Welcome to a brand-new year. We’re two weeks into it (as of this writing), and all seems to be going according to Hoyle by my metrics: Snow on the ground, ice on the side roads, a wind chill or two that has reached subzero.
Much as I hate the cold of the Land of Real Cheese and Butter, I have to admit that I appreciate a weather pattern on which I can rely.
A little sacred tradition keeps me grounded.
I trust Wisconsin in January to be an ice bowl, and by golly, it rarely disappoints. 
Trust.
Why is trust such a difficult thing?
Trusting in people with success seems to me an obvious crapshoot: Some will be worthy of it and others will not.
Repeated rolls of the dice might not even improve the odds, as those who show their unworthiness once can often be repeat offenders.
I suppose that’s one of the reasons “turning the other cheek” can be so tough to master; yet, we’re called to it.
Difficulty trusting in very imperfect human beings (like ourselves) is rather easy to understand.
But what about God — the source and summit of all that is good . . . the Creator who willed us into existence . . . who sustains us every day? Why do we sometimes find it difficult to truly trust in God?
I’m not talking about trusting Him in those custard pie moments of life — you know, when most everything is humming along like clockwork. (Question: Does that actually happen? I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced it, but a girl can dream, and sometimes it’s useful to ponder the hypothetical).
I’m talking about the cowpie moments of life — when mustering up that trust becomes a tall task.
Twinges of doubt do seem logical to the mortal mind when we’re facing adversity.
Who among us hasn’t uttered an exasperated skyward cry in times of great difficulty or tragedy?
I’m convinced that He does truly understand this human weakness, but the older I get, the more I feel He’s also truly disappointed by it.
Now I can hear it coming, so before you go firing off letters to the editor about “that self-righteous Shards of My Soul woman,” let the record show that I did not come up with that little nugget all on my own.
You can blame Fr. Mike Schmitz for this revelation — LOL.
I’ve taken up his Bible in a Year podcast for a second time, and I guess it’s true that you get something new out of it with every trip around the calendar.
His commentary on the Genesis chapter on The Fall (January 2 episode) is compelling.
It contains too many rich insights for me to adequately summarize here, so I invite you to find 22 minutes and listen to it for yourself.
What I will share is his take that Satan didn’t tempt Eve by overtly challenging God’s existence or His authority regarding that famous tree, but rather by challenging His trustworthiness — planting the seed of doubt in her mind as to whether or not she could believe what He said: WOULD she really die if she ate of its fruit?
Hmm . . . it seemed so appealing.
He then suggests that the tone of God’s “Who told you that you were naked?” may very well have been a heartbroken one — one of an ever-good, ever-loving Father who is crushed by this disobedience of His first “Image-and-Likeness Creations”; they would have to take a course other than that of His original vision.
Lastly, their necessary choice wasn’t simply to believe in Him, but rather to belong to Him . . . to trust in His perfect love and plan for them even when they didn’t always understand the rules. They were called to that level of surrender . . . and so are we.
It’s not always easy. I think it circles back to our tendency to want the Creator to be the Perfect Vending Machine — dispensing life in only our favorite flavors.
If it’s any consolation, be assured that I was perhaps the champion of doubters for a great part of my life. Cynic was my middle name.
If James Brown truly was the “Godfather of Soul,” then I was probably the Godmother of Doubt. (“I feel good . . . daduh daduh daduh dah . . . I knew that I would . . . daduh daduh daduh dah . . . ”).
Sorry — couldn’t resist a little musical digression. 
Part of me didn’t want to look like a fool if I held hope for a given situation, and then had that hope dashed, so I kept a cynical edge.
When I finally willed to reject the doubt and try hope, this surfaced from the depths of my brain: Look like a fool to WHOM?
Exactly who else was privy to my thoughts except me and the Almighty? Ditching that felt very good.
I also clutched onto worry and pessimism as if they were some sort of insect repellant: This POTENTIALLY devastating event is GOING to happen UNLESS I stew over it incessantly.
Twisted, I know, but after roughly 50 years I finally realized that worry never once stopped trial from reaching my door. I left that modus operandi in the dust.
Finally, though I’d heard this scripture passage for a lifetime, I think I was in my 60s before “He could perform few miracles there because of their lack of faith” actually HIT me. I know; there are times when I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Unwavering trust in Him is a challenge on this planet. I’m often a “spirit is willing, flesh is weak” girl.
I try to remember to ask for more Grace on a daily basis, and to never miss saying St. John Henry Newman’s prayer, “The Mission of My Life”.
Google it.
Try it.
Trust me, I think you’ll like it.
Maria Burns is a lifelong Catholic and writer who lives in Madison.