I read in an article last week that
one does not argue for the existence of light—you just see it. I didn’t know
how much that visual would mean to me as I journeyed through my own bout of
doubt these past few weeks.
It started a few weeks ago, as I
stood in my classroom explaining the difference between a clause and a phrase
in grammar, and my blood sugar dropped. Being hypoglycemic, I knew the feeling
all too well, and instantly regretted drinking only a smoothie in the morning,
rather than having a hearty breakfast. I suddenly couldn’t think of words or
finish my sentences (common symptoms), and as I saw myself going through the
motions, my anxiety heightened. I wondered what my students might think of me,
especially with it being only the second week of the semester.
As I stood in the classroom, a
string of questions seemed to blare from a megaphone in my mind: “Who do you
think you are? Are you qualified or capable of doing this job? What must your
students think of you?” In truth, I was qualified. In truth, I have taught
grammar for almost ten years. In truth, I’ve been told by dozens of students
and evaluators that I teach well. But the questions of doubt seemed to drown
out the truth.
I went home that day, discouraged.
That night, I bought a book on prayer at the Christian
bookstore—Fervent. I had heard good
things about this book, and suspected that I was encountering some spiritual
warfare, and needed some strategized prayer. In addition to the anxiety and
hypoglycemia, I was having another health issue, and was also struggling with
some discouragement. I had mentioned this newly released book to a friend just
that past weekend, and thought that perhaps I could use the book myself.
I began reading that night, and praying.
I believed God would use prayer as my way toward victory in the areas I was
battling.
I saw a doctor and got on a
medication, and began being more faithful in a healthy diet of frequent,
high-protein meals and low sugar.
However, as the week went on, my
health didn’t improve, my anxiety didn’t go away, and I was still discouraged.
In fact, things seemed to worsen and my mind clouded. I almost felt like
someone had taken a spray can and sprayed a foggy mist over my brain. I felt
like a rug had been pulled out from under me, and God wasn’t helping me, even
while I was praying.
I work with a lot of people of
different religious backgrounds, and a common question that comes to my mind
is: how do I know that I have the truth and these people of other religions do
not? Have I simply been indoctrinated, as I believe they have been, by being
born in the country I was born in, and raised in the family and church I was
raised in?
Usually I answer that question with
affirmative thanksgiving that God has been gracious to show me truth. However,
this time, paranoia set in. Perhaps Christianity is simply a big industry, out
to gain power, influence, and wealth, as everyone else is. I, myself, haven’t
really seen the original documents of the Bible, or heard an audible voice of
God, or seen a profound miracle. How do I know that my mind hasn’t created the
voice that I call “God” and have heard so frequently since I was a child? That
the miracles and growth in my life aren’t just things that happen because of
circumstances, and I was attributing them to a God I wished were true?
I wondered if it wasn’t just too
“convenient” that Christianity says that you need “faith” to believe something
without seeing it. I mean, wouldn’t we call someone who did that in any other
area of life, a fool?
It wasn’t that I wanted to believe
something else. No other belief system was particularly attractive to me. And
it wasn’t that I was trying to avoid God’s authority in my life. I just simply
didn’t know how I could know truth . . . how I could know . . . that I know . .
. Jesus.
But I wanted to. I wanted to believe
that everything the Bible taught was true.
I mean, Jesus had been my closest friend through all these years,
had changed my life, had taught me to lean in close and watch Him work. I
didn’t want to lose Him, and I didn’t want it all to be just a perception of a
truth that doesn’t really exist.
And so, I struggled. Physically, emotionally, relationally,
mentally, and now spiritually. I felt like every area of my life was under
attack. I felt like I was drowning in a mess of hopeless circumstances, and the
very God that I reached out to, may or may not really be there to help me in
the midst of them.
A week into my struggle, I began making a list of “Reasons
for Christianity.” It was a messy list, scribbled on legal pad pages. Just
whatever came to mind each day. I tried to organize the words and phrases into
categories: God, nature, Christians,
love, beauty, philosophy, unity, satisfaction, peace, revelation, wisdom,
choice, human nature, transcendence, testimonies, sacrifice, peace, insight, math,
creativity, morality, logic, ideas, spirits, patterns, history, grace,
intricacy and continued revelation in the Bible, animosity towards Christians
in the world, answered prayers, conscience, birth, spread of Christianity,
martyrs, and consistency of life with the Bible. I made lists within my
lists.
