are you still there? are you still listening?
everyone tells me that you are. I guess I forgot, somewhere along the way, that you don’t need me to have it all together before I knock at your door.
forgot that you are a God of messy middles. of doubters + liars + hesitaters. of unkempt curls and crooked smiles. of fog + clouds + rain.
you are not a God of perfect people.
but sometimes it seems like they’ve got a monopoly on you, the perfect ones. the ones with the answers. they know for sure they’ve got it all figured out.
sometimes I am envious of these Christians, these ones with their rock-solid lines between right + wrong.
but then I remember how God meets me in the middle of the doubt, and I think that a faith that does not leave room for doubt might perhaps be a false faith.
or perhaps it is my faith that is false, this faith that I claim to have but in reality I haven’t opened my bible in weeks and prayer happens rarely, and briefly, and shallowly. this faith that I claim is still mine but as I write this I started with hello, God, and here I am now talking about Him instead of You because I can’t even seem to bring myself to address Him head-on.
I want a faith with the answers, because I am a girl that likes lists and things she can hold in her hands. because I try to catch the wind every time I drive, window down and palm pressing against the air.
but my palm remains empty despite feeling full, and my questions lead only to more questions.
and eventually, hollow silence.
there are moments when i’m not even sure what questions to form anymore.
I want a faith that leaves room for that, I think. and I wonder if that’s because I truly believe faith needs room for silences and questions, or because I want to feel as though my own faith is a little less broken.
will you accept a broken faith?