The Slow Work of Trust

The Slow Work of Trust

Trust is one of those words people use easily until life puts weight on it.

Most of us can say we trust God when the stakes are low. It feels natural to say the right things when the road ahead looks normal and predictable. But trust begins to reveal what it really is when life moves into places we cannot manage.

This past week brought one of those moments for our family. Beth had surgery to remove cancer from her breast. When you hear a word like cancer connected to someone you love, everything slows down. Conversations change. The small routines of life feel different. There is a quiet moment when you realize that a lot of what you normally rely on for stability is suddenly out of your hands.

Beth chose the word trust as her word for this year. We had talked about it months ago, long before any doctor used the word cancer. At the time it felt like a meaningful spiritual idea. Now it feels much more personal.

I’ve noticed that trust in Scripture rarely shows up in calm situations. It almost always grows in places where people are asked to move forward without having full clarity about what will happen next.

One story that has always stood out to me is Abraham in Genesis 22. God asked him to take Isaac, the son he had waited years to receive, and walk with him to a mountain God would show him. The story is unsettling because God does not give Abraham an explanation. He gives him a direction.

What strikes me every time I read it is the quiet movement of the story. Abraham wakes early in the morning. He prepares the donkey. He takes Isaac with him and begins walking. Scripture does not give us a window into his internal dialogue. It simply shows him putting one foot in front of the other.

Somewhere on that journey Isaac asks a question that must have landed heavy.  “Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?”  Genesis 22:7 (KJV)

Abraham answers with a line that has carried weight for centuries. “My son, God will provide himself a lamb.”  Genesis 22:8 (KJV 

What I have come to appreciate about that moment is that Abraham did not yet know how God would provide. He simply believed that God would. That is often how trust works.  It is less about having certainty and more about choosing where you place your confidence while uncertainty is still present.

Hospital waiting rooms have a way of bringing that into focus. When Beth went into surgery this week, I sat in one of those quiet rooms where people try to pass time while their minds keep drifting back to the same questions. You watch families come and go. Some receive good news. Some are still waiting.

In those moments faith feels less like a theological concept and more like a decision about where your heart is going to settle. You can run every possible outcome through your mind, or you can place the situation in hands that are steadier than your own. That does not remove concern. It does not remove love. If anything it reminds you how deeply you care.  But trust changes where the weight rests.

For me this week, trust meant acknowledging that the people caring for Beth were skilled but not sovereign. It meant remembering that God has walked with us through many seasons already. It meant choosing not to let fear write the entire story before the day was finished.

The good news is that the surgery went well. We are grateful for that. There are still steps ahead, but we are thankful for where things stand today.

What this week reinforced for me is that trust is not built in dramatic spiritual moments. It is built quietly, often in ordinary places where life asks us to release control we never truly had. Most people are carrying something right now that stretches their ability to trust. For some it is health. For others it is family, work, or a future that suddenly looks different than expected. 

The invitation of faith is not to pretend those things are small. It is to recognize that the God who calls us to trust Him has never asked us to carry those things alone.  Sometimes trust begins with something as simple as continuing to walk forward even when the full picture has not yet come into view.