Twelve years ago we trusted God with a move across the country, far from my home and family whom I dearly love, but near my husband’s father.  Then the precious man we so love died, the few remaining relatives moved away, and our visitors dwindled.  Now there is nobody nearby. 

Our trust has made us lonely.

Six years ago we trusted God with a move out of the city, over the mountain pass, 70 minutes away from our church and the people that had become like family to us.  Then sickness, weather, and finances took over and we rarely make it over the pass except to see specialists and doctors.  Now that second family and church home are distant, unfamiliar. 

Our trust has made us strangers.

Four years ago we trusted God and took the plunge into the Christian music ministry.  Then the economy and our main business collapsed and we were saddled with expenses we could not afford and that a ministry could not support.  Now that ministry is floundering and we are left feeling frustrated with gifts we know must be shared, but with no means to share them. 

Our trust has destroyed our finances.

Throughout our marriage we trusted God with our family size. Then we discovered that one of our children has a painful chronic illness and requires expensive, lifelong medical care. Worse, we learned it is genetic, meaning each of her many sisters, her brother, and even our unborn baby have a strong chance of getting the same thing, some even exhibiting early symptoms. Now…now…now…there seems so little room left in this beaten-down, trodden heart for trust.

Our trust has brought pain to a large number of children, those we are called to protect, and that is too much for any parent to shoulder.

When the tears are spent, when heartache becomes the norm, and when the wrenching fear in the pit of your stomach becomes a familiar, almost constant companion, where do you turn?  When friends and family stop visiting or calling, when help fades into the background, and when you want to scream at the next showered, manicured person who chirps “everything will be fine” and then walks away from the pain, who is left?  When your children look to you for help and comfort, and you have none to give, what can you offer?  When hope has become a nostalgic memory, and trust is the very last thing your intellect is telling you to do, what is there to lean on?

When trust, quite frankly, hurts, and you feel deserted and betrayed, what do you do?

I ask God, not crying, not yelling, not pleading, because I am too spent for childishness, drama, or even feeling. I ask God quietly.

“What do I do?”

The answer that comes in the still of the night, in my sleepless, numb exhaustion, is equally quiet.

“Keep trusting.”

Trust in the Lord forever, for the LORD, the LORD, is the Rock eternal. (Isaiah 26:4)

18 Responses to “When the Trust Wavers”