In the journey of faith, few questions cut to the heart as deeply as the simple yet profound “Do you trust me?” It’s a question that echoes through scripture, resonates in quiet moments of prayer, and challenges us in seasons of uncertainty. As a recovering control freak myself, I’ve found this question to be both confronting and transformative.
The Geography of Trust
Trust often develops differently depending on our surroundings and experiences. Growing up in Nairobi, Kenya, I witnessed extreme wealth disparity firsthand. From our middle-class balcony, I could see the tin roofs of East Africa’s largest slum just 500 feet away—yet I never ventured there, held back by fear and stories I’d been told.
It wasn’t until my twenties, while working with my church’s microfinance program, that I finally entered that slum. The experience shattered something in me. I met a woman whose entire home was smaller than my bedroom, who needed just $5 for rent—an amount I wouldn’t think twice about spending on coffee. This was her reality, separated from mine by mere footsteps.
When you grow up middle class in such settings, you’re socialized to develop apathy as a survival mechanism. The overwhelming need around you forces a disconnect between what you hear at church—about being God’s hands and feet—and your daily practice of saying “si leo” (not today) to those asking for help
The Stories We Believe
What I discovered through this journey was that much of Kenya’s struggle wasn’t actually about resource scarcity. It was about the stories we believed. Kenya was 80% Christian yet 90% corrupt—a mathematical contradiction that reveals how deeply we can compartmentalize our faith from our actions.
When I researched our national budget, I discovered we weren’t poor at all. What we lost to corruption annually was enough to build 10 major freeways, dig 320 million boreholes, or fund medication for malaria, HIV, and tuberculosis combined for an entire decade.
We weren’t poor. We were living in a story where we believed we were poor, which justified a “grab what you can for yourself” mentality.
Two Masters, One Choice
Jesus addresses this tension directly in Matthew 6, saying: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
It’s a fundamental truth about human nature—our hearts follow our investments. If I’ve invested in a stock, I track its movements. When it rises, my heart lifts; when it falls, my spirit sinks. Similarly, when I invest in God’s work around the world, my heart becomes connected to those places and people.
Jesus continues with a stark warning: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.”
Money has the subtle potential to become an idol. Nobody wakes up thinking, “I’m going to worship money today.” It’s a gradual drift. We slowly find our identity, security, and value tied to our financial status, all while our culture affirms this narrative as normal.
A Pattern Through Scripture
This struggle to trust God with everything isn’t new. From the beginning, humanity has wrestled with trust.
In Genesis, God created a lavish Eden with abundant provision, restricting just one tree. The serpent’s first question? “Did God really say…?” casting doubt on God’s trustworthiness. Eve and Adam fell for it, beginning a cycle of distrust that continues today.
The Israelites experienced God’s power firsthand as He delivered them from Egyptian slavery. After witnessing miracle after miracle, God established a covenant with them, saying: “You have seen for yourselves that I have spoken to you from heaven… do not make any gods to be alongside me… gods of silver or gods of gold.”
Yet the moment Moses spent extended time with God on the mountain, the people grew impatient. They took their gold jewelry—the very provisions God had miraculously given them through the Egyptians—and fashioned a golden calf to worship. The absurdity of trading the living God for a statue of a grass-eating animal reveals how quickly our hearts can turn.
Later, as they approached the Promised Land, twelve spies returned with reports of a land flowing with milk and honey. Ten focused on the giants and dangers, spreading fear among the people. Only Joshua and Caleb kept their eyes on God’s promise rather than the obstacles, declaring “we can certainly do it!” The fearful majority chose to believe the worst, even suggesting they return to slavery in Egypt rather than trust God with their future.
In each instance, God pursued His people with the same question: “Do you trust me?” And repeatedly, humans answered, “No.”
The Treasure of Trust
Our hearts are indeed prone to wander, but God’s heart is eternally prone to chase.
When we live in the story that we must grab and store up earthly treasures, we approach life very differently than when we live in the story that God has and is everything we need. The story we choose to believe determines whether we’re ruled by fear and scarcity or freedom and generosity.
I believe we’re living in an extraordinary time. Reports of revival are spreading across college campuses. Young people are running to Jesus in unprecedented numbers. Our church has witnessed countless baptisms as a new generation hungers for God.
In prayer recently, I received a striking image: God dressed for work, holding a clipboard, with projects He wanted me to participate in—but I was distracted, looking elsewhere. It broke my heart. I don’t want anything to compete for my attention. I want to be all in for what God wants me to do, pouring my whole life into building His kingdom.
The Question That Remains
So the question remains, hanging in the air between us and God: “Do you trust me?”
When we truly examine our financial decisions, time allocation, and heart attachments, what answer do our lives give? Are we fully trusting God with our future, our provision, our security? Or are we hedging our bets, keeping one foot in the world’s system just in case?
The invitation to trust isn’t a one-time decision but a daily surrender. It’s looking at the giants in the Promised Land and seeing them in relation to our God, not ourselves. It’s choosing to believe that God’s provision is enough, even when culture screams otherwise.
Through tears, may we find the courage to answer, “Yes, Lord, I trust you.” Not because trust comes easily, but because the One who asks is trustworthy. Not because we’ll never struggle with control again, but because we recognize that true freedom comes in surrender.
When God asks, “Do you trust me?” may our lives increasingly reflect the answer He longs to hear. For in that trust—complete, wholehearted, and all-in—we discover not just a different way of handling our resources, but a different way of being human.
In a world obsessed with accumulation and security, may we be people who demonstrate an alternative story—one where God alone is God, where His provision is sufficient, and where our lives are poured out in building something eternal rather than temporary.
Because what God is doing in our world right now is truly epic, and I don’t want any of us to miss it because we couldn’t fully answer the question: “Do you trust me?”
Check out our website for more information. We always welcome new friends to worship with us. Find a location that’s close to you!
You can learn more about our beliefs and visit our video library to explore more topics like this one. You can also check out our events page to find out what fun new things we’re doing this season.
