I keep my questions to myself, mostly. I’d hate to be labeled as a “struggling” Christian, though nothing describes my faith quite so honestly. “It’s okay to have doubts,” the pastor says. “Even I have doubts.” But has he ever asked the questions I do? The ones that feel like loose threads which, if pulled, threaten to unravel the delicate fabric of my beliefs.
The way we talk about “losing" our faith makes it seem like faith is a misplaced key, a wedding band, a stolen passport. Is it that easily buried in the bottom of our backpacks? Does it fall out of our pierced ear one day, never to be seen again, with only its duplicate to remind us? Faith feels like a mustard seed: Small, and easily lost.
Let’s try a different metaphor, shall we? Faith is not so fragile. Faith is fingers in the Messiah's side. Faith is a doubter begging for belief. Faith is Jesus saying, “Don’t be afraid.” He stands, steady as ever. The wind blows, I panic, and faith is Jesus reaching down to save me from drowning. In that moment, I realize: It was never the waves I was standing on. “I’m here. Take courage.” Jesus speaks, and the sea calms.