A Life-Lesson on Trust: To be trusted you have to be willing to trust

My kids and I tried to rescue some stray kittens hiding behind the bushes near the Arctic Circle. Catch them so we could help them. That's all we wanted to do. Sadly, even opened cans of cat food failed to lure the kittens to a quick capture and rescue. Time and time again, these darling fur balls would timidly creep out from behind the bushes, swallow a chunk of cat food, and, before we could snatch them up, they would dart behind the thick bushes hopelessly out of sight. After an hour of trying, we left empty handed feeling horribly defeated because those kittens would remain orphans. All because they didn't trust us.


Trust is a tricky thing. One definition I found says: "Trust means making an exchange with someone when you do not have full knowledge about them, their intent and things they are offering to you." Think about it. God sends a baby to a twenty-something mom and dad who have never been parents, who know nothing about late night feedings, 102 degree fevers, and sharp corners on coffee tables. Now that's trust. Talk to me about trust in two years, when my daughter asks me to take the car for the first time all by herself. Yikes!


Ten years ago, when I showed up to teach my first class at a substance abuse treatment center, I learned how important trust was. I knew nothing, absolutely nothing about addiction. Just like those timid kittens, the women in my first class didn't trust me. They had no reason to. If they could have, they would have run behind the bushes. Instead of cans of cat food, I could have lured them in with Hershey bars. But that wouldn't have lasted long. With my son on my hip and my two little girls following close behind me, I entered the room. Forty pair of eyes can make a girl feel intimated. And I was.


"Hi, ladies. My name is, Jodi. How is everyone today?" Then without thinking I handed off my 6 month-old son to a woman sitting to my left.


"Hold him just a moment would ya? I need to get my notes." I shuffled through my diaper bag and found what I needed to start my class.


Looking back I'm sure a few of those women were thinking, "Who is this chick with her craft buckets and kids in color coordinated outfits?"


Throughout my class, I glanced at the young twenty-something woman bouncing my baby boy up and down on her lap. She did a fine job of keeping him occupied. At some point, I asked her if she had kids. She gave a longing look. Come to find out she didn't have custody of her son. He lived with his grandparents. She missed him.


"Oh, I'm sorry." Pause. "I hope you'll see him soon."


I'd never met this woman before but I wanted to hug her, console her and tell her to be strong. I couldn't imagine not being with my baby. It was after I'd been teaching at House of Hope for a few weeks that I realized what a welcome site my kids were to many of the women in treatment. Some had lost custody of their children permanently. Others were waiting to regain custody. Some women had scheduled supervised visits on weekends. These women missed their kids and being with my children consoled their aching arms.

That was ten years ago. Last month, I sat at the House of Hope Alumni Tea, an honorary celebration for women still in recovery. Wendy, a woman who graduated from treatment nine years previous sat at my table. We talked about that first class. And you know what she said?


"You know how I knew you were the real thing, Jodi? When you let me hold your son."
I had forgotten. Tears welled up in my eyes. Wendy was the girl with the dark streaks in her golden blonde hair who bounced my son up and down on her lap in my first class. It was one of those flash moments, when you get it. Really get it. It was all about trust and someone had to go first. And that someone was me.


Over the last ten years, all four of my kids have been hugged, high-fived, and patted on the back by hundreds of women fighting for their sobriety. They have allowed me and my family to be a small part of their lives during their stay at House of Hope. And it has been life-changing.


It's been almost a decade since Wendy and I decided to trust each other. And today, we have a beautiful friendship. Our children have attended the same school for the past five years. We've been on a fieldtrip together, sat next to each other at the Christmas concerts, and ate lunch together. Wendy's even taught classes with me at House of Hope. She's a successful business woman and a loving mother to her two sons. And she's sober. Her life is good. Wendy is one of my heroes.

So back to that definition of trust. "Trust means making an exchange with someone when you do not have full knowledge about them, their intent and things they are offering to you." When I handed my son to Wendy, I showed her I could be trusted to love, not judge. Silly me, I thought that gaining trust was going to come from something marvelously inspiring I had to say. Turns out that it wasn't what I said that was important. It was what I did. If you want to be trusted, you have to show what that looks like. We don't always do it the right way the first time. Sometimes it takes a few do-overs. But being trustworthy is worth any amount of do-overs.


As for the kittens, well, I'm looking for resources on-line for teaching felines how to trust. I just can't stop thinking about how hungry and thirsty they are. I hate to leave those little fur balls out in the cold when I know they need some love and tender care.


Matthew 25:26 "Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me."

House of Hope women, you are my heroes. You're my teachers. You're my inspiration. I never knew the fullness of God's power until I met a drug addict and saw the miracles in the lives of the women who live to have hope! Ladies, thanks for trusting me with who you are and allowing me to believe in who you can become.