I just turned 35. This past year has been one of the worst of my life. It sounds melodramatic, I know. And the reality is that even knowing the reasons why, most people would likely think I’m being ridiculous. Usually, I think the same. Nevertheless, I’m not at this place of doubt and hopelessness for no reason. Somehow, it’s these little things – these small trials that seem so insignificant – that are most effective at tearing down my faith.
I’ve thought about it a lot. There are a ton of explanations I could give as to why. I don’t know how much any of that matters at the end of the day, though. What matters is that I am here, and here is not okay. Here is where I find myself unwilling to trust. Here is where I don’t believe His love (again). Here is where my faith seems pointless. And here is where I need to make a choice.
Because as much as I just don’t want to believe Him, or His Word, or that I can trust Him (and I honestly don’t want to right now), I also don’t want to believe my heart, or my circumstances, or whatever other changeable notions are filling my vision at the moment.
As much as I feel like He has failed me over and over again these past few years, I also know my tendency to build a wall and push away so that I can’t be hurt too badly – which, at the same time, makes it impossible for me to trust too deeply.
As much as I want to staunchly assert that what He has given is just.not.enough, I also can’t deny that at least in this moment, I have what I need.
So, my choice is this: to accept that my rationale and analysis and emotions are sufficient and conclude that faith just isn’t worth it; or to acknowledge that there are ways higher than mine, that it is possible that One who knows the end from the beginning might have a better perspective, that the truth that God is, which is cemented in the deepest part of my soul, should be enough to make me dig in my heels and keep pursuing, no matter the cost.
It isn’t a choice that I like. I guess my selfishness and pride run a bit too deep still for me to like the thought of dying to myself. But, I think, the choice I will make has never really been up in the air. I will abandon my logic, my ideals, my heart – though probably not with any ease. I will call myself a fool in light of the only One who I can be certain is wise. It’s hardly a revelation, this decision. More like a painful refining process that thus far has left me feeling small and weak and pitiful. I don’t understand the point of it.
But, maybe that’s the point of it.