I had overwhelming
evidence, and yet my mind filtered every thought through doubting questions. I
doubted my own mind.
That’s when I read the article about light. No one could
argue that light existed—I just needed to see it. And at that point, I could
not see it.
All of this was profoundly discouraging . . . more than anything
else I was going through. I was praying fervently every morning before work,
writing out verses and prayer cards and putting them where I could see them
throughout the day: on my desk, in my car, in my purse. I asked people to pray
for me.
But I was afraid to admit to anyone what I was going through.
I didn’t want to tell them I was questioning my faith. That in fact, I doubted
it. But in my messiness, it was hard to hold it back.
I’ve recently started meeting with a friend weekly to check
in and pray. I was fearful of telling this very friend, who was so excited of
us meeting together, that I was now doubting my faith. I was afraid of her
disappointment as I sat across from her and told her that I wasn’t sure what I
believed.
As I met with two other friends for lunch last week, I had
waited too long to eat, and couldn’t make up my mind of what to order. My brain
got fuzzy. Being overwhelmingly discouraged with the onset of low blood sugar,
I quietly dismissed myself to the restroom, where I promptly sat on the floor
and cried. My friend came in to look for me, and through tears, I told her what
I hoped she wouldn’t judge me for: I questioned the truth of Jesus.
After lunch, I made my way over to my mentor’s house. She and
her husband opened their Bible with me, read me verses, and prayed over me.
With all of them, I was afraid of judgment, but met grace and
understanding. And yet, I still doubted.
That week I watched a movie on prayer in the theater—War
Room. Doing our battle against the enemy in a specific room for prayer. I cried
during the whole movie. One, because it was powerful and I had done so many
Bible studies written by some of the main actors and I was reminded of all the
truth they conveyed. And two, I cried for what I once knew to be true. I wrote
that night: “In the dark I move toward a light source, because at one time I’ve
seen the light and I know it’s there.”
I also believed I was experiencing spiritual attack.
I decided to keep on reading my book on prayer. And to keep
praying. I had to move forward. I had to trust God to bring me around. I didn’t
want to die without knowing truth, without knowing Jesus, and I didn’t want to
live without Him either.
Yesterday, I stopped to get gas after work. A very thin, pale
boy about 16 years old with shoulder length red-dyed hair was carefully pulling
in to the station to get gas when the guy behind him honked his horn and called
the teen ager a dumb***. Honestly, the boy was going very slowly (he looked
like a new driver), but I felt like the other driver had overreacted. I felt
for the boy as I watched him nervously get out to pump his gas. Something about
him made me feel that he had experienced a very unforgiving world.
I wished I could get out of my car that moment and say
something to him. Tears started streaming down my face as I sat there, and
whispered to God: We are lost without a Savior, God. We have nothing if we
don’t have Jesus. Without Jesus, nothing in life makes sense.
I did have something to give that boy . . . to tell him. I
had Jesus.
And it was then . . .
that moment . . . that the fog
lifted. I knew I loved the Bible. I knew I loved Christians and people. And
most of all, I knew I loved Jesus.
I don’t know if the doubts will come again. But I do know
that although all my evidence affirms Him, it couldn’t argue for Him... by
itself. I had to see Him.
And I have seen Him! I know Him! I’ve heard Him. I love Him,
and know His love for me.
Do I still have struggles? Sure. I’ll always have struggles.
But He has overcome the world. And I can face tomorrow because He lives!
And I do have an enemy . . . who has to flee at Your Great
Name!
That night, I went to a party at a friend’s house. The
friend, not knowing what I was going through, pulled me aside and said that God
laid it on her heart to give me this verse.
“But as for
me, I will look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me. Rejoice not over me, O my enemy;
when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me” –
Micah 7:7-8 (emphasis mine).
I am quite certain that the sum total of all of these “coincidences”
throughout my life would not be possible. Jesus truly is the one Who holds the
whole world together. He directs my steps. He is the answer to hurt, and
hopelessness, and questions and doubt. And He is big enough to bring us out of it.
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