Trusting God.

I wish I could say I’ve got this one sewn up into a nice, neat and perfect bloggy package for you to pin or post or share.

But I don’t.

Not even close.

In fact, if the last few months have taught this old girl anything, it is that I full-on, smell-up-the-entire-room stink at it.

Trusting God, that is.

Sure, I have pieces of me that seem surrendered.

Like the health thing.

But believe it or not, that’s easier than it looks.

Because when you carry around statistics and stroke risks and the impermanence of life stuff terribly close for too long, you risk gaining about one-hundred cocoa puffs closer to cuckoo A DAY.

And y’all, when you’ve had a stroke, you’ve got stay as far away from those kind of “puffs” as possible. Anything to be less cuckoo than you already are is a full-on necessity. So you trust Him.

You leave life and death and risks and statistics in His capable hands.

And you live.

But my health is really only one tiny piece of my “trust” puzzle.

The rest…

Dear heavens, the rest.

I cannot…

I don’t even…

I cannot even?

Well, there you have it.

This is where I am on trusting God.

One big question-asking mess of a girl.

My kids? My marriage? My needs?

My day-to-day, hum-drum stuff?

Well, that’s mine, it seems.

The world I live in even tells me so.

The books. The plans. The constant “take control of your life” verbage.

And so I’ve given in.

Particularly to the grip that has been forged over eight years.

The one that groans and snares and shakes me to my core. The one that holds my heart and tightens my throat. The one that gave way the moment he said, “It’s a girl.”

It’s the grip that holds my kids.

And it is painfully unyielding.

I want to protect them. I want to make them love Jesus. I want them to be who I want them to be.

I want to control EVERYTHING.

I do.

But I started this blog as a love letter to them.

And in doing so, I laid down a gauntlet of trust without borders.

Where I promised to walk wherever He would lead me. Where I purposed to go wherever He asked me. And where I vowed to stay with Him, no matter the storm.

Shoot.

That kind of trust shakes me all the way down to my toes.

It makes me want to RUN back to the beach as quickly as I can, set up camp on shore and follow all the books, especially those with checklists.

It makes me want to say,

“God take everything else but here’s what you cannot have…

Little hands. Little faces. Little superheroes. Little princesses. Little minds. Little bodies.

Anything little, God.

That’s mine.”

But that’s the coward in me.

And cowardice is easier than courage.

It just is.

But standing in the water?

That’s where you drink-in the presence of Jesus. That’s where the world fades and eternity shines hope into the darkness. That’s where the storm stills and peace begins.

I want to go there. I want to be there. I want to live there.

I want to surrender every piece of my puzzle.

My kids. My marriage. My needs.

My hum-drum.

My life.

I want to leave it all in His capable Hands.

So I can walk on the water…

So I can leave the coward on the shore…

So I can trust freely…

And simply live.