I could blame the mishap on a train, but it was really a matter of trust.
When I pulled into the carpool line and scanned the meager crowd of students, the face I sought was missing. I looked for her backpack, her violin case and her deep, dark eyes, but they were missing, too.
We’d opened our home to a young girl who needed a stable place to stay, and we were figuring out how to do life together day by day.
Over breakfast, I’d reminded her of our plan: “I’ll pick you up in front of the double doors after school.”
My morning litany had seemed sufficient until I got stuck at a railroad crossing on my way to school that afternoon. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself wishing I could add a vow to my morning refrain: “No matter what, I’ll always show up.”
It’s a truth my own children know by heart because they know the depths of mine. After years of shared life, they’ve learned my promises are dependable and my pledges are true.
But the young girl who’d gone missing didn’t know that yet.
I stared through a haze of tears at the double doors of the empty school and wondered what to do. Eventually, I abandoned my post and headed home.
When I stopped at a red light at a nearby intersection, I noticed a cluster of kids in the crosswalk. And right in the middle of the crowd was a girl with a black backpack on her shoulder and a violin case in her hand.
I rolled down my window and hollered her name, waggling my arms in a wild wave. She acknowledged me with a shy smile and climbed into the passenger seat with a sigh.
“Where were you going?” I asked, trying to disguise the worried wobble in my voice.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
I told her about the train and apologized for my delay. Then I spoke the words I’d failed to say that morning. “I promise I’ll always show up.”
And as we headed toward home, I hoped one day the young girl beside me wouldn’t just hear my words, but she would believe them, too.
I think our heavenly Father holds the same hope for you and me.
As God’s children, we are invited to take Him at His word; that’s the crux of faith.
But even though faith may be simple, it’s not always easy.
Believing God’s promises and tethering our confidence to His Truth can feel risky and vulnerable. It may seem effortless to trust God to call out the stars each night, but it can feel daunting to trust Him with our messy situations and our personal expectations.
We wonder if what He says is really true. We worry we’ll be disappointed if He doesn’t follow through. Skepticism and self-protection can stir our doubt and strangle our confidence.
When I’m standing in that place between faith and fear, I remember what I learned from a girl who once went missing. Trust doesn’t grow in the absence of uncertainty; it develops in the presence of intimacy.
It took hours of shared life — laughing and talking, listening and lingering — before the girl who lived beneath my roof knew me well enough to trust me. But as she became familiar with my faithfulness, she began to put faith in my word.
Perhaps that’s why 1 Thessalonians 5:24 reminds us God’s promises are completely trustworthy because He is completely trustworthy: “The One Who called you is faithful and will do what He promised.”
Our confidence in God’s Word is rooted in our understanding of God’s character.
So, next time your trust goes missing, don’t worry about chasing away your doubts.
Choose to chase after God instead. Spend time getting to know Him on the pages of His Word. Listen for His voice. Pay attention to His presence.
As you do, I think you’ll discover bold faith blooms best in the rich soil of relationship. And the more fully we know our Father’s heart, the more wholly we trust His Word.
Dear Jesus, sometimes I struggle to trust what You say, but I want to put my faith in Your Word. Please reveal more of Your heart to me today. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
