A Sigh of Relief

There are days when I have doubts. I just do. I read widely, and sometimes I just get influenced by the opinions of those who don't believe in inerrancy or verbal plenary inspiration or the historicity of most of the Old Testament. Lately I've been reading a scholarly tome that insists that there is no evidence whatsoever for enslavement in Egypt or the exodus or even the twelve tribes of Israel, much less the glories of Solomon's reign. The authors did say at the outset of the book that if you read it, your faith will be tested, but what good is a faith that doesn't stand up to a little testing? And they're right, of course. But still.

 And sometimes I read things by Bible experts whose words and lives I respect, but they seem to be blind in certain areas, and I wonder who is blinder, me or them? It has to be me, right? Because they do this for a living and have been interpreting the Bible for decades whereas I am a rank amateur.

And sometimes when I have been praying ardently for justice, or truth, or wisdom, and it just doesn't come, then doubt is right on my tail, because I know that these things are dear to the heart of God and surely if he was going to give us anything we ask for it would be justice and truth and wisdom. Right?

 So the darkness of doubting begins, and my soul grieves, and I feel as though someone has pulled up my anchor and I might drift away.

 But then a funny thing happens. I find myself telling God all about it. Wait! Why am I doing this? Don't I doubt that you exist?

 And in my times of deepest pain and loss, when reason tells me that God is either not there or clearly not on my side, I find myself screaming and shouting and shaking my fist at him. Oh, I give him a good earful, that God who might not be real. But when the doubts pass and the painful situations pass, I come to my senses and realize that he was there all along, waiting patiently for me to get it out of my system and stop throwing my pitiful little tantrum.

Because that's the thing, isn't it? Even when I'm in doubt and pain, I must know deep down that he IS there to hear, or I wouldn't bother to scream at him. Ipso facto, and all that.

 This morning's teaching was on the 14th chapter of the gospel of John. The teacher was discussing the Holy Spirit, and how he teaches us and reminds us all things. I suddenly got an image in my head that made me marvel and chuckle at the same time. People around my must think I'm loony--I often chuckle at the most inappropriate times when one thought leads to another and then where I end up delights and tickles me. That happened again this morning. I got a little picture in my brain of me wearing a leash, like a little dog, and the leash was the Holy Spirit. No matter where I wandered, where I tried to hide, how far I went in the wrong direction, that leash stayed attached. The other end of that leash was in the hand of God.  

And he never let go. 




Love, Spud