I used to play the game as a child. You remember it, too, don’t you? We would stand in front of someone, eyes blindfolded, hearts totally trusting. Then we would lean back, and sight unseen, we would trust that person to catch us. I’ve been playing this game a lot lately. Except it’s no longer playtime between the church kids and me. It’s only God and me in the room, and we’re playing for keeps.
I grew up my whole life believing that God was faithful. If He said it, I believed it. If He said He would do it, then I’d consider it done!
Nothing has caused me to reevaluate my trust, to fight for this trust, to push past the fears, like being a mother. Nothing.
I remember the day my baby died, my very first baby. Up until that day, my life had only been slightly singed as sporadic bullets of pain and tragedy zoomed past. I had only ever been mildly grazed, a mere flesh wound at best. On that day, though, no bulletproof vest or doctrinal class could save me. Overwhelming heartache had a missile lock on me, and I had no escape.
Up until that point I knew, the way you know something deep down in your very soul, that God was faithful. But it was when He stripped everything away, when He pried all of my dreams out of my hands with no hope of ever giving them back, it was then that I saw a new dimension. This God of mine wasn’t only faithful because He had shielded me and protected me and healed me so many times. This God of mine was good, infinitely good, when the assault of anguish hurtled right at me. This time it would not fly over head; it would not merely graze or ricochet. This time it would penetrate; it would cut; it would sever.
It was in this time that I came to trust that God is good. Not just when He gives, but when He takes, especially when He takes away. This God of mine is trustworthy. Always. Every single time. He is always good and always working for me, for my ultimate good and His glory. Even if I can’t see it. Even if I don't feel it. Perhaps that is when I can perceive His goodness the best. When I have no other assurances but my simple trust.
Not long after moving overseas, I sat down to tea and conversation with a very wise woman. I lamented my son’s brand new autism diagnosis to her. Through tears, I dropped my burden on the table between us, daring either one of us to retrieve it.
She looked me dead in the eyes and said, “People will try to tell you that you need to leave. That you need to return to America for the sake of your family and getting Gary the help that he needs. Your answer isn’t going to be found in America. Your answer is in Jesus! And we trust Him to be enough!”
Trust has come knocking on my door many more times. There’s something about living overseas that brings an inherent depth to our faith. We must trust that the One Who called us will be with us. We cry out with Moses: “Lord, if You don’t go with me, then please don’t send me from this place!”
We trust that God’s goodness and His love are not defined by our geography. He is the same One here in our monotonous comfort zone as He is over there in the vicious war zone! Trust whispers to me in the dead of night, surrounded by my mosquito net and the ever present hope that my kids will survive this overseas life. Trust reminds me that The Faithful One is the same whether we are here or there, whether we stay or we go, whether we harvest fruit or frustration.
Dear global worker and friend, it’s time to tighten the blindfold and fall back…our Father can be trusted!
You Might Also Enjoy: