One night, I was tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. I started pacing around my apartment, growing anxious because I knew that focusing on my inability to sleep would only strengthen my inability to sleep. My mind was racing, and I could not slow it down.
I opened the blinds and asked Jesus for stars as I walked out onto the balcony. I opened the door, and the sky was so, so clear. I hadn’t seen the stars so clearly in ages. My heart began to settle down as I gazed at the stars. I thanked Jesus for them and we talked for a little bit. We talked about my week and how I was doing and what he’s been doing lately.
—–
I heard something moving in the cornfield out back and saw a raccoon scurrying about. It made me smile because I think the scrappy critters are cute. It ran off, and I said goodbye to my little friend, wishing I could run off with him.
How symbolic this short exchange was of my fearful heart. This creature showed up, captured my affections, and immediately ran away. I fear people leaving. I fear leaving people. This fear has grown and grown and grown since the week I said yes to the World Race. I started growing anxious again.
I asked Father to give me deer in that moment. Deer, because they are gentle and graceful. Deer, because they are peaceful and beautiful. Deer, because they travel with their families, refusing to leave their loved ones behind.
I waited and waited and waited. I thought maybe God was teaching me patience. “Just keep waiting. Just sit with me for a while.” So I did. I sat with him in the quiet of the night and admired the stars he hung and smiled at the memory of my scrappy little friend. The moment was sweet and still.
—–
I started getting cold, so I stood up and looked at the field and started talking to Him again.
“I trust you. I trust you to give me deer.”
Watching the tree line
“And even if you don’t, I trust you still.”
Watching the field
“I trust you.”
Still watching
“I trust you, Jesus. Even if you don’t, I trust you.”
I took a deep breath, went inside, and quickly fell asleep.
—–
A friend and I went for a drive the next night. We talked about our fears and our hearts, about darkness and faith. We talked about dreams and selfishness and sacrifice and love and the desire for adventure and Father’s grace.
Toward the end of our drive, we looked up and saw a family of five deer. We drove up, rolled our windows down, and observed. They moved a little closer to each other and stared at us. It was so quiet and still and peaceful.
As we started driving away, my friend asked why I thought the deer showed up. I gasped and stopped the car. I had completely forgotten about my conversation with Father the night before. Wow oh wow, how good he is.
“I trust you. I trust you to give me deer. I trust you even if you don’t.”
—–
The thing is, he already did.
He gave me a heart that adores families of elegant deer as well as scrappy raccoons that dig around in the trash.
He gave me a heart that is stilled and filled with wonder when I look at the sky, whether it’s vibrantly blue, filled with dancing clouds, or glistening with stars.
He gave me a heart that smiles at butterflies and flowers and squirrels.
He gave me a heart that bursts for little things and experiences emotions fully and cares deeply about other people.
He gave me a heart that can love because he loved first. He loves now. He loves most.
He created this world full of beauty and goodness and wonder. He painted the vibrant sky and hung the dancing clouds and strung the glistening stars. He gave the butterflies wings and cared for the flowers and played with the squirrels. He made little things and tended to our emotions and taught us how to care.
He already did. He still does. He always will.
—–
I can trust him always because he is always trustworthy. He never fails to deliver. He never fails to provide. He makes good on his promises and he loves unconditionally. He already welcomed me in with grace and he takes care of me faithfully.
He is love and joy and peace and patience and kindness and goodness and faithfulness and gentleness and self-control. He is gracious and merciful. He is fun and playful. He is my savior and my healer and my friend.
He nurtures and listens and laughs. He teaches and forgives. He loves. He gives. He gives his heart, his love, his attention. He gives himself.
I can trust him, even if he doesn’t give me what I want, because he always gives me what is good.
