I the Lord do not change. Malachi 3:6

I must preface this by saying I’m not typically a blind date kind-of-gal. In fact, I’m really not the dating-kind-of-gal, but a situation came up lately where I trusted the set-up personnel and figured anyone could stand as interesting for a couple hours. So I spoke to the guy beforehand and we planned to meet at a local coffee shop. We narrowed our means of recognition to a physical description, me being 5’5 with red hair and him being six feet and brunette. I arrived on-time and was relieved to find this description waiting outside, so surprisingly confident, stuck out my hand and said,

“You must be Jon.”

He smiled broadly and with a somehow encouraging tone of spilled pity replied,

“Ummm, no, I’m actually not. I guess you’re on a blind date?”

Clearly embarrassed, I nodded and sheepishly explained the situation. We laughed about it and I ended up stepping inside to find another six foot, brunette guy, who happened to be my real blind date. It made for a natural icebreaker, I guess, and we ended up enjoying a fine evening together. The point I’m going for here, however, has far less to do with my blind date, and more to do with our blind faith as Christians. This date experience for me entailed putting my faith in a lot of things, one of which was a physical description. I was banking on the imaged expectation of a six foot, brown haired guy. The problem was, this image was highly relative and clearly susceptible to change.

Bottom line—we put faith in a lot of things. Sometimes they’re obvious, and maybe even necessary outlets, such as money, jobs, or people, while other times they’re more vaguely placed in images, dreams and even expectations. And granted, I was speaking above of a blind date, verses a blind faith, or placing of my hope in something unseen, but I still can’t get around the similarities. I still can’t get around the majority of my life being blindly placed, or trusting in relative and changing means.

Everything on this earth is up for change. Therefore, everything I trust has the potential to alter, fade, or even fail. I trust my car—it can die. I trust my friends—they will fail me. I trust myself—I often times fail me. The lesson doesn’t seem to be one of ceasing to trust altogether, but does lend itself toward an awareness of what we’re trusting. And just as important, what we’re not trusting. When all is said and done, I want my trust to fall on something that lasts—on someone who is unchanging. As I journey through the blind dates of life, I’m increasingly convinced that this lasting find is Jesus Christ. Alone.