Life is a harsh teacher. There is no grace period for late papers, no test re-take policy, and very little recess. After about sixth grade, there isn’t even a milk break. The whole life process itself is a learning experience, training and developing each participant into the person he or she is today, preparing for the person he will be tomorrow. The failures, the hurdles, the stumbles in life all have a hand. They all serve a purpose. They are all part of the lesson.

I’ve had some pretty notable life lessons over the past few months. It occurred to me not too long ago, while inspecting the multi-colored underside of my upper cabinets, that there is a reason a blender comes with a lid. Note to self: use it. I’ve also learned and relearned that it is not wise to say “yes” to a small child unless you are absolutely sure what he is asking…and even then it may be unwise. I’ve also learned a lot about making assumptions. One stands out. It is not wise to assume that the window in the nursing mothers’ room at the church you are visiting is one-way glass. Major oops.

Of all the lessons I’ve learned, the greatest, yet most difficult, is trust. I know the lessons well:

Trust the Creator with your life on earth and your life in glory through faith in Christ. Trust Him with the small details and the big decisions. Trust His will. Don’t make trust only an issue of the head, but a hope of the heart and an action of the body. Don’t just say, for example, that you trust God to care for you in the economic crisis; believe it by still giving out of your lack. Don’t just say, for example, that you trust God to work beauty into your marriage; believe it by handing the reins to Him through prayer rather than giving your tongue free rein. Don’t just say, for example, that you trust God with your family size; believe it by relinquishing control. Trust.

I am not good at trusting. I am a failure, in fact. Worse than that, I talk the talk and stumble through the process of putting one foot in front of the other. Anxiety becomes my god and I leave the Father of Trust with His arms held out to me, longing to gather me in. I leave Him for the idol throne of fear where I am annointed with guilt and despair.

Over and over He calls me back. My Father.

Come back, my dearling. Stop clinging to fear and cling instead to me. This life was never your problem to begin with, but something meant for you to hand to me. Lift your eyes, child, and look at me.  Stop fighting me.  Stop resisting my peace. Stop. Just…let me…be the God…the Father, I know you need. It is okay, my dearling, to trust me. I am not them. I AM. Trust.

Trust…

Lord, grant it.

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