Trust doesn’t always arrive in the places we expect. Sometimes, it appears like an open space, unfamiliar, uncertain, waiting. It doesn’t pull, doesn’t demand. It simply lingers, giving you the choice to step inside.
I was asked a question today. A simple one, really. “If I told you to sit on the floor, hands in your lap, eyes closed for three minutes, would you do it?” A test of trust. But simple things have a way of revealing what we don’t realize about ourselves.
At first, I thought about what it meant to answer. About how trust isn’t just about following, it’s about who is asking. Whether their voice holds the weight to quiet the world inside me. Whether they would place me somewhere and expect me to stay.
And then, something else.
“Sitting quietly and disconnected, when done in service to someone, can be a very freeing experience.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever had that kind of stillness. Not yet. But I know what it’s like to carry something for too long, to feel the weight of always being the steady one. The thought of putting it down, even for a moment, not because I decide to, but because someone else tells me to, that lingers.
“It’s almost like retreating into the safety of their arms when they can’t be with you.”
I don’t know if that’s what I’ll find when I sit tonight. Maybe it will feel like nothing. Or maybe it will feel like something I haven’t touched before.
“The more I know, the deeper I can go.”
I don’t know where this leads. But I know I’m still here, still listening. And maybe that says something.