trust

 

Do not worry about tomorrow. You do not know what tomorrow will bring, so worrying today about what you imagine will happen tomorrow is futile. Besides, there is no guarantee of a tomorrow. All you have is today.

Trust. God, in his goodness, goes before you. He is able to lead the way. Trust that God will grant you wisdom right when you need it. You will know what to say, you will know what to do when the time comes.

Be more like a child. Children tend not to worry about tomorrow. They trust that all will be provided in good time, just as it is needed. They know how to be present.

To be sure, there are some things for which we can plan, and it is good to do so. But, often, those are not the kinds of things about which we tend to worry. No, we tend to worry about things we cannot possibly control, things about which we can never make a fool-proof plan.

So much of life is beyond our ability to determine a certain outcome. How much energy and time we waste worrying about things that are really beyond our control!

As I begin this new year, my desire is to be more like a child—trusting and more fully present, less worried about possible negative futures, hopeful and conscious of the love that is available to me moment by moment, loving others as I encounter them. I invite you to join me in laying down worry and to try trusting a little more.

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Trust

reflections by troy cady

*Photo by Joshua Hoehne via Unsplash. Creative Commons License.  

less of me

I imagine John the Baptist had curried quite a following by the time his disciples came to him with a report that a man named Jesus was recruiting his own significant following.

They were concerned that Jesus’ ministry would render John’s obsolete.

John’s response? “He must become greater; I must become less.” (John 3:30)

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Most every morning I pause and ask the Spirit to form a prayer in me that will serve as a focus throughout the day.  I call it a “simple prayer.”

I’ve discovered that simple prayers are not always easy prayers.

Today’s prayer is no exception. It is an adaptation of John’s words above: “Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

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I’m writing now to confess something: I didn’t want that to be my prayer today. When it popped into my head, I resisted it.

I began to rationalize the prayer. The power of twisted logic is that it usually contains a grain of truth. So, here was my thought-process:

Premise 1: We meet Jesus today through seeing his presence and work in flesh-and-blood people.

Premise 2: Faith in Jesus helps one become more one’s true self, not less.

Conclusion 1: If others are to know more of Jesus, they will see more of me, not less.

Conclusion 2: I should not pray ‘let there be less of me.’

I suppose it shouldn’t shock me, but I must say: I am stunned how quickly I form arguments to justify such brazen self-centeredness.

Thankfully, almost as quickly as I had formed the argument, I became aware of the game I was playing. And I knew that God, in his gracious gentleness, would not browbeat me into relinquishing pride. God is love and love never demands love in return. That can only be given willingly.

So, God waited silently; he made no counter-argument. There was no reply—other than the winsome invitation of his simple presence.

It’s a prayer of faith, after all. Yes, God is good and he is not out to obliterate our dignity. If the prayer he forms in us seems to tend that direction, it is because of our misinterpretation, not his meaning.

It’s a prayer made in faith. If it seems counter to logic that is because faith is God’s logic, not ours. To God, it makes perfect sense. To us, it feels a bit crazy. But, if we sit with it long enough, we discover it is a good kind of crazy.

Like love.

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When God gives a prayer it comes from the right kind of crazy called love.

That’s why letting God’s prayer form in us takes faith; it feels risky.

You have to trust God won’t leave you stranded, beaten down and humiliated.

He doesn’t.

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I’m glad Jesus taught in parables. He told several about seeds.

In front of my house is a tree. At one point, that tree was just a seed. It would not have become a tree had the seed remained.

When I tell Jesus’ parable of the mustard seed to children I point to the tree that grew from the seed and ask the children a silly question: “I wonder what happened to the seed after it grew into a tree? I wonder where it is?”

The children, no matter what age, look at me like: “Duh!”

So, we wonder some more: “I wonder if we could take this plant and put it all back into the seed again?”

“No!”

They smile and laugh.

The seed does not feel threatened. It is happy to disappear. There will be more beauty that way.

“Lord Jesus, let there be less of me so others can know more of you.”

i wish trust was easier

Here’s what I really think: I wish trust was easier. I don’t like this feeling of risk. I want to choose safe paths, something both good and certain. I don’t mind abandonment, as long as it isn’t reckless. I want a guarantee to match my commitment; that seems right and fair, a karmic equalizer.

But trust is a fruit of grace. There is no quid pro quo in either. Trust is as uncertain as grace is undeserved.

There is no way of knowing how it will all turn out. Will I win or lose? There is no telling. Yes, grace is as certain as gravity, but that does not mean “success” is assured. Grace can be failure, too. Grace is as much in kneeling as standing, and so is trust.

So, where does this put me? On my knees in dependence, I suppose. Trusting someone.

I don’t like this. I want to go places.

But, you say, “Peace, be still.”

Here’s what I really think: I wish trust was easier. Right now the only trust I can muster is honesty. I pray that’s enough. Thank God, grace assures me it is.

the paradox of friendship

True friendship presents us with an interesting paradox: it cannot exist without the marriage of trust and forgiveness. I cite this as a paradox because forgiveness implies the betrayal of trust. If I would never violate another’s trust, I would have no need for forgiveness; yet I know I have never shared a real friendship with anyone in which I never sinned against them. I am not flawless. I say or do things from time to time that injure even close friends.

When we practice full trust, we let down our guard. But doing as such is risky, for no human is perfect. They will hurt you from time to time. Yes, when your guard is down--when you are trusting--they will harm you.

And they will need your forgiveness. To grant forgiveness is to begin to trust again. To trust is to remain in friendship. Friendship diminishes in direct proportion to the raising of defenses.

Hopefully you will have noticed that the capacity to forgive and trust must come from a power that is higher than human. Since none of us are perfect, we do not possess the perfect power to forgive and trust. Such power can only come from someone who has never sinned. Of course, there is only one who has this power. His name is Jesus.

Read his story in the Bible and you will see that he was not only trustworthy (he never sinned) but he also granted trust to his friends as he invited them into his kind of friendship. He himself could do this because he trusted first in his Father. Notice: the trust he granted his followers (which, in turn, gave rise to their friendship) was of a second order—it came after his trust in his Father whom he knew would never betray him.

This is how Jesus could forgive and let down his defenses as he gave up his life on the cross. With his Father as defender, Jesus had nothing to lose—including his life. The resurrection proclaims this.

Trust in God, therefore, bolsters human friendship--for in God we have both a friend that never fails and a friend that always forgives.

Let us learn to trust. Let us be ready to forgive. Let us be friends.