A Question of Faith

Belief isn't easy for me. My veins pulse with questions — questions that fist my heart & squeeze until the space God occupies becomes a hollow ground where only unbelief grows. My faith, choked with doubts & fear, is a lamp beneath a bushel, a whimpering reed overshadowed by tall trees. 

I have "whys" latching onto parts of my heart, leeching away the oh-so-perfect peace of God. I have "hows" housed deep in my soul, that when my Spirit growls "Abba Father!"I feel like a fraud, unworthy.

Raised by strict & religious parents, I have grown with a mouth that mutters God's truth and a heart that doubts in secret because it is taboo to rebel openly. It is disrespectful to ask questions. The ways of God are mysterious. How dare you question your Creator? He will punish you.

My heart is a fertile ground & unbelief buds. Budding means meeting people. Meeting people means asking questions & listening, having your strongest beliefs challenged & dismissed as a fallacy without proof. The Bible is a compilation of folktales.

My heart is a fertile ground & under the rays of logic, unbelief sprouts into the desire to explore the depths of the universe & discover its secrets without a God in the picture. I have managed to wrestle against my conscience, fighting tooth & nail to convince it that right is wrong; guilt is growth. It's "woke" to be amoral & "deep" to cherry-pick: define my boundaries of right & wrong, separate the rational from the unusual, & if I ever have to deal with God, do it on MY termstermsI am enough.

My heart is a fertile ground and grief is a seed of sins — anger, hatred, nonchalance. Anger at God's carelessness. Hatred of everything he stands for. If you loved me truly, you would not lie. Your plans towards me are mean, or you would not have watched my best friend die! Nonchalance to it all. I want nothing to do with your...God. Even if he lives in your room, I do not give a damn.

I roll my blunts with pages of my Bible. I have stopped going to church; I feel like a hypocrite sitting in the pews & singing to a God I'm sure I hate. I self-destruct: I let myself drown in the sad music, sink in my anxiety & insecurities, but at the very bottom, God is waiting for me. His light beckons to me like a lighthouse to a sinking ship. I'm too weary to walk away. 

I crumble at his feet & weep. Light beneath a bushel learns to grow & burst out of its cage. It's a question of faith when I go back to what remains of my Bible.

Who are you?
I Am. Before I formed you, I knew you.

I know the plans I have for you. Plans of good...a future & a hope.

I love you with an everlasting love.

Lol, so said my ex. How long?
I am with you always, forever, till the end of time.

How? What do I do?
Come up hither. Take up your cross & follow me.

My heart is a fertile ground & I feel my faith sprout; watered by his Word, rooted in love; crucified, & alive with Christ. He takes me as I am, with my unending questions. I still am pressed by doubt sometimes, but his love roots deeper.

And this is my answer to the question of faith: it will remain in Christ. Forevermore.

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