t's a curious thing, this learning to trust.
I find that, instead of anxiety, I feel anticipation; instead of impatient toe-tapping, curiosity.
I heard someone talk about a "life verse" this weekend. The idea behind it can be a little trite, and I've heard the phrase repeated enough to make me roll my eyes a bit when I hear it. But I let go of judgment for a bit and thought about whether I have anything that resembles a life verse, and I discovered that, dang it, I have one.
I went to Dallas Baptist University for all of one week. While I was there I confirmed my suspicion that I was pregnant with Halle. Eighteen, unmarried, mom had just moved to Colorado, my closest friendships were fraying at the seams . . . it was a rough time, man.
And as I sat in Chapel the one time I attended, someone read Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord , “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." I don't remember much else from that time, but that verse is etched in my brain.
Did you ever try really hard not to sob in a room full of people?
Hope and a future. What a promise. Sitting in that room, I wondered how in the world anything good could come out of my situation.
But my goodness, look at what that future has turned out to be. Happiness, people. Contentment. Joy, family, love, marriage, friendship. And children, lots of children.
Yes, I have come through some very hard times, and there will be more hard times. I don't want to downplay that. But prosperity and hope overshadow all the rest. How can I believe that the Lord plans anything other than good for the rest of my future? How can I not trust him?
So as I let go of my plans (and, really, when have any of my plans ever worked out anyway?!), I am looking forward to the future, but not wishing it into the now. I am not grasping at it, trying to piece everything together.
I will try to keep my hands open.