About 16 years ago, a man in our church led a study called "The Promises of God." This study had a bigger impact on me than any other since the one through which I asked Jesus to come into my life.
The study required from a half-hour to an hour a day in reading, answering questions, praying. More than I was accustomed to. More than I really wanted to commit to, but I had committed. And, stubborn critter that I am, I did it.
The last question each day to answer was, "What does God want you to learn from this lesson?" We were expected to ask God.
And each day, His answer--or rather His question to me, was the same. "Do you trust Me?"
"Well of course I trust You, Lord." Except that there were things He wanted me to let go of, and I didn't want to let go.
Like getting out of a relationship that was unhealthy.
Like refusing to leave Phoenix. I loved Phoenix. I had lived there only seven years, but it felt like home. I had bought a house and put roots down--literally. Planted trees and bushes and flowers. I loved my church, I loved my job, I loved my Toastmaster friends. I told God I wanted to stay.
When I finally said yes to God, that I would trust Him, He dropped the bomb. "Even if I ask you to move?"
I cried for a long time, but at the end of it I said yes again.
(to be continued on Saturday)
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