I woke up from an "overwhelmed" nap.
Emotionally I'm much like a toddler. When I get overwhelmed I either scream and yell, having to have a short temper tantrum. Or I shut down and have to sleep, or rather I choose to sleep than face the sea in front of me. I don't have to sleep, but I shutdown and choose the soothing quiet of nothingness than face the overflow of confusion and feelings.
I said once I wanted to be a vet.
Then God broke in, and I wept - and I called myself a missionary to be.
In these years the call is what I've use define myself.
The utter entirety of my identity was wrapped in the calling of what will be, not what was presently.
I fell in deep like, questioned, and chose the call than another.
Instead of parties, I'd sit and pray.
Then the call hurt, I was rejected by those who are called the Body.
I ran towards another role that could fulfill, giving heart to country.
But in God's intervention I met my love and found the call again.
Marriage, birth, moves, college, and adulthood.
They smacked us in the face, and I wrestled - how would these fit?
Then seasons of Selah, and sense of knowing gave us direction and peace again - across the pond perhaps.
Yet I found myself somewhere else, in the structure of business.
I thrived, I died, I've wept, laughed, cursed, and loved it.
The chaos was addictive, the respect refreshing, and the growth tangible and real.
Being good at something and having others see it - well it's wonderful.
Where does that leave us now?
The call, the definition confusing....
Then a knock on my heart awoke me, pastor.
I ran with it, or so I thought, but when those who knew me best didn't believe neither did I.
I thrive here, but I hate here.
When looked at, when asked I can't answer who God even is.
When sought too, I can't even recite the most basic of truths - because I don't believe them here.
Maybe out there, perhaps in a world of theology, a place of worship, a life of ministry.
But here, in the nitty gritty, where people lie, cheat, die, and hurt us - where is He then?
When I don't know how to be a light, because I'm so pissed off at how things are going.
When I don't have enough energy to make it through the day, and yet I do because I love it - I just don't know.
When my best friend may never know God in the way she could,
When my best friend's body remains broken,
When my best friend's tongue still longs for unknown language...
I don't know.
Growing up doesn't look like anything I thought it would.
The problems don't go away, the linger...for days, months, years, decades...all of our life.
A God so great should be better.
A Creator so imaginative should know better.
A people in His image should see better.
But we don't and He doesn't...
And so when you ask me do I believe in God... Well in my own self no.
In your face, I have to.
In the tender look of our daughter, of course I do.
In the broken Body that gathers on Sunday morning - the Spirit resounds.
But Jesus, where is He? Why does He tarry?
You say believe, but I ask believe in what?
Believe in who? Why does He wait?!?!?!?!
I hear the responses in my head, "it's my interpretation", "He does act but not always how we want"...
A dozen other quips of honest and authentic faith.
But right now, in this moment I don't believe them.
I'm tired of waiting, my heart is sick of hope unfulfilled and honestly I don't care.
The faith isn't in the sign, but it reminds us that He is present.
So yes I'm angry, I'm lost and dang it I'm hurt.
I feel let down, washed up and forgotten.
I know my twenty five years are a cliche of crisis in this day,
But it's all I have, and it's all I've known.
I want to say His name with belief.
I want to sing with hope.
I want to believe.
But I just don't...
It hurts too much.
But in our hoping against hope,
like Abraham "In hope he believed against hope"
So as I dream tonight, and sleep from necessity of rest rather than running from pain,
Holy Spirit help me to hope.
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