Trust. One simple word, one syllable, five letters. The problem is what's in the middle - u. It's so easy to say, and yet so hard to follow through. In fact, I trust my life entirely to inanimate objects without thinking or even second guessing myself more often than in the hands of He who created me. I get in my car every day, enter buildings, sleep in my bed. Do I ever wonder if the car will not safely transport me, if the building will not collapse as I enter, if the bed will hold me securely for the six-plus hours I spend unconsciously resting? No, I don't think about it. I trust them unconditionally. And yet, when it's time to take action and make life-altering decisions, I don't necessarily give control over to He who knows how many hairs I lost today and how many still remain. Unbelievable. I really should know better.
While reading the wonderful story of how Daniel was saved from the lion's den, a story so well-known and beloved by Christian children everywhere, I came across a character that reminded me of myself. I wish I could say it is Daniel, who was faithful in His daily communion with God. No, it's the king of Medo-Persia with whom I related so well. You see, the king, after he was tricked into signing this decree that played upon his big ego and he realized that his best governor was going to fall prey to this silly law, made a comment to Daniel as Daniel was being taken to the lion's den. He said, "Your God, whom you serve continually, He will deliver you." Wow, that is substantially powerful. This mighty king acknowledged Daniel's faithful trust in a God that saves His people. He simply and emphatically stated this, not as a question, or a plea, or to make himself feel better about what he had done to put Daniel's life in jeopardy. He knew Daniel's God would save him. But this is where his story turns into my life story. The king knows God will save Daniel. He, I'm sure, had heard about Daniel's friends and how God saved them from that fiery furnace years ago. And what does the king do? He goes home and he paces, he worries, he's somber, he removes all joy from his life - no music or mistrals or food, no sleep. Instead of rejoicing in the miracle that is about to take place, instead of facing the lion's den head-on with his friend, the king doubts what God can do. Exactly what I do. I am the king on the night when Daniel was just a teasing aroma of a meal for those hungry felines. I worry, I loose sleep, I don't eat, I'm somber, I remove myself from the presence of those who bring me joy. Meanwhile, there is God, working away at that miracle that I knew He would perform, but doubted that He would take the time to serve.
And in the morning, I run to God, "Did you perform the miracle? Can it be true?" So little faith. Such little faith.
