Thursday, June 4, 2009


One would think that with all of my introspection and sensitivity and general desire to improve myself as a human being, I would have learned how to trust by now. Perhaps that is a foolish notion, but I have been learning to trust for a long time, repeating the same struggles and coming to the same conclusions again and again. Each time, I fail to trust--I fail to trust God most of all, and myself, my closest friends, my boyfriend, parents, and roommates. I've spoken to many people about this, and I simply do not buy the argument that my trust must have once been violated and it has scarred me for life. I can believe that this is true for some people some of the time, but I find our society's emphasis on Freudian analysis of all aspects of individual life quite tiresome. I've certainly had quite a few experiences of violated trust that have left an impact on me, but I also believe in the power of the Ressurection, and in the power of God to lift his children out of a state of perpetual distrust into a healthier, more trusting state.

That all being said, this came up because I had to take Luke to the airport this morning and say good-bye to him for nearly three months. There is a possibility that I may be able to see him once in June and/or July, but neither is gauranteed and both would cost a fair amount of money which I'm not sure I possess. Anyway, we woke up this morning in my room, despite my roommate's disconcertingly immature assumption that no "boys" should ever sleep over, ever, as if we're still on a middle school youth group trip and the boys and girls have to sleep in seperate rooms. So, to avoid the wrath of my roomies, Luke snuck out the back door and rang the doorbell in front and acted like he'd just arrived. He packed while I ran to pick up some juice (his first words in the morning are almost always "juice" or "I have to pee"), and then we were off.

The drive was quiet. I had already cried once this past weekend, a couple different times last night and this morning (only one of which Luke actually knew about), and we both knew what was coming. He kept his hand on my leg the whole time I was driving, which is one of my favorite things, and we rode in silence. We parked and unloaded the car in record time--my least favorite part of airports is how that stupid loop works, how you can't be there for more than thirty seconds before some TSA person comes over and shoos you away--and I burst into tears. The moment had come, and I cried with as much control as I could muster. Luke thanked me for being a good woman and for taking care of him, and I thanked him for being wonderful and made him promise to call me. His shirt was wet by the time we stopped hugging and kissing. Unfortunately, I had to get to work so I couldn't stay longer, but that was probably a good thing in the long run.

I need to trust for the next few months. I need to trust God to take care of both of us, to watch over us and protect our relationship through this long-distance phase, and to lift our spirits and allow this time to create an even stronger bond between us. I need to trust Luke to be faithful, to call, to take care of himself, and to come back to me refreshed. I need to trust myself to be faithful, to be the woman I know that I am and to take care of myself, and not to freak out (as is somehow ingrained in my nature). It will be okay, whatever that means, and I need to take some deep breaths and remember that life continues. Though life runs its course and we are mere blades of grass bending and flattening in the wind, God is sovereign over all.

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