Doubt

Certainty, surety, confidence, trust. These have defined my faith, my beliefs, and my actions. Waves of doubt for me, though infrequent, come primarily from distractions rather than true questioning of what I believe. However, I have watched the wrestlers and the doubters. I've listened to them with fascination. I've wanted to understand their struggles. There is beauty in the wrestling. In the grappling.

But then this summer I became one of them.

Never in my life have the waves of doubt crashed against me so hard. Never in my life have chunks of Truth eroded so quickly from the walls I had built.

I think sometimes we assume "successful" people don't doubt. Or that doubt is a sign of failure. Or sin. Doubt is quickly compounded with guilt, and the waves build into a towering tsunami. And in those moments, if you haven't addressed them and you haven't built walls against them, the waves will erode Truth.

In the heat of July, amidst planning and preparation for heading to Hungary, I felt an appalling futility of my faith and of everything meaningful. Though I've felt this before, it was stronger, more urgent. It urged me to abandon everything I valued. The Inconsequential suddenly flipped and became everything, and the Worthy and True became trivial, and worth betraying.

I began to panic. I began to wonder about my future, about how I could go forward. I felt fake and ridiculous. Is this what being a "missionary" looks like? This doubt? This uncertainty?

I knew I could throw it all away, or I could cling to the One who has sustained me. I read about Jacob wrestling with the stranger in the night... the Angel of the Lord. Jacob refused to let him go, even long after he should have given up. He demanded the Lord to bless him, and to make Himself known.

Digging in, I began rebuilding the walls of Truth. I surrounded myself with Psalm 119, memorizing stanza by stanza, meditating on the Truth of the Lord's Word. Slowly the storm passed and the waves of doubt ebbed away, until they were just quietly lapping against the bulwarks of Truth.

As terrifying as those whitecaps of doubt were, I cherish them. I cherish the memory of standing atop the lighthouse, surrounded by Truth, but watching the walls crumble, knowing the full effects of the storm's fury. I cherish the rebuilding after the storm, knowing that my God has helped me prevail over it. He has helped me quiet the wind and the rain. Even the storms of doubt will bow to Him.

Over eight years ago I read an Emily Dickinson poem that spoke deeply to me... but I had forgotten the title, and most of the words. I have searched and searched for it, and today I finally found it.

Water is taught by thirst;

Land, by the oceans passed;

Transport, by throe;

Peace, by its battles told;

Love, by memorial mould;

Birds, by the snow.

Since first reading this poem, I have been fascinated by the power of opposites. The power of knowing something by its opposite. Though a bit overplayed, it's also why I love "Let Her Go" by Passenger:

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

I have experienced the dark, swirling waters of doubt. But it is only through this experience that I can know the rock of certainty under my feet. It is this doubt that has allowed me to cling ever stronger to Truth. It is making a decision, counting the cost, and going forever forward.

I will treasure these moments of doubt because they have driven me closer to Jesus.

 

The tangle of indifference

My plane ticket is purchased, and I'm leaving for Hungary in just a little over a month.
I also have not blogged in a little over a month.

The two are interconnected.

I have had so many thoughts, but each time I pull up the "draft blog" window, I stare at the screen, the blinking cursor, and I have no idea how to express in words the current tangle of emotions (or sometimes lack thereof) that I find inside.

Since my last post, I have finished a school year with twenty-two fourth graders, torn down my classroom, said good-bye to the Eisenhower family, said good-bye to my roommate of two years, moved most of my stuff to Michigan, celebrated a wedding in Texas, went to TeachBeyond Orientation, went back to Indiana to officially move out and say official good-byes to some very dear friends, taught Vacation Bible School to a group of middle school students, and have tried to make Michigan home despite the tremendous assortment of bins, boxes, tubs, and laundry baskets full of classroom supplies and an entire apartment's worth of things.

However, my lack of blogging is not due to busyness. There have been plenty of moments where I could have hammered something out.

Rather, it has been the numb indifference I have felt through it all.

I am not someone who hides emotions well, and there were certainly some as I said good-bye to Eisenhower. But since then, there has been an overwhelming indifference.

And it has been scary.

I have tried to make myself grieve, because I figure the more grieving that happens here and now, the less I have to deal with later. I also have this strange need to show emotion, so people know how much I truly care. Indifference seems to say "I don't care about this relationship, I don't care about this chapter, I can't wait to leave."

I also know that I can't continue like this forever. And so at some point, the grief will come... and I want to be in control of when that happens... instead of having it burst out of me like it did at the teacher luncheon on the last day of school...

All this to say, these transitions have been hard. Especially when people want to limit the tangle to purely one emotion:

"Are you so excited?"

Yes, excitement is certainly a thread in the knot of emotions strangling my heart, but so is grief, disappointment, fear, loneliness, dread, thrill, curiosity, sadness, terror, determination, (I could keep going...)

I also realize people aren't going to ask, "Are you so sad? Are you so scared? Are you so lonely?"

Since moving home, I've been living amid boxes, bins, baskets, and heaps. My room (and the whole upstairs) just screams TRANSITION!

The one steady thing in all the transitions seemed to be my own emotional steadiness. My indifference. And I clung to it. Because I needed it.

But then the indifference burst. I climbed up the stairs, embraced by a wave of stifling humidity. I had been cleaning stuff, and moving stuff, and wrestling with stuff all afternoon. I was trying to untangle a knot of my favorite necklaces when I finally felt something. Anger. I was furious. Enraged. Livid. at the necklaces that dared to be tangled. the STUFF. transition, indifference, change.

I grabbed my journal and just started writing. It was the kind of writing that you can't read because your handwriting is so sloppy and enormous and you just don't care. Hot angry tears were chasing each other down my face, and plopping and smearing the ink. Finally, the tears stopped, my heartrate slowed, and I felt peace.

Ready to begin again, I calmly picked up the knot of necklaces.

It was a useless mass of something that could be beautiful. And I began thinking about all the mixed emotions tangled in my heart. They were useless. Because they were hidden in a tangle of indifference.

After fifteen minutes of seeing the untangling process as a puzzle rather than as an infuriating task, I had them laid out.

As I sat, gazing at them triumphantly, I knew this wasn't just about the necklaces. This was about picking apart the knot of emotions, feeling something, and laying each emotion before the Lord. Giving them over to Him, and allowing Him to redeem each God-given emotion for His glory.

As I thanked Him for giving me complex emotions, and for creating me in His image, I looked down and couldn't help but notice: in the middle was the little bronze-ish gold necklace with delicate letters that spelled "brave."

And I smiled through quiet tears as the Lord reminded me that it takes bravery and courage to untangle indifference.