Way, way back when our oldest daughter, Carissa, was a mere
toddler, I played a game with her. On cold days following worship, I would sit
her on the top of the hat rack in the lobby of the church I pastored in Beaver,
PA to bundle her up. It was easier. Because she was up high she wouldn’t squirm
as much while I wrestled her into hat, coat, and mittens. (If you are thinking
I was a negligent father, putting my daughter at risk, relax. She was safe.
Otherwise Sheila would have killed me!) After she looked like Charlie Brown
ready to play in the snow, I would step back. She would hold out her arms and
stare at me. “Do you trust me?” I would ask. “Yes” came the little toddler
voice. “Then jump! I promise I will catch you.” Since I was a step away, she could
not bring herself to do it. She said she trusted me… but there was a limit to
that trust.
“C'mon,” I would coax her. “I’m your dad. I would never let you
fall. I'm strong and you can trust me. Now, jump!” From that distance, she would
not do it. So I moved a little closer and she would lean toward me, expecting
me to reach up to grab her. Realizing I was not coming quite close enough, she
would pull back, fear in her little eyes. Again, “Do you trust me? Then jump! I
promise I will catch you. You have
nothing to be afraid of.” She would try to reach me, to touch me, but could not
quite make the stretch. And she’d pull back. She could not leave the “safety”
of the hat rack, not realizing she was safer in my arms than up there.
Finally, I would move close enough that she could lean to
within a few inches. “Do you trust me?” I would ask again. “Then jump into my
arms!” And she would. She could trust her dad with those few inches. I would
pull her tight, hug her and tell her, “You can trust me. I would never, ever,
ever, ever let you fall.” As time went on, she overcame her fear to jump from
greater and greater distances. Sometimes trust takes time and experience to
kick in.
Do
you trust me??
One of my favorite scenes in moviedom is when Indiana Jones
comes to a seemingly impassable chasm while attempting to retrieve the Holy
Grail to save his father. He looks down in terror, knowing he has only a few
minutes to reach the other side before his father dies. The only clue he has to
work with is, “The man of God will walk by faith.” He recognizes the implication:
he must step out into thin air and trust that something good will happen. Indiana
closes his eyes, lifts one foot and steps into the cavern. Instead of tumbling
to the bottom, his foot lands on solid ground. The bridge is disguised to look
like the ravine. He throws dirt onto the bridge so he can see it and quickly
crosses over. A moment of faith changed everything.
Do
you trust me??
That was the question facing Jesus as He prayed in the Garden
of Gethsemane. He knew that only a few hours separated Him from a Roman cross. He
knew the agony of the physical pain because He had watched men hang exposed for
days. He also knew the agony of shouldering the pain of all of mankind’s sin was
awaiting Him -- being cut off from the Father. Crying out to His Dad, He begged
for another plan. “Do you trust me?” were the words God seemed to be saying.
“Do you trust me in My plan? Do you trust me in your pain? Do you trust me that
it will be better on the other side? Do you trust me to raise you to life?” He
did, and it changed everything! For Him. For you. For me. For the
world now and forever.
Do
you trust me??
It’s pretty easy to trust God when He is within inches as we
sit on the hat racks of life. When leaping into His arms is a fairly guaranteed
deal. When there's not much chance He can or will pull away. It’s a much
different proposition when He’s across the room, we’re stuck on the hat rack,
no one else is around and there is not a ladder in the building. Then He says,
“Jump!” from twenty feet away. In those times it seems that God is just not
making sense. And there’s no possible way He can catch us. And He’s not answering
our pleas for explanations. And we’re in pain. And the janitors are turning out
the lights. And no one else appears to have to sit on the hat rack or jump. And
we’ve got lots of reasons, facts and proven studies of why it is not healthy to
jump. And God doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it; He just wants us to jump.
Do
you trust me??
It isn’t trust if Carissa can grab me before she leaves the hat
rack. It isn’t trust if Indiana can see the bridge before he steps. It isn’t
trust for Jesus if there is no cross, no pain, no death, no separation from the
Father and no resurrection. And it isn’t trust for us if we don’t obey even
when it doesn’t make sense. But in every case, it is better after making the
leap of trust than it was before. Carissa’s safely in my arms, Indiana’s healing
of his father, Jesus’ glory. And for you -- intimacy with God and experiencing
His work in our lives in ways we cannot see.
Do
you trust me??
Whatever you’re facing, trust God. Listen carefully for His
voice. (Don't you dare jump until you hear His instructions -- there's a
difference between obedient trust and stupidity). But once you hear His voice,
jump! God wants to, longs to catch you. Refuse to give into
the human desire to be in control, to trust yourself. Just jump. Close your eyes
if you have to, but leap! It is always better on the other side. It may take a
while to get there, but you’ll be glad you did when you feel the strong, loving
arms of your Heavenly Dad envelop you. Hold you. Protect you. Reassure you. Love
you. Otherwise you may be sitting on a hat rack for the rest of your life.
(Jesus said) “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust
in God; trust also in me.” John 14:1
And we
know that all that happens to us is working for our good if we love God and are
fitting into his plans. Romans
8:28 (TLB)
(This blog entry is chapter 37 of my book, "From Where God Sits," available at Amazon.com)
