Trust

Spiritual Lessons

Trust 

Trust. A small little word with a lot of hurt behind it. Love. A smaller word, with just as much pain.

Anyone else in the world a person of extremes? Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who struggles with moderation. I blame some of that on my genes. If you trace my lineage back far enough I'm convinced we Hutto's were Vikings. Moderation probably wasn't in their vocabulary any more than it's in mine. And then add my Sicilian blood from my mom...and yeah. I'm doomed.

So as a young girl, when I trusted – I trusted entirely. I trusted everyone I loved. In my world, you were either a bad guy, or a good guy. Black and white. And the good guys, I trusted.

I've always believed the best of everyone first. Call it what you will: optimism, naivete, childhood – but it's all I know; it's me. Every person is made in the image of God, and everyone has a God-given personality that is unique and beautiful, and somehow I was gifted (cursed?) with the ability to see that in people as soon as I met them.

I wasn't necessarily a sweet child. But deeply sincere. Everything I ever endeavored came from the farthest recesses of my soul; and it was natural for me to paste my heart to window panes. When I shared myself, I shared all of me. Transparent. Sensitive. Passionate. And why not share all of me? I didn't know the art of handing out pieces.

And as you can imagine I was disappointed by people. I remember a friend telling me she thought it was sweet that I could share so much of myself, but that she didn't intend on doing that. It was too scary.

I was hurt by people. Close souls who trampled my heart. Betrayal. Harsh words. No appreciation. Abandonment. Or even simpler – At work I met the most darling woman. She is eighty three, five foot (maybe), a hundred pounds with pure white hair. She loves to plant flowers and lives with a goose in her house. She's Irish with sparkling eyes and underneath her quavery voice and many wrinkles is enough spunk to see her to 100 years old. The only problem: she's dying of cancer. Our job is to travel that journey with her and make her as comfortable as possible. As soon as I found out, I thought – why do I fall in love with people that destiny is bound to hurt me with? I wrote in my journal – “I can't pick one human being that's easy to love. Or is there no such thing? Is humanity hard to love?”

I was devastated by people. Someone I respected. Those who should have known better. Gave away my heart to have it handed back – in a million pieces. The injustice. The sobbing. The anger. I remember wishing I was reserved and mysterious. That I could rip my heart off my sleeve and be like the quiet, normal people I knew. Everyone is intrigued by introverts. Maybe no one wanted to be my friend because I wasn't exciting. They could have all of me from the beginning – there wasn't anything to explore, pursue, figure out. Maybe people thought I was shallow because I so readily shared the deep parts of my soul. The more wounds I accumulated the more tempting it was to hide. To close off my heart to humanity, bad guys, and good guys.

And where has that left me?

I had two choices. To close the door to humanity and never trust again. It is possible. It sounds cliche or dramatic – but it's an easy thing to do. It's the safe and lonely route to take. Anger is easier than trust. It's the cop-out. It's self preservation. Defensive default. Self preservation and anger aren't wrong in and of themselves but I think we were created to trust. I know people who have decided not to trust anyone. They are miserable people. They are either bitter, frightened, lonely, or all three. They are safe. Safe from people, safe from trust, safe from love. 

“There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”  -- C.S. Lewis 

Or I could realize that not everyone is worth trusting. Even some “good guys”. There are levels of friendships. I'm not obligated to share myself with everyone. I'm allowed to pick who I wish to be vulnerable with.

Of course I'm still a person of extremes, so those I choose to trust I still inevitably trust with all my heart. And they still hurt me. Trustworthy people are going to hurt me. And people I trust can hurt me so much easier than those I don't trust. Pain is part of relationships; it's inevitable. There isn't such a thing as pain-free trust. Or pain-free love.

I was sitting across the restaurant table with my Dad last night. A man I decided a couple years ago was a man worth trusting. And I'm so glad I did. He is worth my trust. Worth the pain. He loves me back, and chooses to trust me too.  I am not an easy person to love, and yet he loves me back.

