I asked my dad, when I borrowed the car to drive mama to church one Sunday morning. He was reluctant to give me the keys. I had just gotten my license. The way to church was a straight shot, and I used to take that route with my driving instructor all the time.

He always trusted me, before I even proved myself, so this time, his attitude was strange to me.

I asked him point blank: “don’t you trust me?” He stopped in his tracks, considered, then answered: “I trust you.”

These days, as I ache to hear news about little sister, after doing my part, after speaking up, reaching out, when I start to fret, all I hear is “do you trust Me?”

(To be clear, I never hear words, the question pops into my head as clear as light)

Then all anxiety fades away. My desire to control the outcome and timeline dissipates.

“Do you trust Me?”

No rebuke. Just a reminder. An assurance. God is trustworthy. Above and beyond.