Safe Enough to Be Curious

Trust creates the safety to remain open—and that openness changes the way we learn, relate, fail, and know God. When trust is established, we can finally be safe enough to be curious.

I realized something this morning.

I have always been curious.

There are whole areas of my life that have been shaped by curiosity. When I began learning about real food, natural medicine, finances, or homeschooling, no one had handed me a system I felt obligated to protect. I had to discover.

So I asked questions and felt free to discover this new terrain.

Why do we do it this way?

Is there another way?

What happens if I try this?

What am I missing?

I read. I experimented. I failed. I changed my mind. I learned from people who knew things I didn’t know. One discovery opened the door to another.

And those have become some of the richest areas of my life.

But there was one place where my curiosity didn’t feel quite as safe.

My faith.

Many areas of my faith had been taught to me.

Our view of God is shaped by all we interpret through childhood.

I loved God deeply, and because I loved Him deeply, getting it wrong felt dangerous.

There were things I allowed myself to question, certainly. Enough that eventually I became what I called a “Water Walker”—someone willing to step beyond what was familiar and believe there might be more.

But even then, I think I was often searching for the right answer.

The deeper truth.

The principle that worked.

The formula that would keep me walking on the water.

I didn’t know how to fail and discover.

I knew how to learn the right answer and then try very hard to perform it correctly.

And suddenly I see myself in the rich young ruler.

The Man Who Already Knew

In Mark 10, a rich young man comes running to Jesus with a question:

“Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

It sounds like curiosity.

But Jesus responds with a curious question of His own:

“Why do you call me good?”

Jesus doesn’t immediately answer the question the man thinks he is asking.

He opens another door.

The man wants to know what he must do.

Jesus begins drawing his attention toward Who is standing in front of him.

Then Jesus mentions the commandments, and the young man essentially responds:

I’ve done those.

I’ve gotten it right.

I’ve followed the system.

I’ve performed correctly.

And then Mark gives us one of the most beautiful details in the story:

Jesus looked at him and loved him.

Before Jesus invited him any further, He loved him.

And from that place of love, Jesus gave him an invitation he hadn’t anticipated.

Sell what you have.

Give to the poor.

Come, follow Me.

The young man walked away sad.

For years, I read that primarily as a story about possessions.

Now I see something else there too.

The man came asking a question, but he wasn’t truly open to an answer he didn’t already understand.

He knew how the system worked.

Tell me what is right, and I will do it.

Jesus invited him out of the system and into relationship.

Come, follow Me.

And he couldn’t go.

Asking Questions Isn’t the Same as Being Curious

I am beginning to realize there is a difference between asking a question and actually being curious.

We can ask questions while already knowing which answers we are willing to receive.

We do it with Scripture.

We do it with God.

We do it with our children.

We do it with our spouses.

We do it with friends.

We can ask a question while quietly waiting for the other person to arrive at the conclusion we have already reached.

True curiosity is different.

Curiosity says:

Maybe there is something here I haven’t seen.

Maybe you know something I don’t.

Maybe I have misunderstood.

Maybe there is more.

Curiosity leaves space between what I currently understand and what might actually be true.

And that space requires trust.

Because uncertainty feels dangerous when we don’t feel safe.

Why We Reach for Certainty

I have spent much of my life believing certainty would make me safe enough to live.

If I could understand how God worked, I could make the right choices.

If I knew the biblical principle, I could apply it correctly.

If I understood the formula, I could reproduce the result.

If I knew what was right and what was wrong, I could stay on the right side.

It sounds so much like the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Tell me what is good.

Tell me what is evil.

Tell me what is right.

Tell me what is wrong.

Give me enough knowledge to govern my life correctly.

The Tree of Life offers something entirely different.

Relationship.

Come.

Abide.

Receive.

Follow Me.

Relationship requires a vulnerability that formulas don’t.

A formula can be mastered.

A Person must continually be discovered.

And perhaps that is why Jesus so often taught the way He did.

Jesus Kept People Curious

Reading through Mark this time has been completely different for me.

I stopped primarily reading Jesus to figure out how He lived so I could imitate Him correctly.

Instead, I became curious about Him.

Why did You say that?

Why did that bother You?

Why did You respond differently here?

Why did You ask that question?

What did You see that everyone else missed?

Who are You?

And suddenly I wasn’t studying a system.

I was discovering a Person.

Then I began noticing how often Jesus Himself created curiosity.

He asked questions.

He answered questions with questions.

He told parables.

He used metaphors.

He said things that confused people.

He continually made His disciples look again.

And they were often frustrated.

They wanted Him to explain.

Tell us what the parable means.

Tell us who is greatest.

Tell us how many times we have to forgive.

Tell us when this will happen.

Give us something we can understand.

