It’s been a long night of tossing and turning. Something has been weighing on my heart. A situation that seems out of my control, and that I long to somehow be able to do something about. It was on my mind when I went to sleep. It was what I thought about when I woke up in the middle of the night, and it was the first thing on my mind when I woke up again in the morning.
I had been praying about it, but somehow I struggle to let it go. So I do what I always do: I get up and move to the living room, sit on the couch, and with my journal on my lap and pen in hand, I start writing:
Oh Lord, I don’t know what to do about this.
Him: Is there anything you need to do?
No, I guess not.
– Then why are you asking?
Because I feel like I should.
– Trust me.
Father, but I still feel like I need to talk about this.
– Yes, of course. But trust me.
But Lord, I somehow need to talk about this.
So I go on for a while and rant about the details of my situation.
– Trust me.
I rant on.
– Trust me.
I still continue ranting.
– Trust me.
Now I stop writing, but in my head, I go on ranting. He is still sitting there, listening intently and with a loving smile on his face. And then He says it again, but this time He asks:
– Do you trust me?
Long pause. I knew I wanted to say yes. I knew I wanted to trust Him. I also know in my head that He is trustworthy. But I also knew there was a reason He kept asking me the same question.
I think about our conversation, and my many ‘But, Lord…’s I have just written in my journal.
Maybe, just maybe, I struggle?
It seems hard for me to admit, because my head so desperately wants to say that I trust Him. But I know my heart is living a different reality, and somehow, I still can’t let it go:
Lord, but please… I am freaking out. On so many levels.
– Do you trust me? Do you trust my plans? My best for you? Really trust me?
Lord, but…!
– Sshhh… , He says, as He puts a finger on my mouth.
– Quiet down, my love. He still smiles at me lovingly. He is still sitting there with me. I know He won’t leave. I know Him.
And I also know He is right. I should really stop talking. He knows my anxious heart. He asks me to give it to Him.
I want to. I desperately want to. I sit there with Him, those two words ringing in my ears.
Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.
With every heartbeat the words are repeated. And so I sit there and surrender, hoping that with every second that I do, trust will flow through my being like the blood in my veins, and will vitalize every fiber of my soul just like blood does the body.
Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.
My heart pounding. Emptied out before Him. Waiting.
Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.
