, something inclines me to look upward and past the girders.
When I do, the dazzling, impossibly-azure sky peeks from beyond the bridge’s span and compels my gaze. “Why,” it seems to say, “if you trust these chunks of cement to protect you, why do you not trust me?” The voice-that’s-not-a-voice goes on. “I am the architect of all that is, the designer of all that will be, the builder of all that is becoming. Why, if you trust the work of human hands, do you not trust me?”
The Lord of Universe now has my full attention.
Why don’t I trust the Lord of the sky to protect me as I go along my way?
When I look around at all that has been made, why don’t I trust?
When I survey all that has been given, why don’t I trust?
When I recall the many instances from which I have been rescued, why don’t I trust?
In that moment I turn my eyes again to the ghostly white of the cement girders, ominous in their row-by-row alignment overhead. I notice the rumble of traffic which now echoes in thunderous tones on all sides. I permit the thought which had been holding itself back: if I heard the structure of this bridge crack and start to give way, would I be able to extricate myself in time? Could I dive to safety? What about the other cyclists? What of the unsuspecting motorists?
No, I decide, I could not save myself. No, we could not save ourselves.
Slowly, I take a final swig from my Swell, carefully screw on its top and slide it back into its plastic cage. Looking to left and to right, I ease my bicycle back onto the trail and propel myself into an easy rhythm.
Pedaling on
I probably won’t stop here on my return trip. I’ll pause in the shade of a nearby tree, greened by the sunny days and watered by the summer rains. And I’ll listen.
Hold that finish!
0“Behind every good _____, there’s a good ________,” they say. But I say, after every good stroke, there is a good follow through. After every good kick, after every good serve, after every good swing, after every good putt, after every good throw, there is a good follow through. It’s not an accident that a successful effort is followed by a smooth finish.
Of course, the reverse is also generally true: after a poor stroke, there is a poor follow through. Same with kick. Same with serve, swing, putt, and throw. An unsuccessful effort generally shows itself in its wayward finishing flourish, or lack of one.
How we finish says a great deal about our performance. Finish with ease and balance and we’ve likely been accurate and effective. Finish abruptly and off kilter and we’ve likely missed the mark. Stopping short usually spells failure.
On the surface, this seems odd. Shouldn’t our success depend on what happens when we impart the force, impact the projectile or strike the implement? I mean, how much effect can a follow through really have after I’ve already achieved launch?
The key to the great finish is the freedom to “swing for the fences.” The deep breath of release that allows you to unleash full force, to let ‘er rip and see where she lands. This freedom to swing out of your shoes is the object of every amateur’s dreams and the signature of every champion’s finish. For sure, it has been honed over thousands of hours of painstaking attention to alignment, preparation, timing and execution.
Show me a good finish and I’ll tell you who made the putt, threw the strike, split the fairway or cleared the fence nearly every time. We’re meant to complete what we’ve started. To follow a strong start with a strong finish.
Just like our Designer who assures us we can be confident of this, “that the One who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” ~ Phil 1:6
Because the One who put us into motion has planned for our completion, we can swing for the fences without fear of striking out, we can pull full force without fear of falling, we can strike our shot without fear of missing.
Because the finish line ain’t moving. Neither is the fence, the hole, the base or the baseline. We’re meant to keep swinging, free and clear, trusting the outcome, come what may.
We’re not designed to come to a sudden stop. We’re meant to swing and follow through, kick and follow through, throw and follow through, serve and follow through. That’s how we learn to trust ourselves and our practice.
We should have planned this from the beginning. Fortunately, Someone did.
When the storm brings rain
2We had a much-needed rain last night. Though the arrogant lightning flashed boldly in my window making it hard to fall asleep, when I heard the droplets pelting against my window pane I knew that thirsty Mother Earth would be glad for a drink. In the morning, the soaking had left a smile on the face of my struggling, newly sodded lawn and renewed my hope that the hydrangea I had transplanted into the front mulch bed — a gift to me from my new next-door neighbor — might still gather the strength to stand up tall. Nice as he is, I felt sure he would be noticing.
As I strode along the drive and then through the neighborhood with my two energetic pups, my shoes became altogether sodden thanks to the puddling on the path which didn’t drink the rain up. Neither did signs and vehicles we passed, nor the metal-covered electrical box, nor the roadway, nor the roofs of nearby homes or their driveways nor the …. But so much did. The browning hillside. The drooping trees and bent shrubs. The colorful annuals planted hopefully along the foundations. These surely did.
