From Michelle. August 23, 2012.
Dear friends and family,
Much time has passed. We spent eight long weeks in the United States (Steve joined us for five), across five states, and in six different homes. We had countless conversations, engaged in countless experiences, built countless memories. And yet there is little to say. The true message, what is really happening, is so simple, and so repetitive, that I am shy to repeat it. Time passes but I keep circling over the same narrow ground. The lesson is this: trust me.
I feel he is taking a tool and etching those same words deeper and deeper into my heart: trust me, trust me, trust me. It might bore me to receive the same words over and over again, except that it looks different every time, every second I approach it. The same words echo in unfamiliar tones against the shifting patterns of each unique circumstance. There are always a million ways to be, a thousand possible responses, an infinite number of emotional reactions, a multitude of choices. Again and again, when I finally incline my ear, the message is fresh. Trust me. Something new is required of me every time I yield. I wash a dish: trust me. I wave my kids away on the school bus: trust me. I look at the future and cannot see: trust me. I wake up with a knot of despair in my stomach: trust me. I drink in the sounds of my children laughing together: trust me. I sit down before a crowded email inbox: trust me. I say goodbye to those I love: trust me. I hear yet another tale of suffering: trust me. I look into the eyes of someone I do not understand: trust me. Over and over and over again, deep and barely audible, it sounds out in my spirit, always the same yet ever-changing: trust me.
What do we gain from trusting God? Trust does not change the fragility of our circumstances. It does not bring them into obedience. It is not a fair exchange, nor does it deliver to us our desires. The etching hurts, as most true things do, in a way that is both sweet and terrible. In my stubbornness, in my ignorance, in my laziness, I allow myself to be distracted from the discipline of it. I play at control and forget the deeper wisdom. Yet in God’s mercy, in his infinite grace, he brings me back again and again, often gently, sometimes sternly, always lovingly to this: trust me. It requires surrender, and surrender is difficult. Yet on the other side is peace. Yet on the other side He is.
Steve and I are, in essence, only doing, only learning this one thing: trusting him. The details change but the lesson is the same. Though his body aches, though he battles constant fatigue, though progress is excruciatingly slow, though he endures numerous set backs, though nothing may change, I watch him practice this one thing, over and over again: trust him. Steve’s practice is more visceral, consuming body as well as soul. Mine is purely faith. Trust him. Trust his promise. Trust his goodness. Trust that he is enough. Trust and rest in him. At times it defies reason. But its fruit is always beautiful, incontrovertible. Peace. Freedom. Love. Him.
Behind me lies the evidence, the many times he has proven trustworthy. Still, I cannot see what lies ahead. I cannot predict how and where the promises land, nor how much suffering awaits. The circumstances will surely prove unreliable. The rains will come again, as they have relentlessly, this month in Manila, washing away what seems dependable. Trust will ask something new of me, as it will of you. I will never know exactly how to do it. But every time I do, the spirit breathes and sighs and settles into place, and I know I was created for this, to trust a good and perfect God.
Love,
Michelle