Ruthless Trust

Sometime after Mike's funeral, someone put a book into my hand. The book was Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning.

Although I did not get past chapter one, (I was unable to concentrate long enough to read much at all and I am pretty sure I have a different spiritual leaning than the author), the title spoke to me. It still speaks to me, almost nine years later when life happens differently than I think it should.

I carried this book with me for a good six months way back then because I needed the reminder of the title.

I needed to be reminded to trust. To trust ruthlessly.

Webster defines ruthless as 'without compassion.'

Trust without compassion. Trust without thought. Trust on autopilot. Trust, no matter what. Trust, no matter how you feel. Trust, whether you are crying or not. Trust absolutely.

What is it that I had to trust? I had to trust that I would eventually feel better. I had to trust that I would be OK financially. I had to trust that I would learn how to be a good single parent. I had to trust that I would heal, that Anneke would heal and that one day, far into the future perhaps, I would wake up again, happy to be alive.

Ruthless Trust meant that I had to trust, even though I felt worse than I had ever felt before. It was not easy to trust but the reward was hope. And I sure needed hope.

A few weeks ago, when I was flat on my back with a disc injury I was very, very scared. I was afraid that I would be there forever, on my back, and really afraid that I would be unable to be the kind of parent who shops for groceries, transports to voice lessons, cooks meals, or vacuums. Ruthless trust again became meaningful.

Trusting absolutely is helping me get back on my feet, literally. Trusting absolutely allows me to breathe deeply and experiment, slowly and gingerly with physical therapy and walking. This morning I walked a mile. I was amazed and very happy.

I swear that making a clear decision to trust ruthlessly changes my body chemistry. When I decide to trust I seem to quiet down enough so that healing can happen. I become less afraid. And that is a good thing.

In Gratitude, Mie Elmhirst Widows Breathe Coaching