 I was telling him about a relationship that pained me. I told him how I keep reaching out and pulling my hand back, bloody. I vented about how I have chosen to continue the friendship, to keep wiping the blood off, only to have them accuse me. Pick at old wounds. His face softened. Instead of feeling defensive for me, he simply stated that it sounded kinda like the relationship we have with Christ. And even though that wasn't what I wanted to hear, it brought me back to some times I've apologized to God for my unfaithfulness to Him. The times I realized He still wanted to be my friend, even after I hadn't talked to Him all week. Even after I told Him that He didn't care and I was angry with Him. You know those relationships where if you could draw a picture to describe it, you'd have yourself at a door, in the rain, knocking? He waits. He knocks. And I leave Him out in the rain. And yet He has never forsaken me. He continually holds my hand through the darkest of times. He reminds me of Himself, gives me strength, listens, cares. God took the risk of loving humanity, even when he foreknew that we would deny him, curse him, reject him.

I've decided I want to love people. And I want to trust a few of them. It is too exhausting to preserve myself from everyone. And it's lonely. And it's even painful. Some people I've let go. And some I've gone back to. This time when I hand over my heart, I'm giving them permission to break it. I don't expect to keep it fully intact. Because they are human. And humans break hearts. And those I trust I know are going to do everything in their power to cherish the fact that I'm trusting them with something so fragile.

And there is a difference between loving someone and trusting them. I love quite a few people that I've chosen not to trust. But everyone I trust, I also love. With all of me.

I've come to the wild conclusion that trust is a dangerous thing. But coupled with love, it's beautiful and certain people are worth trusting. Even with the risk of them hurting me. And it's given me the ability to allow others to trust me. I desire to be trustworthy.

Toni. A small extreme person with hurts.

Addendum: Who is learning how to love and trust again.

Related Posts:

Bleeding Hearts

 

Peacefully Drowning

Spiritual Lessons

Peacefully Drowning

 

6:15 Am. I reach over and dismiss the alarm. Jumping out of bed I grab my Bible and rush through devotions. Personal, throbbing hurts to tend to – but there isn't time to think or write.

7:45 Am. I multi-task by cooking breakfast, getting dressed, taking out my seventeen different supplements for the day, and start the car so the windshield ice might melt. That's when I remember my heater and defroster won't work in the cold. I scrape away at the ice with my gloves while standing with snow in my boots, picking away at the unyielding ice. The sun is just coming over the mountain. I'm caught away in a tempest of thoughts. I have 100 things to do today...or was it 101? I know there was something else to remember... Oh yeah! Breakfast inside is burning!

8:00 Am. I'm supposed to be driving out the Hutto Highland gates right now. Instead, I'm scraping the bottom of a burnt pot. The second pot I've burned – in the last two days. Mom's threatened to buy me my own pots and pans. Abbie comes down stairs and demands that we play dolly. Plus she needs me to pour her milk. Beth has a math question and Jeremy is frustrated with penmanship. I go to rinse the pot and remember we ran out of water last night....and we don't have gasoline for the generator.

8:10 Am. I'm in the car driving out the gate. That's when I remember I left my lunch at the house.

8:45 AM I'm off the snowy mountain, wrapped in blankets and beanie and gloves, and on my way to work. Ponderay Lake is dark and choppy, fringed in powdery snow. I sometimes play music or listen to preaching or a book on CD, but my own mind is an overwhelming companion. It never pauses long enough for me to listen to anything else. Family difficulties weigh down. I ponder how to make more time. I feel like I'm drowning. But sometime God will stay the waves from crashing in on me....right?

5:00 PM. I'm locking up. There's still so much to do. My boss is on family leave and needs me here more than ever. Talked on the phone today with mom. She's doing worse. I still have groceries to get.

6:30 PM I'm home. I still have to make my own dinner even though the family is sitting down to theirs. I kick off my boots, set my things down in a chair and rush into the kitchen to prepare food.

