Trust is easy to talk about when I already know how things end.
Looking backward, I can see the relationship I survived, the answer that arrived, or the strength that appeared when I needed it. From a safe distance, I can say that everything carried me somewhere.
The middle is different. In the middle, I want details. I want to know whether this will work, how long it will take, and what I should do if the outcome I fear becomes real. When no answer comes, I start trying to create security through preparation.
Preparation is useful. I can make a plan, ask questions, save money, and take care of my body. The problem comes when I ask the plan to guarantee that I will be okay. No plan can do that.
This lesson does not ask me to trust that every circumstance will unfold according to my preferences. It tells me where strength comes from when it does not. God’s strength is not the assurance that I will avoid every painful experience. It is the knowledge that nothing I encounter can separate me from love or change what I am.
I often place my trust in my own alertness. If I think about every possibility, perhaps nothing will catch me unprepared. Yet vigilance has never given me the control it promises. It mostly makes me experience the feared event repeatedly before I know whether it will happen.
Trust lets me prepare for what is reasonable and release the rest. That may be why it feels vulnerable. Worry gives me something to do; trust asks me to stop doing what is not helping, even when I do not yet have a replacement answer.
I can take the next step without requiring it to reveal the entire path. If circumstances change, the strength I need will not be limited to what I possess today.
I have seen that happen before. There were seasons I could not have carried in advance. When they arrived, so did help, endurance, honesty, and moments of peace I had not included in my predictions. Fear had shown me the difficulty without showing me what would meet it.
Today I may still prefer control. But I can loosen my grip enough to remember that my safety was never resting entirely in my hands.