The Posture of Trust

There are moments in life when strength fades quietly.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that you feel it slipping—
your footing unsure,
your thoughts too heavy,
your heart overwhelmed by things you cannot control.
In those moments, I do not stand tall in confidence.
I do not speak bold declarations.
I do not have answers that quiet the storm.
I become small.
Like a child who has lost their way,
I run to Him—tearful, sobbing in desperation.
I grab hold of His legs,
bury my face in His garment,
and I hold on tight.
There are times when I feel like I’m losing my grip,
my strength fails me.
But He is faithful and steady.
Because sometimes trust does not look like peace—
it looks like refusal to let go.
No polished prayers.
No rehearsed faith.
Just clinging.
I do not understand the timing of life.
I do not know when things will end
or how everything will unfold.
But I know this:
The One I am holding onto
is certain.
The One I cling to
is not shaken by what shakes me.
And so I stay there—
wrapped around Him,
grounded not by answers,
but by His presence.
There is a quiet safety in that place.
Not because everything around me is resolved,
but because I am no longer trying to hold everything together.
I am being held.
So how do I know if I trust Him?
Not by how strong I feel.
Not by how calm my thoughts are.
But by this:
When everything in me wants to run,
do I still reach for Him?
When I don’t understand,
do I still stay?
When fear speaks loudly,
do I still hold on?
If my answer is yes—
even weakly,
even desperately—
Then I am trusting Him.