A Lesson in Trust

I recently re-read C.S. Lewis's A Grief Observed. I really love that book. Not because I agree with Lewis on everything, (for one thing, he believed in a sort of purgatory after death, and I don't.) But the book is an honest and sincere account of his journey through a terrible loss, and it reverberates with me so many ways and on so many levels.


In it, all attempts at sounding pious or faithful, doubt-free, all attempts are abandoned. He just tells it like it is. And let me tell you, it's not great. Some people who go through a trial, only share once they have "emerged." You get to see a butterfly. But what happened in that chrysalis, or crucible, remains hidden and mysterious. Which makes it seem, perhaps unintentionally, effortless.


I love this book, for in it Lewis has opened up his process from doubt back to faith. It becomes transparent. You see the struggle from caterpillar to butterfly. And so much of what he writes I really understand. I feel the terrain is familiar. I'm glad I'm not the only one who is sometimes paralyzed by doubt and pain, and I'm encouraged that he seems to find his way through.


Lewis' wife died of cancer. Here is what that man who was a great defender of Christianity wrote after his wife died and he was thinking about life after death:


"Because she is in God's hands." But if so, she was in God's hands all the time, and I have seen what they did to her here. Do they suddenly become gentler to us the moment we are out of the body? And if so, why? If God's goodness is inconsistent with hurting us, then either God is not good or there is no God: for in the only life we know He hurts us beyond our worst fears and beyond all we can imagine.

If you think that sounds like a crisis of faith, how about this?


I am more afraid that we are really rats in a trap. Or, worse still, rats in a laboratory. Someone said, I believe, "God always geometrizes." Supposing the truth were "God always vivisects?"


Talk about honesty. Talk about doubts. Talk about the dark night of the soul.


These are the words of suffering and pain. I recognize them, having said them myself. Oh, not the exact words, of course. I have never thought of God as performing a vivisection on me. But the feeling one has, when pain is the worst and night is the darkest, of anger, even towards God. The frustrated musing of why God doesn't DO something. I've been there. And I might be there again.

I'm going to change the subject here, and rather abruptly. I just brought Lewis in to sort of "set the stage." I hope you'll see a connection, however vague, as I go along.


I believe that if we believe in Jesus, when we die, we go to be with Him. And I believe there will be a day when God Himself speaks His evaluation on our life. And what we have done with it that pleases Him. Steve and I were talking one night about Joel's life, and how little it appears he can do with his. It doesn't seem like much, on the outside. What words of approval could God say?

Despite this, I think that when Joel gets to heaven, he will hear these words "Well done, good and faithful servant." I think God is going to tell him, "You were faithful over a few things... Enter into the joy of your lord."


Maybe it sounds strange to say that Joel has been a faithful servant. For Joel can not do grand things on a grand scale. He'll never write a book that helps people find truth. He'll never be a doctor helping people in third world countries. He can't donate money to help people, or be a counselor. Or even live a quiet life of great generosity and kindness.

What Joel does do though, is teach me. Maybe that doesn't seem like much, given the lack of progress his student makes. His pupil is a bit stubborn, slow to learn and change at times. These lessons might seem like very small things. But I think they have done something to me.


I greatly hope and wish to make these lessons count for something. I don't aspire myself to "grand" things, but I hope that I can use what I learn from Joel to change things somewhere for someone. And I think that when I learn something from Joel, and put it into practice, that he has a share in that. So that if I have learned any compassion or generosity from Joel, and given it to someone else, Joel too has a part in that.


You must wonder where all this is going. First talking about doubts of faith. Then talking about what we accomplish with our lives. What connection?

One of the things Joel has been teaching me is about trust. It is simple, really. Joel trusts me, absolutely. Which I find pretty amazing.

I didn't always feel this trust. Back in August when all he seemed to do was cry, or even scream, it seemed I could not offer any comfort. I even started to doubt if Joel really connected to me as his mother...


That was really the situation, and not the relationship. Exhaustion and grief on my part, and Joel just was in too much pain/discomfort for me to see the effect my presence might have had on him.


I can see the trust now though. It humbles me, the trust Joel places in me.

I used to sort of worry, when I was present to comfort him through something painful or unpleasant. Like a needle or IV. I thought "Man, he must just think I'm causing him pain, or allowing it, and WHY?? He must be thinking "WHY mommy, WHY?? Why don't you STOP this?"

I was even anxious that maybe my presence would not be comforting anymore after a time. How could he feel safe with me, when I was not only powerless to stop his suffering, but even at times, the cause? Would I not become associated with the pain? Would Joel wonder if I were a vivisectionist at times?

This is not the case though. It seems all those long nights that I spent rocking him. The ones where I held him against my chest as he slept fitfully. The days where I tried everything, singing, bouncing, cuddling, patting, everything to calm him, to get him to sleep for just 15 minutes. It seems that all those times spoke somehow to his heart all along.

For Joel trusts me. He finds comfort in my arms. There may be pokes, or strange people prodding him. He might feel sick. But it seems my presence is always a comfort. He calms for me at times I know he'd calm for no one else, even Steve (whom he does also love and trust). He sleeps in perfect peace when I hold him.

Maybe this sounds like "mommy mumbo-jumbo" to you. And I'm not saying he doesn't still cry at times, if he is feeling badly. I'm just saying I can tell I make a difference. I can tell he feels safer, more peaceful when I'm around. It's not "mommy mumbo-jumbo," believe what you will. I can really read the trust in his face.

And that blows me away. How can he read my heart so well? In circumstances like his, I would question. I would doubt. But he holds faith with me. I'm his mother. He doesn't look at his circumstances, he looks at my heart, and sees my love demonstrated.

I'm just a human mother. I make mistakes and I'm even selfish sometimes. Yet Joel trusts me completely. Sometimes I look into his little face and I am overwhelmed by it.

And he teaches me about trust. For God is my parent too. And He is more than human. Can I look past the circumstances? Can I read God's heart? Can I hold to His love demonstrated even when things get painful and difficult? Will I still find peace in His presence when pain surrounds me?

It is beyond me to understand the situation of my life right now. Just like it is beyond Joel to understand about g-tube surgeries, or IVs, or why tummy aches don't go away immediately when I hold him. But he trusts me still. Will I trust God? It's really not a rhetorical question for me. I really wonder about this. The rubber and the road fast approach one another.

I'm going to be honest through this. Like Lewis. I don't want to make my faith sound better than it is. I'm far from perfect. Maybe the sort of trust that Joel has shown me will prove beyond my grasp at times. At times I might be as angry with God as Lewis admits he was. Doubt and trust may war with each other. I hope I will learn from my teacher.

Thank you Joel, for teaching me about trust and honouring me with yours. I'm glad God gave me such an excellent teacher and I'm going practice learning this lesson. Because one day if God can say to me "You have kept faith like a child, even in the storm," I know He's going to turn to you and say "You taught her well with your example."

For now, I'm going to try to be honest and sincere about where I am at, even when it's not that great. And I'm going to remember God is my Father, and read His heart, like Joel reads mine. God willing, I'll be trusting enough just to rest in His arms, when the night comes.