“If authentic, saving belief is the act of trusting, then to choose stress is an act of disbelief… atheism.” (Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts 148)
and how easy to choose stress in motherhood. to let the fears of this world wholly consume until there is no trust left inside the depths of this heart. no longer does anxiety come upon me as I contemplate my own life, but now as I look at the three lives entrusted to my care. stress. my mind is prone to gallop full speed into lands rich with anxiety and cares that are solely of this world. and trust is absent.
to believe. it’s a verb. an action. a choice. to wake up to every day and choose the cares of this world and the blackened fear that accompanies- or to believe, to trust, that God is not only God, but that He is good. and the thankfulness of the soul builds up the trust in the God who has made all the things good.
to choose to name thanksgivings. to receive the joy from the trust that is built upon the act of naming thanks.
blue eyes color of Colorado skies perfect there on my daughter’s face
the strength of my family as my father battles the cancer
and is this the ugly beautiful? that beauty can be seen out of something so unbelievably ugly? that the very thing that could easily cause the rush of fear has in fact created a stronger trust? that community rises up and takes breath right out of lungs while the waters rush to the eyes- because of the loving trust of One who is greater. who is good.
“I shake my head at the blinding wonder of it: Trust is the bridge from yesterday to tomorrow, built with planks of thanks. Remembering frames up gratitude. Gratitude lays out the planks of trust. I can walk the planks – from known to unknown – and know: He holds.” (One Thousand Gifts 152)
perfect chub of baby hand held close to perfect round cheek
sideways baby smile – the response to hearing my voice – and the wonder of that full of love overflowing all consuming feeling
the baby-turned-child-turning-boy in fast-sleep in my husband’s arms
the laughter of late night friendships
a day of quiet
sun strokes dancing in daughter’s strands of hair
the boy joy of running down grassed hill
the child wonder of the nature that surrounds
the child like faith.
the unflinching trust in the parent’s provision.
and why as parents does that slip through fingers like the boat’s hull slips along the water’s surface? the water forgets the boat’s presence, and have I too so easily forgotten? and am I teaching my children to trust or am I teaching them to fear? do I clutch for a handhold of this world and strive to hold their hands a little tighter when their lives are not in my hands at all?
these lives labored into this world- and the laboring didn’t end in the delivery room- it just began there. but these lives, these three, created in womb and gifted to me are three things more that are required to in turn be entrusted back to Him. to be name-thanked and grace-given, and trusted to Him completely.