Something we can hold.

Something we can get right.

But Jesus wasn’t merely transferring information.

He was forming people capable of seeing.

He allowed them to misunderstand.

He allowed them to ask.

He allowed them to fail.

He allowed them to discover.

And He kept walking with them while their understanding developed.

He trusted relationship to teach what a formula never could.

Maybe Curiosity Was Never My Problem

And this morning I realized something deeply personal.

Maybe God hasn’t been teaching me how to become curious.

Maybe He has been making it safe for the curious person who was already there to come out.

Religion taught me there were places where curiosity was dangerous.

What if I questioned the wrong thing?

What if I came to a different conclusion?

What if I misunderstood God?

What if I was deceived?

What if I got it wrong?

But over these past years, God has been teaching me something underneath all of those questions.

Trust.

Not answers.

Trust.

He has been showing me His heart.

Teaching me to abide.

Teaching me to receive.

Teaching me to behold.

Teaching me that I belong before I perform.

Moving me from the wheel to the reservoir.

And now I understand why.

Trust has been making me safe enough to be curious.

I no longer have to be terrified of asking a question because I trust the One I am asking it with.

I can misunderstand and still be His.

I can discover I was wrong and still be His.

I can change my mind and still be His.

I can fail while learning and still be His.

I can encounter something I cannot explain and still be His.

I am not wandering through the universe alone trying to invent truth.

I am exploring with Someone I trust.

The reservoir isn’t another set of boundaries telling me which questions I am allowed to ask.

It is the relationship that holds me while I ask them.

Teachable and Reachable

Earlier today I was trying to write that fear and control make us unteachable.

I accidentally typed unreachable.

And strangely, I think both were right.

Fear can make us unreachable.

Certainty can make us unteachable.

When I am afraid, I protect myself with what I already know.

I define.

I categorize.

I judge.

I control.

I decide what something means before it has the opportunity to show me anything different.

Nothing new can reach me because I am protecting myself from being changed by it.

Curiosity does the opposite.

Curiosity makes me teachable.

Curiosity makes me reachable.

Reachable by another person.

Reachable by beauty.

Reachable by revelation.

Reachable by an idea I hadn’t considered.

Reachable by God.

Maybe curiosity is simply humility with its eyes open:

I know what I know, but I remain available to see what I haven’t seen yet.

This Changes Relationships Too

And now I understand why this matters far beyond the way I read Scripture.

If I am learning that God allows me to be in process, I can allow the people I love to be in process too.

I don’t have to immediately correct.

I don’t have to diagnose.

I don’t have to give wisdom.

I don’t have to tell someone what their experience means.

I can become curious.

What happened?

What did that feel like?

What were you afraid of?

What did you need?

What am I not understanding?

Curiosity doesn’t mean everything is acceptable.

It means I don’t have to determine the verdict before I have heard the person.

That creates safety.

And safety creates room for revelation.

For years I thought knowing the right thing would make me safe enough to live.

Now I wonder if trust has been making me safe enough not to need certainty.

Safe enough to remain open.

Safe enough to wonder.

Safe enough to discover.

Safe enough to fail.

Safe enough to be taught.

Safe enough to be reached.

Safe enough to reveal what is really inside me.

Safe enough to receive what is inside someone else.

Held by Life

I am a list maker, and I wrote out two lists of words that I felt God has been putting His finger on. One list describes an old mindset that shaped my life, and the other lists the words that are holding me now. There is such a different energy between these two ways of living:

Editing.

Performing.

Striving.

Proving.

Bracing.

Controlling.

Categorizing.

Certainty.

Those words make something inside me contract.

Then there are these:

Abiding.

Receiving.

Beholding.

Revealing.

Trust.

Curiosity.

Wonder.

Discovery.

Beauty.

Belonging.

Presence.

Those words feel like opening a window to coax in a breeze.

They make room.

And they even bring tears to my eyes at the revelation of where He is taking me.

Maybe this is the invitation.

Fear says:

Hold life far enough away that you can understand and control it.

Trust says:

Come close enough to life that you can be changed by it.

Fear and control keep us unteachable.

They also keep us unreachable.

Trust and surrender open the door to curiosity, creativity, and discovery.

And somewhere in that opening, something beautiful happens.

We become held by life instead of holding life at a distance.

Maybe this is what Jesus has been teaching me.

Not how to master life.

Not how to get everything right.

Not how to walk perfectly on the water.

But how to trust Him enough to remain open.

To wonder.

To discover.

To follow.

And perhaps that is what it means to move from being a Water Walker to Dancing on the Waves.

I don’t need to master the waves or even understand the water anymore.

I am finally becoming curious about the One who is standing on it.

In everything you do -eat, play, and love- may it always be Seasoned with Joy!

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