Especially the Pain

Trust is strange and fragile. We crave it from others (often expecting it freely and readily), yet
we hesitate to offer it ourselves. And when we do, we may withdraw it in an instant, sometimes
over the smallest real or perceived slight.

Trust is the scaffolding of love. It holds love together, surrounds it, and gives it shape. It is what allows us to let people in. It is why our hearts break and break again. It is why betrayal cuts so deep. Trust grants others access to our unguarded selves, and when that access is shaken, the emotions that follow like anger, grief, and numbness are proof of its power.

To trust intentionally and without certainty is, perhaps, the purest form of trust. If we only trust when precedent assures us of an outcome, is it truly trust? Or is it simply an exercise in
probability, a reliance on past behavior to predict future safety? Certainty removes the risk. But real trust, trust in people, in a process, in an unfolding future requires stepping into the
unknown without guarantees. Again. And again. And again.

UU Minister Forrest Church wrote:
Whenever we give our hearts in love, the burden of our vulnerability grows. We risk being rebuffed or embarrassed or inadequate. Beyond these things, we risk the enormous pain of loss. When those we love die, a part of us dies with them. When those we love are sick, in body or spirit, we too feel the pain. All of this is worth it. Especially the pain. If we insulate our hearts from suffering, we shall only subdue the very thing that makes life worth living. We cannot protect ourselves from loss. We can only protect ourselves from the death of love, we are left only with the aching hollow of regret, that haunting emptiness where love might have been.

Trust is always a risk, always an opening. It invites both the possibility of connection and the
certainty of loss. And yet, as Church reminds us, it is worth it. “Especially the pain,” he
emphasizes. Without trust, without love, without the willingness to risk ourselves, we may
shield ourselves from hurt, but at what cost? To refuse trust is to refuse life itself.
What does it mean to trust without blind faith? Maybe it means trusting while remaining
awake. Trusting while holding space for uncertainty. Trusting while knowing that not every step forward is secure, yet choosing to move forward anyway. I don’t want to be so cynical as to say, trust but verify. But, if we spend our days verifying, double-checking, waiting for assurances before we leap, have we ever really trusted at all?

-Ryan Peterson