Trust

The room was brown. A mocha sipping, chocolate dripping, warm tone of brown.

"But I want a purple room!"

My four year old and I were not seeing eye to eye. We're in the process of moving across town, and are finishing up painting so that we can then start putting stuff in, but were paused for this all-out mother vs. daughter battle of creativity. The room was brown. A handsome brown, perfect for a baby boy room, with little blue accents. Or an office with manly leather chair and sturdy wooden desk.

But it was not a girl's room at this point, and I hoped to make it one. My desire was to turn this little boy room into a doll playing, Frozen dress wearing, flowery sanctuary where my oldest daughter could have, as my kids call it, 'quiet and alone time'. {Oddly enough Mommy rarely gets that, but they request it daily when they've had it with their sibling}.

So there we were, arguing over paint colors.

"But I want purple!!"

"But Hun, I don't think they'd like us to paint it purple, besides, we only have this blue or white paint left. It'll look like Arendelle!"

"Nope. Please don't paint these pretty purple walls!" But it didn't come out as sweetly as it sounds typed. Her little hands were on her hips like Tinkerbell, with angry tears starting to spill.

Purple? She thought the walls were already purple? Yep. She did. About this time her brother came into the debate, and sided with me that the walls were brown, not purple. She denied it. Finally a thought came to me, and I chameleoned on up to the wall in my very best Pascal from Tangled impression.

"Abi, look. My shirt is purple. The wall is not. We do not match, the wall and I. Now can I please make your room beautiful and surprise you with a room that I know you'll really love to play and spend time in? See, we'll hang a flower box under that window with beautiful flowers like in Arendelle. And over here we'll hang one of Mommy's lanterns. Do you trust that I can make this a wonderful room for you?"

I poured out my nurturing side, comforting her and cuddling her around the waist while I gently tried to convince her that I knew the things she liked, the colors she liked, the style she like. I was channeling my inner Johanna Gaines and trying to explain to her that I understood what she wanted for her room and that I'd vow to do that for her.

Feeling successful, I finished with, "So do you trust me? Can you trust me that I know what you're wanting and can do that for you, even if it means painting the room blue?"

My little redhead, swift as a fox, replied a resounding, "NO. I don't trust you to do that."

Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweet child. She always has been one to be honest with her words.

"Well it needs fresh paint, and we have this icy blue and white, so I'm painting it those colors, and you're just going to need to like it."

OK, well then, now that that was done, I picked up the brushes, set up my area, shook my frustration out on the can of Morning Fog tinted paint, and set to work. While we waited for paint to dry we ran a few errands. It was hot. Our second van doesn't have working air, but it does have ample space for moving boxes across town, so we suffered through the heat by making a run through Sonic for Happy Hour to quench our thirsty and tire bodies. We ventured into the local hardware store for hooks and flower baskets. We made our way to the nearest craft store and put together a Frozen-worthy bouquet. And then we went to our new home to get back to work on making it our own. I picked up the worn roller again and set to work on the west wall, making sure to cover each area evenly, when she walked in.

"Oh, Mama! I weally wuv it!!! It's beautiful! You did a good job painting, Mama! It looks like Frozen, like Anna and Elsa live here!"

By this evening she was thoroughly excited about her new room. The new muted teals reflecting around the room and bouncing over the brightly adorned window boxes. The sun was beginning to stream through the window, and the room felt warm and inviting. Any my daughter was thrilled.

It struck me then, in that moment with my daughter, while trying to convince her that I knew what was best for her and trying to make her say she trusted me, that it paralleled my own relationship with God. How many times does He say, "Trust me," and I say OK, and then three seconds later something has stops me from trusting.  How many times do I throw my little tantrum and say, "Nope, not today. I am choosing to not trust you today because I know me better than you do!"

Oh, ooooh how foolish that is of me to think that I know myself better than the One who formed me? Who knit me? Who created this world and orchestrated creation from the depths of the sea to the highest of snowy peaks. And He loves me. And knows me.

And I simply need to trust Him. 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not your own understanding, but in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight." Proverbs 3:5-6