The Faith of a Child
What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee. Psalms 56:3
How many times I have comforted my sons with those words is beyond my ability to count. With each of their fears and concerns, we sit down and talk about them, then we turn them over to Jesus. Almost immediately I can see the relief in their eyes as well as their bodies as they let their cares go. It is such a beautiful, child-like faith in both me, their mother, and more importantly, in God, their Abba Father. It brings to mind Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:14 when He said, “… Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
The faith of a child is such a beautiful thing. But I find that often in my life, that faith has completely disappeared. Over the years, I have blamed this on the fact that I was one of only a handful of children in my Christian school who grew up with only one parent. I have blamed it on the fact that my earthly father left me behind and created a new life for himself, so who is to say that this supposed heavenly father that I’ve never even seen wouldn’t do the same. I’ve blamed it on my mother for encouraging my fears instead of protecting and sheltering me. On and on the list could go, but the bottom line is that I have realized that I do not have trust or faith in much of anything. Deep within, I had built walls around the castle that was my heart. Then I built a moat around that. This was my safe place. I would put the things there that I wanted others to see: the good performance, the sensitivity, the meaningless. These were safe for others to see. But my pain and my fears? No, those were hidden behind my carefully constructed walls.
At twenty-one, I was brought face-to-face with my walls. I had finally met someone whom I felt like I could trust. He was genuine, funny, handsome, athletic, musical and smart. And to top it all off, he actually like to have deep conversations. I thought he was my ideal man. But one night as we were talking, he made the comment to me that he thought I was the most shallow person that he had ever met. I remember sitting in my mom’s pink recliner, looking out the sliding glass doors over the deck and into the blackness beyond. My mind raced with how to respond. In my mind, I was thinking that he had no idea how deep I really was, but then my next thought was that I did not know if I could really trust him enough to let him in. I finally decided that I could let him into my life and into my privateness a little at a time, and I began to learn what faith and trust looked like.
Sadly, I found that this was the only area where I felt safe to open up. For the next twenty years (yes, I’m giving my age away a little, but that’s okay, right?), I continued to struggle with whether or not there was anyone I could truly trust, and whether or not there really was a God out there who cared anything about me. I would remember Bible verses that I was taught throughout my childhood, but they didn’t seem real. They were just words on a page that were written thousands of years ago; they didn’t apply to me.
For all those years, my faith and trust were in myself. I did not need anyone else. I was like a petulant child looking at her parents and saying, “I do it myself!” I had built walls around myself at such a young age that by adulthood most people who met me thought that I was completely shallow. Classmates and roommates in college would call me “breezy” as both a play on my name and my brain. I allowed it to continue because it felt safer than actually letting anyone into my inner circle.
But all that began to change a few years ago. My youngest son was about eighteen months old, and I was going away from him for the first time. I was facing a fear that I did not think I would ever face. I was going to attend my first speaking and writing conference. I won’t go into all the details here, but the bottom line was that God found me that weekend in a little prayer room in Concord, NC. He grabbed me, and He created an earthquake in my life that left gaping holes standing before me. I had a choice. I could fully trust Him, or I could try to jump over the Grand Canyon by myself. As scared as I was, I knew that I could not make it on my own. My El Shaddai was there with me, and He had promised to be my All-Sufficient One.
Now, I’d love to say that I have never had a doubt since then, but that is not the story of my life. I often joke that my parents should have named me Thomasina because I am so full of doubt and in need of so many reassurances.
Tonight, my precious Father reminded me once again what faith looks like. My middle son came to me in the middle of the night crying that his stomach hurt. He did not know what to do, and he did not try to figure it out. He just came to me with the faith that I would solve his problem. We made it through his sickness, and I tucked him into bed and prayed for him. He looked up at me and said, “Thank you, mama, for taking care of me and praying for me. I’ll be okay now. Sweet dreams.” And with that, he was off to sleep.
My heart was immediately stricken as I saw the level of faith that he had in both me and in God. He knew where to go when he was in trouble; and he had faith that he would be taken care. This is the faith that I want. The faith of a little child.
I will continue to cling to the hope eternal, knowing that just as my son trusts in me, even so I can trust in my Father. I do not need to try to solve my problems. I just need to take them to Him and wait for Him to solve them in His timing.
Do you struggle with your faith? How does it affect your daily life? How about the decisions you make? Do you face them with great preparation or with great trepidation? Or do you take them to our Father’s throne and leave them there for Him to rule on?
I think we all struggle with our faith at times.
I too struggle at times, but lately, I trust more and more. I am calm with most things and I know that I can bring any worries that I have to our Heavenly Father for Him to handle.