Trust Issues, But Make It Biblical

God called me out this morning.

Not corrected me gently. Not gave me a cute little revelation I could nod at and carry peacefully into my day.

Called. Me. Out.

Because apparently I have been calling something “wisdom” that God has been looking at like, “Girl… that is fear with a clipboard.”

I like to know things.

Actually, let me tell the whole truth: I like to know ALL the things.

Where are we going? Why are we going? How long are we staying? Who is going to be there? What happens when we arrive? What is Plan B? Has anybody considered Plan C? Can I see the reviews? And before I fully commit, I would also appreciate some documentation confirming that this will, in fact, work out in my favor.

I have always considered this part of my personality. I am thorough. Analytical. Prepared.

God called it something else this morning.

A trust issue.

Whew.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
Proverbs 3:5–6 NIV

And suddenly the scripture wasn’t talking about some hypothetical person who struggles to trust God.

It was talking about me.

Because I realized I have a habit of telling God, “I trust You,” while simultaneously requesting enough information that trust would no longer be necessary.

That isn’t trust.

That’s informed consent.

And God apparently did not wake me up this morning to negotiate terms.

What really got me was the word “submit.”

Some translations use “acknowledge Him,” and with my modern understanding, acknowledge can sound almost passive. I can acknowledge somebody without giving them any authority whatsoever. “Yep. I see you.”

Except the Hebrew word used there is yada, “to know.” In context, this is much deeper than simply recognizing God exists. It carries the idea of knowing Him intimately enough that my knowledge of Him governs how I walk.

In other words, I don’t merely acknowledge God while continuing down the road I selected.

I bring the road under Him.

And THAT is where God got in my business.

Because walking in agreement isn’t necessarily submission.

If God says something I already wanted to do, what exactly have I surrendered?

Submission becomes visible when my understanding says one thing, my emotions say another, my history starts screaming, “Absolutely not,” and I still decide:

“God, I trust what You know more than I trust what I can currently see.”

And there it is.

Because I am naturally stubborn.

I prefer “thorough,” but since God already dragged that little euphemism into the light this morning, stubborn will do.

And unfortunately, this makes me Marlin from Finding Nemo.

Marlin’s entire existence after losing his family became organized around preventing another loss. He loved Nemo deeply, but fear slowly convinced him that protection meant control. If Marlin could anticipate every danger, eliminate every risk, and keep Nemo close enough, maybe nothing terrible could happen again.

Whew.

Because trauma can make control feel like wisdom.

I have survived enough unexpected things that somewhere along the way I learned to find comfort in information. If I know enough, maybe I can prepare enough. If I prepare enough, maybe I can protect myself enough. If I protect myself enough, maybe I won’t get blindsided again.

Except God never told me to trust my ability to predict what happens next.

He told me to trust Him.

And Proverbs doesn’t merely tell me where to place my trust. It tells me where NOT to place my weight:

“Lean not on your own understanding.”

Lean.

That means I can have understanding. I can think. I can ask questions. I can use wisdom. God is not asking me to become intellectually irresponsible.

The issue is what I put my weight on.

My understanding was never designed to hold me.

That hit me because when I don’t understand God, my instinct is sometimes to interpret the gap as danger.

And where trust is absent, fear is happy to fill the vacancy.

Fear is one of the enemy’s favorite tactics because fear does not always make me run. Sometimes fear makes me freeze. Sometimes it makes me overthink. Sometimes it makes me demand information God never promised to give me. Sometimes it disguises itself as “discernment” when really I am trying to eliminate every possibility that obedience might cost me something.

“For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”
2 Timothy 1:7 ESV

God made the deposit.

I still have to deploy it.

Sometimes I’m standing there fully equipped and still refusing to move because I’m scared.

Which makes me think about Job.

After chapter upon chapter of Job trying to understand suffering that did not make sense from his limited vantage point, God finally answers him.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”
Job 38:4 ESV

In the most holy paraphrase possible:

“Sir… were you there?”

God begins asking Job questions about creation, the sea, morning, snow, stars, animals, weather. Not because God is being cruel, but because Job’s ability to understand what God was doing was limited by the fact that Job was… Job.

And mine is limited by the fact that I am Jazmin.

I hate that for me.