Suddenly I felt an odd gratitude for the indiscriminate nature of the rains, falling on all things equally, like the grace of God. Paying no mind to where they land — whether needed or well-received, whether shirked, shed or run off down the hill into the pond — they distributed themselves equally. Yes, the Father sends rain on the just and unjust.
At once I felt a bit of a twinge, recalling times when I had prickled at the apparent unfairness of good things that had come to the poorly mannered, undeserving, entitled or even to the apparently wicked while the same good seemed to be withheld from those who needed or deserved it the most. I needed this simple reminder that the grass, my grass, didn’t receive its rain because it needed it but because of the even-tempered and merciful nature of the One who delivers it.
So that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:45)
When we put our hope and trust in humans and human ways, we are sure to be disappointed, but if we trust in God first, perhaps we can trust in what God’s grace can do. Even in them. Even in us. Especially in the storms of life.
Putting the Basket in the Water: Trusting God in the Next Phase of Your Child’s Life
0This is so powerful. Thank you, Ashleiwoods! For anyone trusting their child to the next place on their journey, here’s to floating that basket. And all those who will be looking out for it downstream.
Putting the Basket in the Water: Trusting God in the Next Phase of Your Child’s Life
The Trust Game
07 years
Have you ever played the trust game? Where someone demonstrates trust in his or her fellows by falling backward into the waiting arms of a team of people set to catch her or him?
Blind fall.
Big risk.
No guarantee.
Complete confidence.
TRUST.
Whom do you trust like that?
I just played a new trust game. One partner keeps eyes closed, while the other partner leads him or her (only with words, no touching) through a crowded room, out a narrow doorway, down a crowded hall – with other people, both sighted and not-sighted, playing this game – around a bend, down another hall and into a crowded public space. On arrival, turn around and return.
Guiding, without sight. Only by faith. Faith in me. That no harm would come to her.
I am cautious, waiting for the way to clear, while talking her through the steps we will take to reach our destination. Introducing myself – did I mention that we had never met each other before? – I assure her that her safety is my utmost goal. But we will achieve our objective.
We begin. I go before her, my back to the traffic, my face to her. At first, I give instructions: turn this way, 2 steps that way, stop. But when I watch her face I see her comfort. She has placed her confidence in me, her complete trust in me. I will talk her through this.
Come toward my voice.
I will stay in front of you.
No harm will come to you.
I will clear your way.
We enter the lighted hallway through the open door of the classroom and her face beams. She pauses without moving. “That’s amazing,” she says, “I know I am in the light, even though my eyes are closed.”
I smile, but she doesn’t see it. She is waiting and listening, blind to the traffic, the congestion of people, and to the chaos of others navigating the hallway. She trusts. Fully.
So simple. Listen to My voice.
“I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd. ~ John 10:14-16
Hands Free Viewing for a One Time Show
3Trust me?
Leave your phone, your notebook, and your water bottle behind.
Just you and me around the lake this morning.
Can you do this?
But what if the sunrise is spectacular?
My sunrise is not meant for you to preserve,
distribute or reproduce.
But what if there are words to record?
My words will be there,
when you return.
But what if I’m thirsty?
There’s a fountain part way around,
but you won’t need it.
So, out the door,
down the steps,
along the ramp
and through the archway I go.
Onto the path that encircles the lake.
There, there in the East is the glow.
The shadows deep, growing pink on the waters,
the geese and the swans, silhouetted against it all,
going about their morning as if this happens every day.
But I, I the intruder,
the visitor from out of town,
pause at the spectacle and smile at the cast.
Behold, the Premier! the one and only showing of
Sunrise. Today. For me.
Tears. Tears of joy.
This is a mere yawn
for the Creator of the Dawn.
Rounding the bend,
the action in the eastern sky is obscured by trees, hills and shoreline.
Wait! Don’t go!
I race around the bend but, alas,
I’m too small to see it.
Too near to perceive it.
Look away, my child.
There, in the away,
by the light of the sun just risen,
I see the day.
Take nothing with you, said He.
Nothing to encumber. Hands free.
Let me show you the Glory meant for you.
Just the two of us, here in the morning, on the mountain, around the lake.
What can I do in the face of a God who loves me like that?
but trust?
another morning
Permission to Come Aboard
09 years
You don’t just buy a ticket to come in.
Reaching out is not enough,
Lending a hand is nice, but no,
Easy come, easy go.
No, you have to ask to come aboard,
Ready to step onto the ship and go for a ride.
