A Lesson on Trust: Prayers That Pass The Sky

Tomorrow I’m leading worship at our new church.

40 days, to answer your question.

We’ve been here 40 days.

If I could write down all the ways God’s led us in this move, my hand would ache endlessly.

Still, I’ll do it someday.

For now, let me focus in on one story.

When we moved, my prayer, as well as my husband’s, was that we’d find a community of believers.

In that prayer, my heart faintly whispered to the Father’s close ear, Maybe one where I can lead worship?

Still, in my childlike wanting, I was prepared.

I was prepared to sit among the congregation of singers for a year or so, lifting my voice in unison alongside friends and family.

I wouldn’t push it.

I wouldn’t jump ahead.

I wouldn’t force anything.

After a week and a half of being here, we visited the church.

We juggled the boys until Trav forced me inside to listen by myself for a few moments, to see the bread break and wine pour, to take in the holy kindness of communion.

I was prepared to leave without making a new friend, without meeting anyone or saying anything.

There happens to be TWO boys in this church named Isaiah, and they happened to be sitting one row apart that day.

Isaiah’s mother introduced herself to me, commented on my singing voice, and moments later introduced me to the worship leader.

I was swept across the room in a slow motion movement, a rush of seconds all ushering me into the Holy Will of the Kingdom.

We exchanged email addresses and phone numbers, and I walked through the door with my heart so happy it ached.

And I wrote in my journal these words:

God, I cannot say that You are not good.

I’m learning something.

It’s something I’ve been learning all my life, but today I know it to be true.

I can trust Him.

God is trustworthy.

And when I faintly whisper to Him, my voice sounding hollow as it rings inside the mustard seed–

Oh, He hears.

There’s a Will Reagan song that says,

I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open; I know that I can trust You. There’s nothing I hold on to.

When we voice something to God, it isn’t thrust into an abyss. It’s not leaked onto a greasy floor to be trampled, or blown as steam into polluted air to disappear before our eyes.

When we voice, it’s taken in. It’s taken in.

There’s a holy place that holds it and dwells with it and shapes it.

Then it’s poured out in some way, it’s poured back on us and we receive and believe and trust.

There’s more I could say about the importance of gifts, the importance of using what He’s shaped in us for the good of ourselves and for the good of the church.

I’m going to leave that for now, and I’m going to say this again.

God, I cannot say that You are not good.