Being in the Elevator

     This morning, as on many others, I stepped into the elevator and pressed a button for the floor I wanted. The elevator moved, which is nothing unusual--in fact, I prefer it that way. I was rather surprised when it went down instead of up, and I looked a little foolish to the man who got in on the subbasement level while I was trying to figure out where I was. In the end, however, I figured it out and started up again.
     It occurred to me while I was hanging in a metal box suspended by, I assume, cables and tracks, how much faith I have in ordinary things. Faith is, by definition, being certain of what we don't see. When I'm inside the elevator, I can't see the cables that are holding it up. I can't even see the floors passing. If it weren't for the delightful red display of numbers ticking steadily up (or down) I would have no idea where I was at any given point. And yet, I never doubt that I'm going to get where I need to be...in an elevator.
     An elevator, I feel the need to point out, is a machine. It doesn't think. It doesn't feel, and it certainly isn't infallible. The elevator doesn't care if I get out on the right floor, and if a cable were to snap, the elevator would not save me from a fall. So why then do I continue to take my life in my hands and climb into an elevator rather than taking the stairs. Faith. Well, that and the fact that eight flights of stairs are rather too daunting a task for me. But the elevator, despite all that could go wrong, has never let me down. I've never been in an elevator that fell. I've never been stuck, although I think I remember one opening a little off between floors. Obviously, it wasn't enough to make a truly lasting impression.
     So it comes to this. If I have that sort of faith in a machine without even thinking simply because I've never had one break on me, then why, oh, why is so difficult for me to trust God so completely? Why do I hem and haw and hesitate as if he's leading me somewhere I don't want to go? Why do I struggle and fight when I could be relaxing and being glad that I don't have to go through all those steps myself?
     Rather than just stepping in each morning and letting him take me were I need to go, I try to be helpful. I try to press buttons and flip switches, and I panic at every creak and jolt because I can't see what's happening and I'm in no way in control.
     This week, I'm going to remind myself every time I step into an elevator that God knows where I'm going, he knows how he's going to get me there, and he isn't going to let me fall.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1