Trusting God When I Don’t Understand — Vaneetha Risner
I want to trust God, but the truth is, I often trust myself more.
I’m realizing that I often trust what I see, what I think I know, and what my instincts are telling me more than I trust God.
This realization has taken me aback. It’s not how I think of myself. I read the Bible. I pray. I know what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. But I realize how quickly that confidence begins to falter when life feels uncertain.
In those moments, what I want most is understanding. I want to know what God is doing, why he is allowing something hard, and how it will turn out. I want enough clarity to make sense of what is happening before I can rest in him. What I often call trust is really just confidence when life makes sense to me.
But trust does not require understanding. In fact, trust begins where understanding ends.
Proverbs 3:5 tells us: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” We are not only to trust in the Lord with all our hearts, but also not to lean on our own understanding. Those commands are connected. We cannot fully do one while clinging to the other.
I think I understand far more than I do. I see one part of what God is doing and assume I know what the whole picture will look like. I see one painful circumstance, one disappointment, one fear realized, and begin drawing conclusions about what God is doing and where the story is headed.
But one moment cannot reveal the whole story.
Leviticus gives such a striking image of what happens when fear overtakes us. Speaking of Israel, God says, “The sound of a driven leaf shall put them to flight, and they shall flee as one flees from the sword, and they shall fall when none pursues” (Lev. 26:36).
At the sound of a leaf, they run as if an army is chasing them.
That is what fear does. It distorts reality. It magnifies what we perceive and convinces us danger is certain before danger has even arrived. We begin responding not to what is true, but to what we imagine may be true. We take one possibility and build an entire future around it.
How often do we take one hard circumstance and assume we know what it means? One painful diagnosis, one broken relationship, one disappointing turn, and suddenly we’re making assumptions about what the future looks like.
I’ve done that countless times only to discover later that my predictions were wrong. I thought I understood what God was doing, but I saw only a fraction of the picture.
I think of the disciples on Holy Saturday, the day between the crucifixion and the resurrection. We often rush from Good Friday to Easter morning, but they had to live through that long Saturday. They sat in the silence and confusion of it all.
Jesus was dead, crucified before their eyes. Their dreams were shattered.
They could not see that God was accomplishing his greatest work in what looked like the greatest tragedy. That truth was still hidden from them, so they were left waiting in the dark.
So much of our lives are lived there—in that in-between place.
We live in the space between devastation and redemption, trying not to draw conclusions from what we cannot yet understand.
And that is where trust becomes difficult. Because if I am honest, I do not simply struggle to trust because I lack understanding. Sometimes I struggle to trust because part of me dreads what trusting God may require.
Sometimes trusting God feels like inviting more pain. I know it will be for my ultimate good, but the process can be harrowing. I’m saying, “I trust you, Lord,” while quietly wondering what trial he may allow next.
That is not the kind of trust I want to have.
I do not want to trust God merely because I know I should. I do not want to obey him while inwardly bracing for disappointment. I want trust in God to fill me with peace, not tension. Rest, not dread.
That kind of trust only grows when we truly believe that God loves us. Not just in theory. Not as a theological statement we affirm. But deep in our hearts, where fear and anxiety live. We need to believe what Romans 8 tells us—that if God is for us, who can be against us? That nothing can separate us from his love. Not suffering. Not hardship. Not even the dark things we fear most.
Do I really believe that is true?
Do I really believe that God is good and sovereign?
Do I really believe that whatever comes into my life has passed through his loving hands?
Because if I believe that, then I can trust him even when I do not understand.
I can trust that the hard thing in front of me is not proof that God has abandoned me. I can trust that the dark piece of the puzzle I am holding does not mean the whole picture is dark. I can trust that what feels senseless now may someday reveal a beauty I cannot yet imagine.
So perhaps when life feels confusing, the question is not, “Can I figure out what God is doing?” but rather, “Can I trust the heart of the God who knows?”
I want to be someone who won’t flee at the sound of a leaf, panic when life feels uncertain, or trust myself more than I trust God. I want to trust that when I cannot see beyond the darkness of Holy Saturday, I can rest knowing Sunday is coming.
So perhaps the invitation of faith is not to figure everything out before we rest.
Perhaps it is simply to say:
Lord, I do not understand what you are doing. I want to trust you. Help me not to flee at the sound of a leaf, but to rest in your tender care.
