Trust Me: A Work Story
"You are really a grown up," my mother informs me, "when you remember to bring an umbrella."
Guess what? I'm not really a grown up.
Rain falls soft as I leave for work, and I pray the prayer I'm scared of: "Lord, what do you want me to do?" I don't want to listen to Him, because listening is scary and I'm stressed. Work is still, two months later, a challenge and I'm a coward and--
Wait, I'm forfeiting the listening for stress? My trust is so weak. I listen.
Thoughts flood my mind: Invite her to church. Tell her about Jesus.
I reject them, listen for His voice. Those things are good, but then--
Lightning splits the sky and I hear it:
Trust Me.
Really? This is the message of God? So trivial. And yet so hard.
"Okay," I tell Him. "It's a tall order, but I will trust you."
Rain pours as I park and open the car. Wind blows the door into the car next to me--hard. I cringe a little inside; that can't be good.
It isn't. There's a deep scratch.
I don't have time for this. It's raining hard, and my hair, which looked good when I left, soaks. I speed-walk into the mall, trying to dial my father on the touchscreen that won't work in the rain. Finally, I get him.
"The wind blew the door open, and it scratched the car next to me. What should I do? Should I leave a note?"
"How bad is the scratch?"
"Uh...not terrible, but noticeable."
"I mean, I don't know if you have time to go back out."
"If I run, I do."
"Okay...yeah, you should probably go back. Leave my cell phone number."
"Okay, thanks."
I hang up and run, literally at times, through the largest mall in my state. Of course, the book I brought to read on my break, now soaked, slips from my hand and I trip on it before I've realized what's happened. I sprawl. People stare. One man, smirking, asks if I'm okay.
"Yes, thank you," I say, gathering myself and running again. I scribble the note as I go and stick it under the windshield wiper.
I check the time. One of my coworkers requested I bring water. I still have time.
Stopping at a beverage kiosk, I ask for the water. "We have to charge now, sorry," say the woman at the counter. I want to roll my eyes. Are you kidding me?
Fifty-six cents later, I finally enter the store, windswept and in the process of drying. I hold up the water, weakly triumphant. "Oh thanks!" My coworker smiles. "Just put it in the back."
Perfect. I hoof it to the break room, leave her refreshment, and do my best to reconstruct my hair.
Trust Me.
He whispers it again and I laugh at my misadventure. "Okay, Lord, I trust you."
I clock in with six minutes to spare.
He provides. The other driver doesn't seem angry when she talks to my dad later, the shift goes so well as to be fun, and I gain courage to face another day. I continue to be a hot mess. But God continues to prove Himself faithful as He invites me to trust Him more each day.
Guess what? I'm not really a grown up.
Rain falls soft as I leave for work, and I pray the prayer I'm scared of: "Lord, what do you want me to do?" I don't want to listen to Him, because listening is scary and I'm stressed. Work is still, two months later, a challenge and I'm a coward and--
Wait, I'm forfeiting the listening for stress? My trust is so weak. I listen.
Thoughts flood my mind: Invite her to church. Tell her about Jesus.
I reject them, listen for His voice. Those things are good, but then--
Lightning splits the sky and I hear it:
Trust Me.
Really? This is the message of God? So trivial. And yet so hard.
"Okay," I tell Him. "It's a tall order, but I will trust you."
Rain pours as I park and open the car. Wind blows the door into the car next to me--hard. I cringe a little inside; that can't be good.
It isn't. There's a deep scratch.
I don't have time for this. It's raining hard, and my hair, which looked good when I left, soaks. I speed-walk into the mall, trying to dial my father on the touchscreen that won't work in the rain. Finally, I get him.
"The wind blew the door open, and it scratched the car next to me. What should I do? Should I leave a note?"
"How bad is the scratch?"
"Uh...not terrible, but noticeable."
"I mean, I don't know if you have time to go back out."
"If I run, I do."
"Okay...yeah, you should probably go back. Leave my cell phone number."
"Okay, thanks."
I hang up and run, literally at times, through the largest mall in my state. Of course, the book I brought to read on my break, now soaked, slips from my hand and I trip on it before I've realized what's happened. I sprawl. People stare. One man, smirking, asks if I'm okay.
"Yes, thank you," I say, gathering myself and running again. I scribble the note as I go and stick it under the windshield wiper.
I check the time. One of my coworkers requested I bring water. I still have time.
Stopping at a beverage kiosk, I ask for the water. "We have to charge now, sorry," say the woman at the counter. I want to roll my eyes. Are you kidding me?
Fifty-six cents later, I finally enter the store, windswept and in the process of drying. I hold up the water, weakly triumphant. "Oh thanks!" My coworker smiles. "Just put it in the back."
Perfect. I hoof it to the break room, leave her refreshment, and do my best to reconstruct my hair.
Trust Me.
He whispers it again and I laugh at my misadventure. "Okay, Lord, I trust you."
I clock in with six minutes to spare.
He provides. The other driver doesn't seem angry when she talks to my dad later, the shift goes so well as to be fun, and I gain courage to face another day. I continue to be a hot mess. But God continues to prove Himself faithful as He invites me to trust Him more each day.
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