I was offended. Hadn't my life been proof enough that I trusted him? I'd just quit my job, was getting ready to go back to Kentucky for an undisclosed period of time FOR HIM and would I really do that if I didn't trust him?
The first night he asked, I said yes.
The second night, I said no.
The third night, I said no.
I couldn't figure out why my honest answers were that ... honest. He'd never blatantly failed me. Sure, life was ugly sometimes and went in directions I'd have chosen not to go but I didn't blame him for it.
But still. Trust him explicitly?
Laying there that April in my mom's house on our ranch on the top of a mountain, I realized that somewhere along my journey, I'd slowly taken the reins of my life out of his hands and was trying to desperately hold them all together in my fragile ones.
Buried under the rhetoric of my soul was a fear that if I handed everything over to him, he was going to mess it up more than it already was. But if I maintained my rocky control, I could have some say over the outcome. And if the outcome was a disaster, at least it'd be my fault.
Almost two years later, on Monday I wrote in my journal, "I'm trusting and I trust you."
My pen paused in awe over the words and then I wrote, "Wow. I'm trusting."
Yesterday I wrote, "Is it possible that I'm trusting you more and more every day? That just a year-and-a-half-ago I didn't trust you?"
There's a pile of hay outside our barn right now that's a signpost to me. Yesterday and this morning, discouragement, stress and worry tried to overtake my soul and I looked outside to see this. I grabbed my camera and went out to spend time with this hay.
"You provided and we didn't ask for it. You saw the need and you fulfilled it. You are a great God."
"So if you can see the things we need and provide for them before we ask, how much more the things we're asking for? And how much more can we trust you even when the answer's no?"
Our neighbors down the road said, "Come get 30 bales of hay."
The next day, it was 100.
There are 100 bales of coastal hay sitting outside our barn right now and they're all a sign to me.
"You are trustworthy."