8:00 PM I'm dead tired but there's dishes to do.

9:30 PM I sit in bed with jammies on and my diary on my lap. I want to recount the events of my day but I'm so tired. I wonder why life seems so bleak and purposeless and chaotic. I wonder why I feel sick and why I look sick. My health is deteriorating along with my sanity. Mid-sentence I remember I have forgotten to remove my nail polish... I stare down at my toes. I'm just too tired.

10:00 PM I run downstairs, heat my water bottle for my nightly castor oil pack. My parents are talking about life's hardships. Car broke down. Money can't be stretched any farther. Health issues. Complex relationships. I go to bed thinking of the full day of work I will have tomorrow. Dad needs help at work. How to put my life on hold? I have started going to bed later and later ... I fall asleep with the thought that I have no other choice than to get up early the next morning.

Somewhere along life I stopped.

Was God judging me? Had I done something wrong? Or maybe He was teaching me....something? That's when I decided I didn't need to know. And I was just going to trust Him. Even if He never made the continual crashing waves stop. Even if He didn't come to my rescue and call “Peace be Still”. I was drowning, but from now on, I decided I was going to peacefully drown. And it happened.

6:15 Am. I reach over and dismiss the alarm. Jumping out of bed I grab my Bible. I only have a little time for devotions. I simply tell God what hurts. I don't have time to write it out. I simply tell Him.

7:45 Am I multi-task by cooking breakfast, getting dressed, taking out my seventeen different supplements for the day, and start the car. I remember my heater and defrost doesn't work in the cold. I scrape away at the ice. The sun is just coming over the mountain. My storm of thoughts comes to take over, but I take the time to breathe in the cold air and look at the sunrise. God is good. He gave me today. And somewhere He mentions that His mercies are new every morning. Thank God for mornings. Oh yeah! Breakfast inside is burning!

8:00 Am. I'm supposed to be driving out the Hutto Highland gates right now. Instead, I'm scraping the bottom of a burnt pot. The third pot I've burned this week. Maybe Mom will buy me my own pots and pans. Abbie comes down stairs and demands that we play dolly. As I pour her milk for her cereal I tell her how much I would love to play with her. Maybe after work we will play dollies in bed. Beth has a math question. I show her her mistake. Jeremy is frustrated with penmanship. I let him know he has beautiful penmanship, and sometime this evening I will help him. I go to rinse the pot and I am thankful we have water.

8:10 Am. I'm in the car driving out the gate. That's when I remember I left my lunch at the house.

8:45 AM I'm off the snowy mountain, wrapped in blankets and beanie and gloves, and on my way to work. Ponderay Lake is dark and choppy ...and beautiful. The sun casts pink highlights and the border of trees stand like ancient white towers. I live in a picture-perfect place. My mind is an overwhelming companion, reminding me of my “to do list”. I decide to sing. I sing to God, quietly and sincerely and without talent. It really doesn't matter: it's just us. I sing about my family difficulties. And my lack of time. And how I feel like I'm drowning. I tell Him I'm going to drown peacefully, even if it doesn't feel peaceful. I realize it's not just me and my mind today...I have a better companion.

5:00 PM. I'm locking up. There's still so much to do. Talked on the phone today with mom. She's doing worse. I still have groceries to get.

6:30 PM I'm home. I still have to make my own dinner even though the family is sitting down to theirs. I kick off my boots, set my things down in a chair and rush into the kitchen to prepare food.

8:00 PM I'm dead tired but there's dishes to do. I find time to play a ten minute round of dollies and to talk to Beth and Jeremy.

9:30 PM I sit in bed with jammies on and my diary on my lap. I'm so tired. I know why I feel sick and why I look sick. My health is deteriorating because I was so desperately fighting the waves. Mid-sentence I stare down at my toes. I'm still just too tired. But it's okay.