God’s ways do not have to contradict human reasoning to transcend my ability to reason.

Isaiah 55:8–9 reminds me that His thoughts are higher than mine and His ways higher than mine. Sometimes I am demanding an explanation from the One who can see dimensions of the situation I don’t even know exist.

Which brings me right back to Marlin.

He spends nearly the entire movie trying to get to Nemo while controlling everything along the way. Then comes one of the hardest moments: Dory is trapped in the fishing net with Nemo, and Nemo tells his father he knows what to do.

Marlin has to let him go.

After everything Marlin has experienced, releasing Nemo feels irresponsible.

Yet holding onto him would actually prevent the rescue.

That is submission.

Submission isn’t agreement.

Submission becomes necessary precisely when I DON’T agree.

Jesus Himself gives me the ultimate picture in Gethsemane:

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.”
Matthew 26:39 ESV

Jesus didn’t pretend the cup was pleasant.

He submitted.

That distinction challenges me because sometimes I think obedience should come with emotional certainty. Like if this were really God, surely I would feel peaceful, confident, moisturized, and spiritually radiant.

Meanwhile, Jesus was sweating in Gethsemane.

The presence of apprehension does not automatically mean the absence of obedience.

Sometimes obedience has second thoughts.

It just doesn’t let the second thought become the final authority.

And now Proverbs 3 gets even more personal because God attaches something to submission:

“He will make your paths straight.”

Straight.

Not necessarily easy.

Straight.

And I immediately thought about how much time I have wasted walking in circles because I insisted on understanding something before obeying it.

Some wounds were unavoidable.

Others?

Baby, I took the scenic route.

More than once.

God said left, and I needed to “pray about it,” gather evidence, revisit childhood trauma, consult my feelings, conduct a small internal congressional hearing, and somehow ended up passing the same tree four times.

Meanwhile God is like, “We could have BEEN there.”

A straight path saves time.

A straight path can spare wounds.

Not because submission guarantees nothing painful will happen, but because submission keeps me from adding unnecessary pain through resistance, detours, and repeated lessons.

There is protection in submission because what I submit to God comes under His direction.

What I refuse to surrender, I keep trying to manage with my own limited understanding.

And frankly, my understanding has gotten me into enough foolishness.

Proverbs continues:

“Honor the LORD with your wealth, with the firstfruits of all your crops; then your barns will be filled to overflowing, and your vats will brim over with new wine.”
Proverbs 3:9–10 NIV

I can’t get to verse 10 without going through verses 5–9.

I want overflow.

God wants trust.

I want the vats.

God wants surrender.

I want the answer.

God is asking whether I will become one.

Because purpose is not only about discovering what I want from God. Purpose asks what God deposited in me that somebody else needs.

My time.

My gifts.

My testimony.

My resources.

My compassion.

My wisdom earned through wounds I would have preferred not to receive.

Maybe my existence isn’t random. Maybe I was born into a particular generation, carrying particular experiences, gifts, scars, and perspective because somewhere there is a problem God intends to love through me.

God’s answer to humanity’s greatest problem wasn’t merely an idea.

It was a Person.

Jesus.

Which makes me wonder how often I am praying, “God, send the answer,” while God is developing something in me because I am part of the answer He intends to send.

That will preach and irritate me simultaneously.

Maybe the straight path isn’t only about getting me somewhere.

Maybe it is about getting something through me.

Maybe the overflow isn’t just so my barn looks impressive. Overflow, by definition, means I have more than I need. What spills over from my life can become provision for somebody else’s.

And maybe that is why trust matters so much.

Because God cannot lead the version of me that insists on knowing everything before she moves.

At some point, Marlin had to release Nemo.

At some point, Job had to recognize that God’s perspective exceeded his own.

At some point, Jesus said, “Not as I will, but as You will.”

And at some point, I have to stop asking God to explain Himself enough for me to feel comfortable obeying Him.

Maybe the question isn’t:

“God, can You tell me exactly what You’re doing?”

Maybe it is:

“God, do I know You well enough to follow You when I don’t?”

Because Proverbs 3 isn’t asking me to understand the path.

It’s asking me to trust the One who already knows where it leads.

And apparently my spiritual assignment today is considerably less “just keep swimming” and considerably more:

Girl…

stop swimming in circles.