“Come over here,” I motion excitedly to the stairs with my hands. “Let’s try these steps. You can do it, baby!” After many months of being shut indoors, it feels like a rich blessing to breathe in the fresh air of the earth. Breathe in. Breathe out. The sun shines through the luminescent clouds. Joyful laughter travels through the low humidity air. The world of parks has been opened up to us. Little man and I are making sure to hit up every park we can in the area. His trust for trying different playground equipment growing with each playground we visit—and my trust in his ability flourishing with each step conquered. This newfound freedom places my mother heart into one of trusting God with my son each step of the way.
The more parks we visit, the more comfortable he becomes. Climbing the stairs, running across the bridges, and peering over the edge of the slides take on a new comfort level. Although, he is not yet ready to tackle the curvy plastic beast alone.
At first, the playground was an unknown creature, twisting and winding, with arms and legs protruding in all directions. My son didn’t know where to begin. He would rest his head on my thigh and just stand, either observant or frozen, watching the other kids play.
Then we practiced. Each trusting the other.
My voice and presence emboldening him to try and climb the stairs or say hello to the other human child (remember, we have not seen many of these “creatures” either). Now, after some reassurance, there are only a few places on the playground where little man will reach for my hand, without even looking, trusting that I will already be there.
His experience with each new playground is roughly the same. His feet, bound in well-worn moccasins, shuffles over the turf toward a playground not yet tested. Tiny palm facing up, he reaches back for me. His little hand grasping for mine every couple of steps: he has learned to trust that my hand is merely an ask away.
I make sure to follow him closely, ensuring that I am there to guide him across whatever obstacle he faces. Follow and watch. Step in when he asks for help. Or lunge forward when he can’t see the imminent danger.
My son doesn’t trust his own steps or his own solid strength to mount a slide just yet. He opens his hand and trusts that my hand is with him and will be with him through anything he faces on the playground.
And just as he trusts that I will be there helping him every step of the way, I trust that he will stick with me and ask for help when he needs it. My job in this scenario is the encourager, the advocate, the supporter. I want him to feel successful and not get hurt.
Lord, in seasons of taking my life into my own hands, why did I stop trusting that you would be there?
Why did I suddenly stop asking for your help? Did I think my sheer strength and power could handle the job just fine?
When did I start trusting in events, positive outcomes, or worldly possessions instead of your matchless, powerful, all-knowing name?
I think about my own relationship of trust with God, trusting God with everything, and the journey it has endured. Some of the best decisions in my life have happened because I finally let go and trusted that God would work for good whatever it was that I was withholding. Trusting God with jobs, relationships, children—there is no end to his faithfulness when I trust what he says.
God is always watching, waiting, witnessing.
Do I readily ask for help or does he need to step in at the last moment? How many times have I asked for his hand? How many times has he given his hand without my even asking?
Of course, there are times in my life when I didn’t trust God’s provision or faithfulness. And do you want to do know what I did instead? It’s a shocker.
I worried.
Questions bubbled endlessly in my mind. My anxiety rose up within me, suffocating any and all words of wisdom from counsel, discernment from the Holy Spirit, or truths from the Bible. And I know from experience, this type of “trust” got me nowhere. The end results came no more quickly than if I had rightly placed my trust in God, the one who knew what was happening and could actually do something about it.
When do we stop trusting that a hand will be there, ready to grasp ours, only for us to try and do it by ourselves?
I think about my son, so ready and willing to grab my hand when he knows trouble is ahead. He trusts even when I have “failed” him. He has slipped from my hand and stumbled; he’s gotten a bump or two but gets back up again only to pursue the mountain before him.
I am not perfect, and yet he still trusts that I will be there.
So why do I doubt that God–being one who has done EVERYTHING for me–will be by my side when I need him most?
Those who know your name trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you.
Psalm 9:10
I look at my son. He will grow and mature. He won’t always need me in the same way he needs me now on these playgrounds. But I hope and pray he asks for help when he needs it. I hope he knows he doesn’t have to rely on his own strength in certain circumstances. There is a hope much bigger than him who will hold him through all of life’s trials. And in those moments, I hope my son’s prayers are full of trust with palms wide open, letting go of his own control and letting God have everything.
Your Turn
In what are you putting your trust?
In the positive events that happen in life? In your mere strength to handle certain situations? In the ways you have stored and saved resources?
What are you holding tightly to that you need to open your hand and release to God? Trusting God with the clenched fists?
Go ahead. We’ll be right here when you get back 🙂
