But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you. O Israel, the one who formed you says, “Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine…. Others were given in exchange for you.  I traded their lives for yours because you are precious to me.  You are honored, and I love you." — Isaiah 43:1,4

The conversation is all too familiar. You’d think by now I’d know how it ends. But I never seem to remember. I guess I just get too locked up in my own fear to see anything beyond my own nose. And sometimes even that’s obscured.

It starts with a vague feeling of unease. My need to control, or at least to know what’s happening, translates that feeling into a reason: "I must be uneasy because ______." All that is left is for my mind to fill in the blank with any number of possible causes. It picks the easiest, or perhaps just the most familiar. And thus our conversation begins.

I cry out in fear, worry quickly turning to panic. God quietly listens. Finally I fall silent, frustrated with His quietness, taking ragged breaths into my panic-ridden body. But my own silence is short-lived. I cannot stop the thoughts now. They are like a runaway train on a downhill slope. How in the world will I ever survive?  Why am I here? What’s the point of living?  Life is so fragile. The balance of life is too hard to manage. I cannot do this! God, Help me!

Finally I stop to listen, to look Jesus in the eyes, imploring Him to speak. Softly He caresses my face. After a long moment, He quietly says, "Do you trust Me?"

The tears burn in my eyes and spill down over my cheeks. My heart is heavy, so heavy. I know what the "right" answer is, but I can’t lie. Not to Him. I shake my head. "No." The truth is, I don’t trust Him. I want to. At least I think I do. But right now, I don’t.

Everything in me wages a fierce war against the very idea of trusting God to take care of me, to provide for my needs. Especially my upbringing. My father taught me well. Oh, with words and sermons and scripture references he said to trust God, but with actions, attitudes and behavior he taught me to be self-sufficient, to rely more on my own abilities and resources than on unseen forces and to stock-pile, stock-pile, stock-pile.  Like all little girls, I live to please my daddy. I live for his approval. Problem is, its hard to approve from the grave.

I wish I had a different set of daddy issues. Heavenly ones. I wish I could say I spend my days longing for my Heavenly Abba’s approval; that I live to please my Heavenly Father. I’m trying to, I really am. But old habits die hard. Very hard. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to say I do. But right now, right now I struggle with the old tapes, the old patterns of life long ingrained in the depths of my being.

Jesus repeats His question, softly, gently, "Do you trust Me?" And He holds out His hand. In order to take hold of it, I’m going to have to let go of something…

I’m trying. God knows I’m trying.