Anyone who has spent any time with children knows that children tend to believe whatever we say to them, regardless of whether it is true or not.  Believing us to be an impeachable source of knowledge and truth, they accept unquestioningly what we say to them.  They trust us implicitly.
     Adults are different.  We tend to be far more skeptical of what we hear or see.  Yet in terms of spirituality, we are really no different from children.  Adults though we may be, we, like children, must learn to "trust" if we hope to understand the fullness of spirituality is about.  We may have a very good grasp of how the natural world works, but our finitude prevents us from developing an equally good grasp of how the supernatural works.  Try as we might, we will never know it fully.  We must rely on faith.
     And faith involves trust, a trust in things and entities bigger than we understand and see.  So did Jesus remark, “Unless you are converted and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3).  Jesus was saying that when it comes to genuine spiritual insight, that is, conversion which, as he saw it, is full-hearted trust in and embrace of himself as God’s son and savior of humanity, we must, like children, trust, unquestioningly, the essence of how God defines it—because we do not know what will happen once we say yes.
     In his Spiritual Life of Children, author Robert Coles tells how a young Jewish girl who, as she lay dying from leukemia, continued to recite Psalm 62, “Hear my cry, O God, attend to my prayer.  From the end of the earth I cry to you; when my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”  Although this girl was old enough to know that she could reject trust in God as a viable means of comfort and solace, she endured, steadfastly reciting and believing in the psalm.  In the darkness of her illness, she trusted implicitly in God.  Though she couldn’t see God, though she couldn’t hear him, though she had no physical evidence that he was there, she, like the child whom all of us must be if we are to really commune with God, trusted in him unquestioningly.  She wasn’t afraid of faith.
     Nor should we be afraid, either.  God is infinite, we are finite.  God is omniscient, we are not.  And God is always love:  we can trust him implicitly.  We can trust him to show us, fully, the path to who we are meant to be, a person in abiding moral relationship with her creator.
     We can always trust God with what we cannot see.