My husband and I recently took our toddler to the beach. The first morning we went down to the beach, she loved it. We sat together at the edge of the surf, where the ocean kisses the sand. She laughed and played and was content sitting still and letting the ocean come to her. Until she wasn't. Soon, she was standing and splashing, running as far as she could into the ocean before I scooped her up. It was all of three toddler steps, but to her, she was all the way in. She squealed with delight and let the waves break right on her, content and trusting that I wouldn't let her fall. She ran on the beach and played happily with sand everywhere until it was time to go in.
Fast forward to the next day. The heat and humidity were higher, so we took her down to the beach in the evening, so she could enjoy it in the cooler part of the day. Except this time, she didn't enjoy it. She screamed and cried and wouldn't let us put her down. We still don't know why there was such a change.
While my husband was holding our girl, walking her around and trying to show her the beach and ocean she had so loved just one day earlier, I snapped a picture of the ocean. And just like any Christian millennial, I immediately started humming Hillsong's Oceans.
"Spirit, lead me where my trust is without borders."
That night, our charming toddler got up around midnight, just as the grown ups were going to bed. She stayed awake until six in the morning. It was horrible. By the grace of God that she was happy and playing all those hours, but even so, it was exhausting. She finally crashed a little after six, after she and her daddy watched the sunrise, only sleeping a few hours before being up for the day.
She was miserable because she was exhausted. Nothing would suit her. We tried again taking her to the beach that she loved so much our first day, and again, she screamed and cried. She was crying, I was crying- it was a disaster and did not feel anything like vacation. As I held her on the beach with tears on both of our faces, I felt my heart prick like it does when the Holy Spirit whispers, and I felt Him say: "This is where your trust is without borders."
"This is it? Crying while I hold my crying toddler on the beach- this is where my trust is without borders?"...Surely, I had misunderstood. Except He told me again once we were home, in the middle of an everyday toddler tantrum. "This is where your trust is without borders."
When I think about trusting God without borders, I think about doing something scary or exciting, and most definitely something big: moving across the world, changing careers, fostering or adopting children. But what if where my trust is without borders is in my mundane, everyday life?
See, I tend put God in this Big God Box. What I mean by that is this: I can trust God with the big things, like the ones I listed above, because to me, big things seem worthy of His hand. But exhausted parents and a grumpy toddler? Shouldn't I be able to just figure it out? There are big things that actually matter happening all around us- but the things that aren't a big deal, I just need to take care of, right?
Except I can't. I cannot do a single thing without Him. Over and over, I have to trust God for what I cannot do and what I cannot be. That is where I find my trust is without borders. It has less to do with what I'm doing and where I am, and it has more to do with being aware of what God's doing and where He is. And where He is? Well, He's with me. Always. That's not just a lovely sentiment (although it is also that)- it's gospel truth.
God saw me crying on the beach with a crying toddler. And He saw just as clearly and cared just as much then, when we were falling to pieces from being tired and grumpy, as He does on the days we face much harder things.
That's where I'm learning my trust is without borders: when I break down the Big God Box I've put Him in and invite Him into my every moment- big and small, joyful and sad, exciting and mundane.
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