Yes, I was evil. \u00a0I actually cut the pigtail off at the top of my sister’s head. \u00a0It was pretty awful (ly funny). I just remember my mom screaming, and I also remember trying to tell her, “It was only one mom.<\/em>” It was bad, no doubt, but I secretly wish my parents would have taken a picture. \u00a0How is there no evidence that this ever happened? \u00a0Yes, beauty parlor ended abruptly and my sisters never trusted me with make- up again. \u00a0Like, ever.<\/p>\n But really, I think the lack of trust happened when we played school. \u00a0I 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.<\/p>\n The school office was a significant door for dad to open because when I wasn’t the teacher, I was the principal. \u00a0And sometimes I was both; those were the best days. \u00a0As the teacher, I would threaten my sisters with the principal’s office if they misbehaved. \u00a0Most kids can distinguish between make-believe and real life, but then there was my little sister, Bekah.<\/p>\n “Be quiet, Bekah. \u00a0I’m the teacher, and I’m talking,” <\/em>and\u00a0she’d look at me with wide, concerned eyes. \u00a0Mostly because she wasn’t even speaking. \u00a0Or being loud. \u00a0Or doing anything, really, except for the pretend homework that I made her do.<\/p>\n For the love of pretend play. \u00a0I made my younger sisters do worksheets<\/em>. \u00a0Sometimes I wonder why they didn’t just count to three and take me down. \u00a0They probably could have.<\/p>\n But on one particular day, Bekah raised her hand and asked a question:<\/p>\n “Um, Mrs<\/em>. (don’t remember my teacher name; probably something like ‘Mrs. Awesome’), what actually happens when someone gets sent to the principal’s office?”<\/em><\/p>\n I loved the question. \u00a0And so we took a field trip down to the principal’s office so I could educate my young pupils. \u00a0Once we entered the office, I pointed to a door that was locked. \u00a0It was a door that we had asked dad several times to open, \u00a0It was almost like we could hear the creepy Halloween music each time he said, “No<\/em>.” And I swear that was followed by, “Bwahahaha…”\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n 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. \u00a0And then they were electrocuted.<\/p>\n Naturally.<\/p>\n 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. \u00a0But don’t worry. \u00a0I now have kids of my own, and I am a full believer in pay-back.<\/p>\n And I got away with most of the stories I told my sisters. \u00a0Until one particular day. \u00a0On this particular day, our entire school was practicing for a Christmas musical. \u00a0One of the little boys started acting up, so the principal came in, grabbed his shoulder and said, “You’re coming with me<\/em>.”<\/p>\n All I remember is complete silence except for one little voice in the back screaming hysterically: “No, no, no! \u00a0You can’t take him! You can’t electrocute him! \u00a0He’ll die! \u00a0Leave him alone!”\u00a0<\/em>I was waiting for the whole school to start chanting, “Let him live! \u00a0Let him live!” but then I realized we were in reality. And in reality, there were no electric chairs in the principal’s office. \u00a0Unfortunately, I had to let my little sister into this reality, and unfortunately, I lost her trust. \u00a0At least until the next time she fetched lemonade for her older sister. \u00a0Because lemonade fetchers got to attend the carnival that was going to happen. \u00a0Someday. \u00a0One day.<\/p>\n 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. \u00a0I think this is a harder concept for some than others, especially those who struggle with what I call “post traumatic older sister syndrome.”<\/p>\n 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. \u00a0 In Jr. High school especially, I struggled with understanding how to trust in a God that I couldn’t see. \u00a0I wanted someone to show me something tangible to prove His existence.<\/p>\n My son’s teacher emailed us a few days ago to let us know he’s asking for proof of Jesus’ existence. \u00a0Oh, how familiar his questions were. \u00a0 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. \u00a0Although, I have to admit that my son is proving to be a much smarter kid than I ever was. \u00a0While I was wishing I could merely see<\/em> Jesus as a kid, he’s asking for the DNA evidence from the Shroud of Turin (No clue. \u00a0No earthly idea). \u00a0While talking through some of my son’s questions, \u00a0I simply\u00a0told him that we won’t always find every answer we’re looking for. \u00a0We won’t necessarily find the exact scientific evidence needed to say to an unbelieving friend, “See! \u00a0Look at this!”<\/p>\n But I know He’s real. \u00a0<\/em>\u00a0 With deep emotion, I told my son that at some point you just have to trust Jesus. \u00a0He requires faith. <\/em> We\u00a0have to have faith that He is there and that He loves us beyond our understanding.<\/p>\n The words seemed so simple as they rolled off my tongue, but they were so profound to my own doubting heart in that moment. \u00a0 But this is what living in grace is all about, isn’t it? \u00a0I doubt, and yet Jesus does not forsake me because of it. \u00a0I question, and yet Jesus does not turn His back to me. \u00a0I get angry, and yet He never leaves my side. \u00a0He gave His life for me. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n 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:<\/p>\n 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. \u00a0<\/i> <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Trust is important. And I can say with confidence that when I was younger, my sisters did not trust me. … <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katiepolski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/04\/story-book-bible-.jpg?resize=222%2C258&ssl=1\")
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\n<\/i>They had seen Jesus go away, but now he was closer than he had ever been – inside their hearts. \u00a0And this time nothing could ever separate them. \u00a0Jesus would always be there. \u00a0With them. \u00a0Loving them. Whispering the promise that would get rid of the poison and the terrible lie and sickness in their hearts. \u00a0God’s wonderful promise to them: \u00a0‘You are my child. \u00a0And I love you.’<\/i>
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\n<\/i>I wept over these words written for children. \u00a0My stubborn and doubtful heart needed a child-like reminder that Jesus is near. \u00a0And I know this is true; \u00a0I hear His whispers and feel His presence
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\n<\/i>His whisper was there when I dropped my oldest off at her first day of school: She is mine, and I love her. \u00a0<\/em>His whisper was evident when I kissed my dad good-bye: \u00a0You will see him again. \u00a0<\/i>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: \u00a0I love her and I care her more than you ever could. \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n
\n<\/i>I cry out more often than not: \u00a0I believe, help my unbelief! \u00a0<\/i>And it’s then that I know Jesus is real. \u00a0He’s t<\/i>he\u00a0<\/i>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. \u00a0He’s in my heart. \u00a0And so I can trust.<\/p>\n