Trust. This one word has seemingly filled my head since this past Sundays' Latin Mass gospel reading. Matthew 8, 23-27. Good, experienced fisherman all, and still they were terrified. Lord, save us, we perish. We perish. Am I perishing now? I might be. All my trust is in God, but after this gospel reading and the realization of how much God is asking of us, I don't know anymore. Lord, save us. Peter, James, John, they had Jesus right there with them, teaching them, opening their eyes; we, 2,000 plus years later, centuries of examples of tremendous trust by ordinary people and Saints, and we/I still am trying to go it alone.
In my weakness, Lord, I cry out to you.
Not a voice that is heard, but a silent cry that wells up in bitterness, a bitterness in knowing that I have not done enough, have not tried hard enough to let go of this world I've vowed to let go of, to embrace Him who is asleep in the stern of my life, watching over me, and I almost ignore Him.
Why are you fearful, O ye of little faith?
I'm fearful because I've not given everything over to Him. I'm fearful that I'm fooling myself, in my so-called humbleness I'm actually just, smug. I am still tossed constantly, as soon as the next squall comes up. Will it take a million years for me to figure this out? Probably. As long as a part of me thinks above the slug-like existence that I know I am, I will not be at rest. Always filled with uneasiness, I advance through the day. Again, it is a realization that I must meet head-on, head-on, in prayer.
help me to let go
of my firm grip
on this world,
and help me
to wrench the hands
from my soul,
that slow my journey