As a young child growing up with a single mom I had my share of hurts — the lack of security that came from not having an involved father, the feeling of not fitting in with my peers at school, the frequent moves that made me an everlasting outsider.

In many ways, this early rejection opened my hurting heart to Jesus, who I first heard about in first grade. Here was the father figure I’d never had, one who was loving and gentle and kind. One I could trust.

Through my relationship with Christ, involvement in church, and my mom’s own pursuit of Christianity, I came to know and trust God. I believed that he was actively involved in the world, had a purpose for my life, and that he was — and is — all powerful and supremely good. As a result, I gave my life to following him.

What I didn’t know was that God’s purposes are often different from mine and that his power and love often reveal themselves in ways I can’t wholly understand.

“‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts,’” God says in Isaiah 55:9. “‘Nor are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher you’re your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’”

Trusting God involves a full surrender of the soul, will, mind. More than trusting God when it suits me, I am called to trust unconditionally. It is not about God serving me, but about me serving God.

Accepting this is fundamental if I am to continue trusting God when life deviates from my plan. God’s purposes are greater than I can comprehend. To continue trusting, particularly in the midst of suffering, I must look up and acknowledge who is God.

What does this type of trust look like? Last July, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, it was “camp meeting week” at the historic Methodist housing association where she lived. Mom was too tired to attend, but I walked down the gravel path from my mom’s cottage to the outdoor pavilion where it took place and sat on a back bench. In that moment I had a choice. I could either look at my mom’s diagnosis and despair, or I could look to God.

As a local music team took the stage, I opened my mouth and raised my hands. This act of worship — this drawing near to God — lightened the burden of my suffering as I openly declared my trust that God was still all powerful, still supremely good, and still had a plan for my mom’s life and mine.

At some point each of us will face a grim diagnosis. But in choosing to look to God, I knew that we were not alone in it. Do I wish that God had miraculously healed my mother? Absolutely. But even though he didn’t, when my mom took her final breath, God graciously allowed me to be with her, and I was comforted by knowing that she was with him.

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Meadow Rue Merrill is a Mid-coast Maine writer who shares about God in her everyday life through “Faith Notes.” For more, go to www.meadowrue.com where you can follow her on Twitter or Facebook.