Most books about faith begin with certainty. Know, Trust, Abandon begins with questions.
Written by Gerald Mackrell, an 86-year-old retired industry professional, the book does not attempt to persuade through doctrine or instruction. Instead, it reflects a lifetime spent returning repeatedly to the same fundamental uncertainties that define human existence: identity, purpose, and what lies beyond physical life. In doing so, it presents spirituality not as an inherited belief, but as something examined, tested, and gradually understood.
Mackrell’s motivation, as he states in his interviews, for writing was not external urgency, but internal restlessness. Raised within a Christian tradition, he found that certain biblical questions remained unresolved well into adulthood. The author does not put them on the back burner; he prefers to pursue them deliberately, turning reflection into research and contemplation into writing. In an interview, he explained that the book emerged from “questions that I had for the scriptures in the Bible, which were obviously not clarified, or certainly not to my satisfaction.”
That pursuit defines the structure of Know, Trust, Abandon. The book is organized around a progression in lieu of a thesis. Knowing does not come as a belief; it appears in the form of engagement. Trust follows, shaped by understanding, not assumption. Abandonment arrives last, described not as surrendering responsibility, but as consciously aligning one’s will with a moral and spiritual framework larger than the self.
One of the book’s most distinctive choices is its point of departure. It could have started with scripture, but Mackrell opens with the Big Bang theory, acknowledging scientific explanations for the universe’s origin before tracing the development of life, humanity, and spiritual awareness. This choice sheds light on the book’s broader intent: to position faith as complementary to inquiry, not opposed to it. Spirituality, the book suggests, is incomplete if it refuses to engage the material world.
Throughout the narrative, Mackrell returns to the idea that human beings exist in two dimensions, physical and spiritual. The body, he notes, is finite and governed by time. The spirit, however, is enduring. He further argues that to deny that the second dimension is to reduce life to a temporary biological event without lasting meaning. The book urges readers to consider whether purposes can exist without acknowledging something beyond physical existence.
Free will plays a central role in this argument. Know, Trust, Abandon treats choice as the defining feature of human life. People are not shaped solely by circumstance, but by decisions, ethical, moral, and spiritual, that accumulate over time. Faith, in this framework, does not remove responsibility; it intensifies it. Belief becomes meaningful only when it informs action.
While rooted firmly in Christian scripture, the book avoids doctrinal absolutism. Mackrell is careful to describe his role as interpretive in preference to authoritative. “I cannot deviate from the truth of their writings,” he says of biblical authors. “I can only illuminate what they have said.” This restraint gives the book a reflective tone, positioning it as a continuation of an ongoing conversation.
The author’s life experience adds quiet weight to the text. Having served for decades in industry, retirement spared him the time to revisit scripture slowly and repeatedly. He emphasizes that understanding rarely comes from a single reading. Insight, he suggests, emerges through patience, sometimes reading the same passage multiple times until new meaning surfaces. The book encourages readers to approach spirituality in the same way, resisting speed in favor of depth.
Love, as both principle and practice, forms the ethical center of the book. Drawing from biblical commandments, Mackrell emphasizes that love of God cannot be separated from love of neighbor. Faith without compassion, he argues, becomes hollow. In the interview, he reflects that if this principle were genuinely understood and lived, conflict would diminish because belief would be measured by conduct rather than profession.
Importantly, Know, Trust, Abandon rejects the idea that spiritual growth requires perfection. Transformation, the book suggests, is not limited by age or past failure. By referencing biblical narratives of late belief and redemption, Mackrell underscores that spiritual awareness can emerge at any stage of life.
The book does not offer definitive conclusions; it leaves readers with the responsibility to reflect, to question, and to decide what they believe. In a culture often driven by immediacy and certainty, Know, Trust, Abandon argues for something quieter and more demanding: the courage to live with questions long enough for understanding to form.
