By Katie Logsdon

This past week, God used a minor scare involving the little “soldier” molecules in our bodies called antibodies to teach me about trusting in Him. As a soon-to-be physician assistant student, I had to get bloodwork to ensure that I had a high enough antibody count to protect me against certain diseases regularly seen in healthcare settings. Without a high enough antibody count, I would not be able to start my program, a milestone I had been dreaming about and working toward for years.

I received my bloodwork, and I had reason to believe that my antibody count would not come back high enough, which would mean I wouldn’t have time to fix the problem before school started. I would be forced to revoke my acceptance and try again next year, a thought that sent my stomach swirling and brought tears to the corners of my eyes.

During the waiting time before receiving the test results, I went to a worship night at my church where God met me right where I was and taught me crucial truths. I started thinking through the worst-case scenario – not going to PA school. As I sang along with the band, I kept thinking:

God, I give this to You. I trust in You. It’s okay if I don’t go to school. I’m sure they’d take me back at my job I just quit. I still have all my friends here. Maybe not having to study 24/7 for another year would be fun. I could travel. Yes, this is okay. God, I trust You.

As I patted myself on the back for acting out the cliché every person in church has heard – some version of, “Trust God with your worries,” – I realized the crucial flaws in my thinking. While my tongue said, “I trust You, Lord,” my comfort came from my circumstances and options, not from God Himself.  

The Bible says over and over to trust in the Lord (Joshua 1:9, Psalm 31:14, Proverbs 3:5), but I must ask myself what I am really trusting in. To trust means to have a “firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something.” But how can I firmly believe in things that are not firm? How can I place my trust in a job that could disappear with a turn of the economy or friends who could leave with the opportunity of a dream job elsewhere?

When the widow in Mark 12:41-43 gave everything she owned as an act of worship, she demonstrated trust in her conviction to give rather than comfort in her few possessions. As I saw my dream, my non-material “everything,” hanging on a ledge, I knew that to truly give this worry to God, I had to trust that God is good not because of His gifts, but rather because of His promise to adopt us as His children (Romans 8:15).