10:00 PM I run downstairs, heat my water bottle for my nightly castor oil pack. My parents are talking about life's hardships. Car can't be fixed. Money can't be stretched any father. Health issues. Complex relationships. I go to bed thinking of the full day of work I will have tomorrow. Dad needs help at work. Life can't be put on hold. This IS life. I crawl into bed and turn off my lamp. So this is what it feels like to drown peacefully. My circumstances haven't changed, but instead of fighting I'm at peace with it all. Morning will come, all too quickly, but now I didn't dread it so much.

Bleeding Hearts

Spiritual Lessons 

Bleeding Hearts 

I'm sitting alone on the shore. I'm holding my heart in my hand and no-one notices. Or worse: they do, they just don't care. A family member walks by and accidentally stomps on my raw and vulnerable emotions. I look around to find some way of numbing, but can't find it. I'm bleeding inside out. Someone I look up to, passes by. I hang my heart on a clothes line – stark and obvious. Who wants to force people into acknowledging your heart? Who wants to demand that your needs must be met? They don't even notice. I used to starve for someone to understand. I yearned to be wanted outside of my capabilities. But even that has become stale. I get up and walk away from the shoreline towards the rocks. I want to be left alone. I want people to stop hurting me. I want to cover up those exposed nerve endings. I want to stop caring and feeling. Someone close to me, walks by. I don't even stop. To be ignored with your heart in your hand is insulting. I cry aloud and no one cares. But at least there's dignity in silence.

A friend runs up to me and extends their hand. How unexpected! I suddenly feel self conscious – they want me to hand over my heart so they can peek into that deeper private place. Isn't this what I've been waiting for? Why do I want to hide? Here's my chance! I timidly open the door to my heart to let them in. Do they expect a cheerful welcome after such long abandonment? They don't even look inside. They reach in and pull with one intrusive yank. “Look friend, see my heart? Listen to my hurts!”

I stare back. I used to sit, like a puppy on the other side of the glass door, expectantly watching; wagging my tail every time someone seemed to be approaching. It almost makes me angry that I was so foolish. With my back to the glass, somehow I will find healing.

I sit on the shore. Jesus walks by. He calls and I pat the sand next to me. Jesus sits down and I hand Him my heart. Gently He holds it. I open the door to it and He smiles. We talk a long time. I tell Him how hurt I am and He nods and understands.

“Why are you so hurt?” He finally asks.

Isn't it obvious? I expect to be treated at least like a human being. And instead they treat me like dirt. “How do you plan on healing?”

I shrug. I guess I will just expect their unjust treatment.

“What if you chose not to expect anything?”

I look up into His kind but mysterious face. “You mean, not to expect them to treat me kindly?”

He nods.

“And not to expect them to treat me painfully?”

He nods again. “You're expectations are molds you've made to cast people in...maybe try expecting nothing.”

I walk to the beach. I am quiet but not in despair. I cannot recast others. I have decided to hold no expectations of them. Not to expect them to reach out , and not to expect them to trompel me. I will not depend on others, but neither will I throw them away to embrace independence.

A friend waves to me from a distant path. My thoughts don't travel down to what “should be”. I still face fear, but with no resentment. They quickly pass me by, without so much as a casual glance at my bleeding heart. I am effected but not undone. I have not given up on anyone.

Someone dear comes to me with extended arms. At first I wince...and then I remember – no expectations. She is smiling. I want to turn away -- she doesn't care about the bloody heart I hold. But that's when I notice. In her hand she holds a bleeding heart. I ache for her. I ask. She sits down and I sit next to her and we cry over her bleeding heart. Somehow it washes a little of her blood away and we talk way into the night.

I finally get up to leave. I look around for my heart. Smiling, my friend hands it to me. I hadn't even noticed that she had taken it. I hug her and start down the path for home. And there in the moonlight I suddenly realize my heart isn't bleeding. I turn it over to make sure it's mine. Yes, there are the old scars. But somehow, while I was caring about my friends heart, my own had stopped bleeding. 

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Haunted