Trying to Trust

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On Saturday I started the morning certain I would soon reap a multitude of spiritual benefits. My destination was the Mass of healing at Notre Dame de Lourdes Parish in Price. The church also is a pilgrimage site designated by Bishop Oscar A. Solis for the Jubilee Year of Hope, so I figured I’d receive healing from the Mass, and also the benefits of the plenary indulgence for the pilgrimage.

It also happened to be a First Saturday, and I’m in the midst of that devotion – Our Lady promised that those who fulfill the conditions for the Five First Saturdays Devotion will have all the graces necessary for the salvation of their soul, as well as salvation of sinners and peace in the world.

With that spiritual triple play on the horizon, I didn’t mind rising when the alarm clock rang at 5 a.m. An hour later I was on the road, listening to the “Rosary in a Year” podcast and enjoying watching the sunrise in the cloudless sky.

My serenity was disrupted about 30 minutes after I entered Provo Canyon. A red warning light appeared on my dashboard, indicating low tire pressure. Anxiety immediately overwhelmed me. I said some words I shouldn’t have, because I was a good 50 miles from any place that could fix the tire, there was no cell phone reception, and on top of that the tires aren’t even six months old, so there shouldn’t have been a problem with them in the first place.

I would like to say that after my first burst of emotion I cast all my worries upon God. After all, I quite frequently pray “Jesus, I trust in you.” Though this prayer comes from the Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska, the sentiment has its roots in the Old Testament in verses like Proverbs 3:5-6 – “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, on your own intelligence rely not; in all your ways be mindful of him, and he will make straight your paths.”

The message is repeated by several New Testament figures like Saint Peter, who in his first letter writes, “Cast all your worries upon [God] because he cares for you.”

This advice didn’t even occur to me, even when I pulled into the Notre Dame de Lourdes parking lot and a Google search  confirmed that there was a Big O Tires in town that was open that day. Instead, I got myself into the church, where I knelt and pleaded with God that whatever was wrong with the tire was going to be quick and cheap to fix.

I had barely finished this prayer before Father Arokia Dass David stood up to make his welcoming remarks, which included the suggestion that those present turn their hearts and minds over to God. His words made me uncomfortably aware that I was focusing on a minor worldly problem rather than opening myself to God’s grace.

I’d like to say that this recognition caused me to say, “Jesus, I trust in you,” and abandon my worries about the tire in favor of focusing on the message of the Mass, but for the next three hours my thoughts kept returning to questions about what was wrong and how long it would take to fix. It didn’t help that I was at the Mass on a professional level as well, which meant I needed a couple of interviews and at least one photo before I could leave.

“Jesus, I trust in you.” If this were true, I would have stayed for Adoration after Mass, then followed participants over to the veneration of relics that were part of the event, which would doubtless provide a good photo as well as opportunities for interviews.

Rather than relying on the grace of God, however, I slipped out of the church at the beginning of Adoration, leaving most of those present deep in prayer. I managed to catch a couple of people with the relics, got the quotes I needed, then jumped into my car.

It was at Big O Tires that my failure to trust Jesus was revealed in all its grubbiness. Instead of spending three hours reveling in God’s presence, I’d spent them in needless worry, because the only repair needed was air in one tire, which didn’t even have a leak.

Had I cast all my worries on God and trusted that he’d take care of me, I could have opened myself to healing, spent time in Adoration deepening my relationship with him, and enjoyed the camaraderie of my fellow Catholics by talking with them in the presence of the relics. Instead I’d rushed off, abandoning any gifts God might have granted if only I’d had the faith of my convictions.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.