Trust Factor

I have been doing some deep pondering lately about the idea of trust. Animals, by nature, are designed for distrust. They have sensors which allow them to always be prepared to fight or flee - they are wary that anyone, or anything, could be a predator. Some animals can't even trust their mates. Take, for instance, the praying mantis - imagine the male praying mantis spending his wedding night with his wife, they, in delirious joy consummate their marriage. He wakes up in the middle of the night and she is devouring his leg. He should have seen that coming. He should have put out a midnight snack for her. Alas, he just becomes part of the big circle of life.



Or what about certain crocodiles. The mother crocodile lays all the eggs, protects them from danger, watches them crack open and out spew the little crocodiles. Imagine her frustration when her mate comes round the corner whistling, "Boy, am I hungry," and grabs a few of his children for breakfast. Brutal. Animals are brutal. In a survival of the fittest world, most animals will go to extreme efforts to stay alive even if it means devouring the related competition.



There are certain animals that I don't trust. Take spiders, for example. The exterior of a spider is unappealing, for sure. Fangs, prickly legs, some of them even have the appearance of hair. Their fat, little bodies promise hidden grossness if they remain too long near me. Egg sacks hanging from the ceiling; spider webs drifting across my face as I go out to get the mail. Ugh. Some people would call my arachnaphobic lack of trust for spiders as irrational, but I find that almost all of my fears have a rational episode in my past for my lack of trust.



When I was ten years old, my family and I went camping with my grandparents. We had a glorious time running around in the outdoors; the trees smelled like dirty suitcases. The grass felt like a bed of scratchy softness. The air whisked through my hair as I ran, stumbling to play catch with my uncle and my siblings. It was so nice to get down and dirty.



At night, my parents told me to go to the bathhouse to take a shower. I grabbed my gear and gingerly crossed the gravel road in barefeet, the rocks seeming to poke holes in my soles. The cicadas were serenading me to the showers and I took my time - whistling, sometimes singing - looking around to see if there were any young ladies, you know how it is. I opened the swinging door, screeching, it slammed shut behind me. The showerhouse didn't have any lighting except the natural stuff that God creates. I showered, basically in the dark. Taking my time, I washed the grunge off the day and prepared to add more the next.



After the shower, I dried off and headed to the mirror to make sure that I had the part of my hair directly down the middle 80's style. Just as I was about to finish, I noticed something in my hair begin to move. Then, like a horror movie, I noticed that it was a daddy-long-legs spider dripping its way down my hair and then...then...it's... first...leg...hit...my...cheek...bone. I was revolted but I couldn't move a muscle - there this thing was taking its merry time going for a walk about my face.



The next thing that I realized was that my mouth was open and that I was screaming like a young lady. From that moment, I have learned not to trust any spiders and specifically those that want to use my face as a racetrack.



Our past informs our level of trust for things. I have a friend who was bitten by a dog when she was younger. Now she cannot even come near them. Another friend fell off a ladder; he cannot even stand near ladders now. Someone else I know saw the airplanes flying into the Twin Towers - she cannot even think about flying in an airplane.



Our lack of trust is not limited to animals or inanimate objects. Often, there are moments when we have been hurt emotionally, physically or spiritually by those closest to us. Whether intentionally or accidentally, our psyches and souls remember and carry scars and we are wary of repeating those incidents as coming close to a pot of boiling water. So I ask the question, "Why do humans trust at all?" If we are so prone to hurting each other, if we carry within us the ability and predisposition to harm others, why do we open ourselves to vulnerability?



That is the question I have been wrestling with lately. Someone once told me I had to earn their trust - they weren't just going to give it to me because someone else told them that I was trustworthy. So, I have taken that to mean that trust is somewhat of a commodity - something that is given away. Trust can be hoarded, kept to yourself. But what are the benefits of trusting someone else? Well, you are invited to write to me and let me know if I am way off base, but I view the benefits of trusting others are that four sets of eyes are better than two. When we trust others, we are trusting that they are looking out for our interests as well as their own. When we trust, we are allowing the other person to stand at our back and take care of us without fear of being stabbed. When we trust, we open up that box inside of us that allows others to become part of our being.



God created us to be in community. It is very difficult to be in community without trusting at least some of our fellow human beings. Without trust, we are individuals in a divided world. Without trust, our hearts begin to grow a hardened shell around them and some spark of life cannot light the fire - the ache to be special to, and protected by, someone else.



It is a hard thing, to trust. I invite you to pray about those whom you trust and those whom you mistrust this week and think again about the episodes in the past that don't allow us to trust and which create the hardened shell around our hearts.