I don’t doubt. I disbelieve.
I don’t actually think that there is any possibility that these things can be true.
I don’t believe the clichés
I don’t believe that ‘God doesn’t give us more than we can handle’
I don’t believe that ‘everything has a purpose’
I don’t believe that ‘God must have wanted her in heaven’
I don’t believe that those in paid Christian ministry are ahead of the rest of us
I don’t believe.
I don’t believe the theological interpretations that allow someone to tell me that my child’s illness has a link to generational sin
I don’t believe that there is a dividing line and that the boundary is whether you go to church or not, or swear, or drink, or fall in love with a person you’re not married to
I don’t believe that admitting you’re a sinner will put people off coming to know Jesus
I don’t believe that pretending we all have it together makes for a healthy church
I don’t believe any of those things.
Some things I can tell you hand on heart have been my experience. And in as much as they have been my experience they are my truth.
My truth is that when I started shouting at God – whoever and wherever he may be, God seemed to become much more real and involved in my life
My truth is that lying hemorrhaging on a hospital bed, heartbroken for the baby I wouldn’t have, and fearing that I was going to leave 2 children without their Mummy an audible voice said “ Daughter I am holding you”.
My truth is that on countless occasions I’ve been given strength, or peace or joy which makes no sense in the situation and is from somewhere or someone outside of me.
My truth is that every day when I open the bible it speaks right into my soul. It nourishes me and saves me.
My truth is that in the depths of depression and in the aftermath of heartbreak I have felt loved.
Faith and doubt – those are scary words.
But disbelief and my truth. Dim light in the dark places.
I’m ok with that.
Are you ?
This was prompted by Alissa writes, and I’m linking with her blog today over at http://www.alissabc.com