On Trusting

Trust is important.

And I can say with confidence that when I was younger, my sisters did not trust me.  But let me be clear, this dis-trust didn’t begin on day one of their younger sister existence; rather, it’s something that grew over time.  I’m not entirely sure why?

Perhaps it had something to do with the parties I would promise them….if they went up to the kitchen and made me a snack with some lemonade.

If you do it, I’ll give you the biggest party ever.  And it will be in my room. And so they’d do it.  Bless them.  Just to enter into my room, they’d do the chore.

You’d think after the fifth or sixth time the party was canceled due to: rain, a sick owner, too many deflated balloons, or baby dolls needing my help, they’d stop fetching treats for me.  Eventually, though, my little servants caught on, and I actually had to get snacks for myself.  The nerve.

Or, maybe their lack of trust had to do with our special beauty parlor times:   “I’ll make you so beautiful!”  I’d tell them.  And then I’d turn them into clowns with funny make up, or I’d cut off one of their long pigtails.

Yes, I was evil.  I actually cut the pigtail off at the top of my sister’s head.  It was pretty awful (ly funny). I just remember my mom screaming, and I also remember trying to tell her, “It was only one mom.” It was bad, no doubt, but I secretly wish my parents would have taken a picture.  How is there no evidence that this ever happened?  Yes, beauty parlor ended abruptly and my sisters never trusted me with make- up again.  Like, ever.

But really, I think the lack of trust happened when we played school.  I played the teacher and gave my sisters plenty of assignments to keep them busy on the Saturday mornings when we’d go over to play at our school/church while my dad worked upstairs.

The school office was a significant door for dad to open because when I wasn’t the teacher, I was the principal.  And sometimes I was both; those were the best days.  As the teacher, I would threaten my sisters with the principal’s office if they misbehaved.  Most kids can distinguish between make-believe and real life, but then there was my little sister, Bekah.

“Be quiet, Bekah.  I’m the teacher, and I’m talking,” and she’d look at me with wide, concerned eyes.  Mostly because she wasn’t even speaking.  Or being loud.  Or doing anything, really, except for the pretend homework that I made her do.

For the love of pretend play.  I made my younger sisters do worksheets.  Sometimes I wonder why they didn’t just count to three and take me down.  They probably could have.

But on one particular day, Bekah raised her hand and asked a question:

“Um, Mrs. (don’t remember my teacher name; probably something like ‘Mrs. Awesome’), what actually happens when someone gets sent to the principal’s office?”

I loved the question.  And so we took a field trip down to the principal’s office so I could educate my young pupils.  Once we entered the office, I pointed to a door that was locked.  It was a door that we had asked dad several times to open,  It was almost like we could hear the creepy Halloween music each time he said, “No.” And I swear that was followed by, “Bwahahaha…” 

So, I pointed slowly and dramatically to the door and told my believing younger sister that kids who were sent to the principal’s office went into that room and had to sit in an electric chair.  And then they were electrocuted.

Naturally.

I have never tried to defend myself when certain words and phrases have been used to describe my childhood-self: trouble-maker, strong-willed, juvenile delinquent (that one was given to me at age three by my dear grandmother), and the list goes on.  But don’t worry.  I now have kids of my own, and I am a full believer in pay-back.

And I got away with most of the stories I told my sisters.  Until one particular day.  On this particular day, our entire school was practicing for a Christmas musical.  One of the little boys started acting up, so the principal came in, grabbed his shoulder and said, “You’re coming with me.”

All I remember is complete silence except for one little voice in the back screaming hysterically: “No, no, no!  You can’t take him! You can’t electrocute him!  He’ll die!  Leave him alone!” I was waiting for the whole school to start chanting, “Let him live!  Let him live!” but then I realized we were in reality. And in reality, there were no electric chairs in the principal’s office.  Unfortunately, I had to let my little sister into this reality, and unfortunately, I lost her trust.  At least until the next time she fetched lemonade for her older sister.  Because lemonade fetchers got to attend the carnival that was going to happen.  Someday.  One day.

As I’ve grown and matured, and yes that is slowly but surely happening (although I still laugh when I think about Erin with one pigtail), I’ve come to understand how important it is to be able to trust someone.  I think this is a harder concept for some than others, especially those who struggle with what I call “post traumatic older sister syndrome.”

I’ve struggled with trust throughout life, and like many I’ve had a hard time trusting what I can’t see, feel, and touch.   In Jr. High school especially, I struggled with understanding how to trust in a God that I couldn’t see.  I wanted someone to show me something tangible to prove His existence.

My son’s teacher emailed us a few days ago to let us know he’s asking for proof of Jesus’ existence.  Oh, how familiar his questions were.   I felt so similar when I was his age; I wanted something….anything…. that I could grab onto in order to know with certainty that Jesus is real and true.  Although, I have to admit that my son is proving to be a much smarter kid than I ever was.  While I was wishing I could merely see Jesus as a kid, he’s asking for the DNA evidence from the Shroud of Turin (No clue.  No earthly idea).  While talking through some of my son’s questions,  I simply told him that we won’t always find every answer we’re looking for.  We won’t necessarily find the exact scientific evidence needed to say to an unbelieving friend, “See!  Look at this!”

But I know He’s real.    With deep emotion, I told my son that at some point you just have to trust Jesus.  He requires faith. We have to have faith that He is there and that He loves us beyond our understanding.

The words seemed so simple as they rolled off my tongue, but they were so profound to my own doubting heart in that moment.   But this is what living in grace is all about, isn’t it?  I doubt, and yet Jesus does not forsake me because of it.  I question, and yet Jesus does not turn His back to me.  I get angry, and yet He never leaves my side.  He gave His life for me.  

In preparation for a difficult week ahead, which includes moving my frail mom to a care center, a dear friend sent me this from the Story Book Bible for children:

How it happened they didn’t know, but they knew God’s power had struck their hearts ablaze – and Jesus himself was coming to live inside them.  

They had seen Jesus go away, but now he was closer than he had ever been – inside their hearts.  And this time nothing could ever separate them.  Jesus would always be there.  With them.  Loving them. Whispering the promise that would get rid of the poison and the terrible lie and sickness in their hearts.  God’s wonderful promise to them:  ‘You are my child.  And I love you.’

I wept over these words written for children.  My stubborn and doubtful heart needed a child-like reminder that Jesus is near.  And I know this is true;  I hear His whispers and feel His presence

His whisper was there when I dropped my oldest off at her first day of school: She is mine, and I love her.  His whisper was evident when I kissed my dad good-bye:  You will see him again.  And I know it will be loud enough for me to hear when we give my mom the news that she’ll be transferred to the room where she will spend the rest of her days here on this earth:  I love her and I care her more than you ever could.  

I cry out more often than not:  I believe, help my unbelief!  And it’s then that I know Jesus is real.  He’s the only one who can whisper the promises that rid me of the terrible lies and remind me that He is closer than I could ever imagine.  He’s in my heart.  And so I can trust.