Belief

Last night Stephen came over for dinner and as we sat on the back porch talking we hit a part in our conversation where we discussed belief. The word continues to strike me as I think about the conversation. I mentioned to him last night that belief is one of those ambiguous words that are hard to define. I keep trying but to no avail. Often times I’ve heard faith defined as believing without seeing, which just complicates the idea of belief even further for me. I know I believe in many things. I believe that humanity is good. I believe we are good because we are created in the image of God and God is good. I believe that I can depend on people. I believe there is more to life than this. I believe in many things.

When I think about my belief in people though is when I start to see clarity in the word belief.  You see, there are few people in this world that I believe would put my interests before theirs if I needed them to; however, those few people that I believe would are the ones I’ve never needed to. Which is why, in reality, I don’t trust that they will. I’ve always struggled with trusting people. As a child I believed in people but time and time again I had that belief disproven.  As a teenager I began to limit my belief into just a select group of people and again I was proven wrong. Now at twenty years old I believe in four people outside of my family and I consciously try not to give them the opportunity to prove me wrong. This struggle with trust has plagued my belief in God. As I mentioned in my previous post, “Faith in Question,” no matter how much I question the realness of God I always believe in who God is. I believe in God’s promises. I believe that he provides. I believe that he heals, speaks, and comforts. I believe there is no greater joy or love than the one that comes from the Trinity. I believe these things because they are continuously proven to me. These are things I have, do, and can trust in. Proving that there is a God though is a difficult task. It goes against all reason and logic to believe in such a thing. But why do we believe in reason and logic in the first place? That’s a whole other discussion though. The point in this is that I think part of why I struggle with belief, especially belief in God, is because belief requires trust. I don’t want to come to terms with trusting that God exists because my past has taught me that when you trust in someone or something you will be proven wrong. I often say that art is not a product but a process, in the same way I can apply that to all aspects of life; as well as life in general. Belief is not a product: it is a process. It is the process of believing.

So when I say that I believe in God it does not mean that I do not question Him. It does not mean that I do not wonder if He is there. It doesn’t even mean that sometimes I wish He wasn’t real. It means that I have seen Him work in my life and the lives of many others. I have heard from Him. I have lived intimately with Him. It means that until HE proves me wrong, I have a belief in Him. 

Running

I haven't sat to meander through my thoughts in a while. To write them down and have them stare back at me. To confront them in their tangible form. Now though is as good as any other time I suppose.

life is short. Yes, I'm aware that that's a cliche and that my Faith in Christ tells me life is long, it spans eternity and one day I will have the best of it. I currently don't live on that side of death though. I live on this one and recently I couldn't be more aware of that fact. The last two nights were filled with conversations about life. That mixed with the recent passing of a friend has made the shortness of life a very present thought in my mind. What I've come to terms with is that I have one of those personalities that likes to run. When it comes to "fight or flight" I'm definitely the flight. I know that's why I spent six years trying to escape the reality I was living in. I know that's why my mind is constantly on the run; in flight to somewhere else. This is why the thought of life being short scares me. I don't want to be doing this. I don't want to be sitting at a desk unstapeling and scanning papers. Even more so, I don't want to be running. I hate running. Physically and mentally I despise it. Life is short and I don't want to spend mine running from it. When I think of people I know who are interning with awesome organizations, working with disabled children in Africa, or doing work in Thailand I notice a big difference between them and me. They're fighting towards something. They're fighting to make the most of this side of death. When they're not off somewhere doing amazing things they're fighting the same fight the best they can with all they have from their homes, in their own communities. Me on the other hand? I constantly find myself running.

Where normally the thought of life would cause me to start running I realize I need to stop myself and ask, "Do I want to live in another place because there's something there for me or do I just want to run away from here? Do I entertain the idea of law school because I believe that is my purpose or because I want to run away from the possibility of not amounting to something?" It's time I refuse to fly. It's time I choose to fight. It's time I live life on this side of death. I don't anticipate that it will be easy and I don't except to see drastic changes over night. I am confident though that eventually when I stop to look around, I will see the difference in who I am.