I have written before about my feelings on faith. I am passionate about the need for faith to SHOW itself in life. Beliefs don’t cut it for me. We have the responsibility to put our boots on and walk the walk.
Lately, I’ve been struggling. Would I call it a crisis of faith? No, not really. I was wrestling with thoughts and ideas and feelings, and trying to make sense of things in my own life.
I was listening to Casting Crowns’ new song, ‘Oh My Soul.’ I recommend it. Casting Crowns is the soundtrack of my faith journey.
Here it is if you are interested.
I was struck by the line ‘ . . . and my shipwrecked faith will never get me to shore. Can He find me here, Can He keep me from going under?’
That’s it. My faith wasn’t in crisis. My faith was shipwrecked. Not only was I wondering if God could find me where I was, I was wondering if He would.
Shipwrecked faith. The faith is still there. I am standing alone amidst the wreckage, and look out onto the horizon – knowing the rest of the world is out there but helpless to close the gap.
Standing on the shore aware of the juxtaposition of desolation and beauty, of solitude and isolation. Amidst the wreckage are a thousand guidebooks of how to ‘fix things.’ But just as seeing a map of trade winds does not teach you to navigate, a ‘how-to’ cannot build a relationship.
I still believe. When the pain and isolation wash over me and my heart breaks as I bleed out onto the page I write. I still believe.
But I am tired, and alone in the beautiful desolation. I still believe yet I struggle to trust that the great God of my faith sees me, too. Understanding that my doubts are not signs of His failing, but my own. Failing to trust and to believe that if I fall I will be caught.
So here I stand on my shore, in my solitude. In my isolation. Knowing God is real and that to have the kind of relationship I know to be possible, I must surrender. To sever the safety lines and fall.
Am I more afraid of knowing that relationship is out there and never finding it? Or of surrendering?
I am a person who is in control. Self-control, not control of others. Organization and order are my superpowers. This has been met with both admiration and contempt, but certainly more of the latter.
Am I really just afraid of letting go?
Corrie ten Boom said, ‘There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.’
So is it dark here in the pit? Or are my eyes just closed?
Am I more afraid of staying invisible, or of being seen?
So here in the pit I wrestle, knowing I am not alone, but yet uncertain about what that means for me. In the stillness, I wait to hear the voice of God, as I am learning to hear and heed that ‘still small voice’ inside that is my own intuition.
I wonder if they are the same voice.
So amid my shipwreck, I will have faith.