But to do that,
they must lower their shields,
and disarm their weaponry
long enough to beam you aboard.
They must know that you have not come to
invade or take over, but simply
to ride with them through the galaxy
that is their life.
“Allow me to take you on the tour,
To the bridge where no course is plotted.
To the engine room where you can listen
to the sparking circuitry of disconnection,
To the bunk rooms of sleepless nights.
The rec room, not so well-used,
the work out room, I really should …,
the cafeteria, that’s off limits.”
You never know what you’ll find when you materialize on that platform.
Who will greet you or where you’ll go.
There’s every chance you’ll be lost,
be held captive or fail to find your way home.
But the privilege of welcome, is a risk worth taking.
Permission granted,
Life’s most precious trust.
Coming of Age
0
We tend to think of “coming of age” as a once in a lifetime experience, or at least one season of our lives. Then we’re done. Thank goodness that’s over. Now I can move on to adult things, and put those childish ways behind me.
But what if I don’t, or rather, I can’t. At least not now. And the further I get from my childhood, the harder it is to let it go. By then, I have held on so long it has become a part of me. I hold dearly to these things I “know” about myself, so dearly that I just take them for granted. I always cry at …. I never know what to say when… I’ll lose so why bother doing … It’s his fault that… No one listens when… These are part of “who I am.” Even the things I don’t much like about myself I have learned to live with, so I figure I’m stuck with them. But what if I’m wrong?
What if the opportunity to lay down the things I hold dearly happens annually? or monthly? perhaps weekly? OMG, daily? Yes, I may never see them again. That is, unless they are good for me: good for my direction, my progress, my soul. Then I believe I will see them again. They’ll probably sneak back in under the guise of a project, a phone call, a surprise email or a tug to get back to writing that blog you were so fond of. But the rest of those things need not rear their ugly heads; they were meant for drop-kicking.
New every morning are my opportunities to see myself in a new light, with capability to address the day in a new way. Coming of age may happen in a moment for a few souls, or for the boy Jesus who was “about his Father’s business” when he was left behind by his parents, but for me it’s a day by day diligence. You don’t need to be who you were yesterday, but to be better you need to release your grip on the stuff in your fist. Yes, YOUR fist.
That oughta lighten things considerably around here. Who knows, maybe this stepping may turn to skipping and leaping and bounding. Good grief, I may get to hurdle a whole bunch of stinking stuff. Who knew I was the one holding the key to tossing it aside? 
Be Their Healing
210 years
My mother was dearly beloved by her maternal grandfather, John K. Leigh, or so my grandmother told me. Doted over, actually, and perhaps a bit spoiled. Apparently, he gave her whatever she asked.
“There was one thing she wouldn’t ask for,” Mamma told me. “She really wanted a horse, but she knew he couldn’t give that to her, so she didn’t ask.”
Why? If he loved her that much wouldn’t he find a way to get her that horse?
Until today I thought this was a story of fear. The fear of a little girl who so needed to preserve a perfect relationship with her grandfather that she withheld her heart’s greatest desire. But today, I see it differently. I think mom was so in tune with her grandpa’s love for her that, when he came near, she no longer had this desire. She was satisfied.
God says ask. Yet, sometimes we don’t. Is it because we don’t think He’ll give it to us? Afraid He’ll turn us down? Afraid he’ll turn out not to be the God we thought He was?
I don’t think so. I think we don’t ask because we’re afraid of being chastised for wrong-requesting. How dare you ask when others are so much more in need? Don’t you realize I have bigger things to attend to? Or lack of trust: Don’t you know that I have everything in hand here?
OR do we fail to ask because, from a distance, we look to God and think, there’s really nothing to be done here. He can’t give me that horse. Better shelve it and stick to reasonable requests.
The thing is, God doesn’t want us to pray from a distance. He wants us to pray up close. So much so that He’s promised to be right there next to us. And in that proximity, the asking we had in mind from a distance changes. The please don’t let it be cancer. The please don’t let it be my child. The please don’t let it be terminal. The please let there be another way…those prayers meld into one: Lord, please be their healing.
And the Lord, ever so close, bends and whispers in my ear, I am.
Perhaps He was whispering it from afar, too, but I couldn’t hear Him. Healing may come now or later. It may be complete on this side of life or be completed in the hereafter. But it will come. In fact, it is come, because the Lord of life has said so.
Today I boldly pray without reservation, Lord, be their healing. He loves them that much.