Liz Roberson




"Ok, bye Mama!" My two year-old said sweetly, blowing me a kiss for the umpteenth time since he had sneaked into my bedroom during my 'quiet time' for a quick cuddle. "Love you!" He waved and closed my door.


I smiled to myself, doing my best to commit the moment to memory. Too many of these moments are already things of the past. He is getting so big and so independent so quickly.

We had not seen eye to eye much of the day—much of the week, really— about what he was and was not permitted to do, and I was surprised to see him so affectionate toward me at all, things considered.


What trust! The thought occurred to me out of nowhere. Trust.


It seems that trust has been a hot topic around me lately. Last weekend, for example, a lady stood at a podium in front of us at our church's women's conference and declared that:


"Faith is believing God can do something for someone else.

Trust is believing God will do something for ourselves."


That one stayed with me.


I find it easy to believe that things are going to work out for you. On a good day, I can believe it for US. But to believe for only myself takes me to an entirely different realm of discomfort.


As I chewed on this thought, the baby (or so we call him) once again entered my room—in complete disregard for my plans in this particular quiet moment as much as the very moment he made his presence first known in our lives. He began to prance himself up and down the steps that lead to our restroom and closet area, marching unequivocally to the beat of some internal (and very personal) drum.


Suddenly, he missed his last footing down the steps and landed squarely on diapered bottom—a stunned look upon his face. The tears began to fall as he realized that not only was his dance interrupted by this blunder, but his backside was throbbing, as well.


“Are you ok?” I asked sympathetically—myself no stranger to embarrassing and, at times, painful missteps both literal and metaphorical.


“Need hug,” he managed through his whimpering. He looked as though part of him would much rather have fallen down anywhere other than under my compassionate gaze. It’s hard to fall down in front of friends. Even harder to need something from them after the fact.


I hugged him, asserting that I would not kiss his injury, yet assuring him that I was certain he would be just fine. “Happy Birthday, Mama,” he replied, nodding. It is not my birthday. We understand one another very well.


As he left the room again, once more blowing kisses and shutting my door, my thoughts returned to this concept of trust. I love concepts. You don’t have to do them. Just think them.


Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your level of spiritual maturity, the Holy Spirit does not let me simply *think* concepts these days (especially those of such magnitude) without also implementing them into real life and making them into daily disciplines.


The truth is…trust makes me feel uncomfortable. I believe that my Father is there to catch me. I just don’t ever want to have to fall in front of Him (or you, if I’m brutally honest) to find out. Because life is not quite as idealistic as I wish it were, it’s all too often that I come face to face with God’s trustworthiness in just such a teachable way. It is there with my throbbing pride that I most understand what it means to trust.


Like my son, I tend to march to the beat of my own drum. I find myself lost in a dance at times and often lose my footing for lack of focus. Unlike my son, my presence was not a surprise to my Father. My fails and my falls never seem to catch Him by surprise either.


But like my role with my own son, my Father is a compassionate parent who is ready at a moment’s notice when I’m in need of being helped up and dusted off—of being reassured that everything is going to be ok. All is not lost for one missed step.


And it is out of this knowledge that a child is able to continue their march, knowing that WHEN they next get lost in the rhythms, that the Father will be there once again to restore. There is great freedom in this trust. There is freedom to dance. To fall and to fail. Freedom to miss a step, because if there were not such a freedom, there are those of us who would take no further steps. We would be stuck. We would be scared and stuck.


My son knows the boundaries in his life not because I have taken him by the hand and pointed out every potential danger. He knows the boundaries because he has found them by exploring. He has searched his world with a carefree and confident curiosity. He knows that he is free to discover, because he trusts that his guardian will establish a boundary when necessary.


Imagine being so free in the daily exploration of our own worlds. Imagine art born from that place. Imagine relationships built on such a foundation. No fear. Just freedom to discover.


Our job is not to figure out how to be free. Our job is to trust the one who is trustworthy. And out of trust in His ways, we will find ourselves walking in freedom.


Trust turns up the volume to the rhythms of life. Trust marches on in that rhythm even if it doesn’t seem to match another’s. And trust remembers that there is freedom to fall as much as there is grace to stand and march again.

Be the first to respond!

Leave a comment