Why do I trust in God?

I don’t mean why have I chosen to turn my life over to God, because that is an incredible journey and topic for another time. But why, on a daily basis, do I choose to trust in God? Or, I should say, on the days when I actually choose that, why do I?

I’m ashamed of the answer.

The days I choose to trust God are of two types:

I’m having a great day and I feel emotionally grateful and excited. These days, I trust God because I have some sort of tangible proof that He does watch over His children and cause the righteous and pure to be blessed. Not that I deem myself righteous and pure, but I do believe I am one of His beloved children, and that as my father, He wants to bless me until my cup overflows every chance He’s got. Being eternal, that’s a lot of chances.

The second reason: I failed. Again. I didn’t try to fail. I didn’t screw up on purpose. But some problem, or ongoing challenge, presented itself, and I came up short. I got panicky, and rude, and scared. Those days I trust God because I get so angry that I stand in the shower pounding my fist into the tile wall and cry because I can’t fix it. Because I’m not good enough. Because I let myself down. Because I let those I love down. Because everywhere I turn, someone is bricking up a wall and no matter how hard I try to find a window, a gap, an opportunity to jump out and be free, and start over, and fix whatever started building that wall in the first place. But so often, I feel like that wall just gets completed. The construction guy lays that last brick and mortar it in, and I’m shuttered in complete darkness. Maybe I know how I got there, but I sure don’t know how to get out. And in my desperation, I cry. I yell. I shout. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in defeat, but always in despair and hope that someone, somehow will save me.

And He always does. Without fail. A chink of light appears, and then, if I will let it; if I’m willing to be broken, the wall is blasted away by an ocean of His purity and goodness and light. And I am washed clean with it, and stand there, dripping and grateful and probably still crying.

The wall taking down is never instantaneous, though the peace in my heart is when I know it’s coming; when I’ve let go and let God.

But here’s what I’m thinking.

Not that it’s God is not a good God and is right there while I need him to un-brick my cell and always turns out to be right beside me when I reach the end of my shredded rope.

But, why is it that I can’t trust God….wait for it….just because He is trustworthy?

I say I believe it. I could quote a dozen scripture passages and recite probably hundreds of stories to explain this. I know God is always faithful. I know He cannot and will not fail me. But why does it take until I’m sobbing in fear or frustration to decide to step back into the light?

The answer, as with any human being, is insanely complicated. There are many nuances and layers to my personality, my character and my genetic code that make me all the things I am, from passionate to anxious to playful to thoughtful. Control is one of the reasons. Fear is another. Self-sufficiency. Pride. Previous disappointment (in others, not God.) Scars.

Did you know that I am afraid of falling? Not of heights. I’ve been in the tower in Toronto that until now has been the tallest building in the world. Empire state building? No sweat. Roller coast crest looking down? Big problem. Ski slope looking down? Bigger problem (no seatbelt). Bungee jumping? Ha. Ha. Ha.

And that’s how I live my life. I stay out of fall situations and when I get to the point where my feet have left their firm, planted balance in mother earth, I lose it. I plead with God that I’m sorry and I need Him again.

On the path on the way to the free-for-all off a ledge? I’m fine. No biggie. I’ve got it handled God, you can go take care of someone else. It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m good at this, I know what I’m doing. No, you don’t need to hold my hand, I’ve got great balance. Yeah, I know, but that last time I fell was a totally different situation. And you got me back up anyway. Nah, it wasn’t that scary, I’m okay. It made me stronger, you know? I’ll be all right. I’m on top of things, I’ll keep myself straight here.

(silence)

(screaming)

And I trip over the edge again.