Mine is a Life.

The house is dark. Quiet. The hum of the fridge sets sound to my thoughts, as tremendous shards of light cut through the sky on the other side of the window.

"In the silence, I meet my Lord," I hear some part of me whisper to another. That never would have come to me six weeks ago, I don't think.

The truth is, I can't remember the me I was six weeks ago. I can't remember what I prayed about. I don't remember if it ever crossed my mind that my God is one who would speak to me personally.

Often now, at least once every day, I catch myself thinking something that feels different. Six weeks ago, it wouldn't have occurred to me that God is with me, or that He brought me somewhere for such and such a purpose, or that He has a plan that involves me. If my thoughts had happened upon one of these, the moment is lost to me, as it was most likely lost on me, then.

I am skeptical of such moments. I think, "You know why there's a skirmish," and then "You're being schizophrenic." "He brought you here to teach you," and then "I chose to come."

For me, to trust and relinquish, is a daily task. I get up, I brush my teeth, and I make the decision anew that mine is a life given wholly to Him. It's not that I don't want to trust, nor that I don't know that His is the power of life. It's that I'm so used to being the one to trust.

I wonder if this is a common issue with people from unstable situations. We grow, we mature, and we become stable, through a steady trust in ourselves. A trust that we can always rely upon our own nature, our own intuition, and intelligence, and strength, in order to deal with the craziness around us.

Donald Miller co-authored a book on a similar topic. I think it was called "To Own a Dragon," and from what I remember of it, it's about learning to understand what it means that our God is a Father, when our own fathers have not lived to the name.

I don't find trusting Him to be particularly difficult. I just forget to do it.