The amount of faith required of me has increased. Yet my capacity for spiritual strength has decreased. I used to write like the Psalmist… honest and transparent, but always genuinely faithful to God in my conclusions. You should see my journals these days.
On second thought, no you shouldn’t.
The entries are messy. The entries are selfish. They are unrighteously angry, ungrateful, and fearful. The entries are downright unimpressive. Yet, even there, God was present.
Upon reviewing my reflections of late, I yearned for the faith of my youth. I yearned for the faith that made my actions and writing an active and flowing river, rather than a muddy brook. I yearned for the honest and fearless faith of my youth, which transformed my disappointments to declarations about my God. Did I lose my faith? I wondered to myself. He must have been eavesdropping, for I was a little surprised to hear my Father answer,
Even this is grace.
Even my ability to praise God while living in a broken world is grace–not of myself, but a gift from God. This is what makes following Christ radical. Christianity, in its dependence on grace by faith as a gift, is the only religion in the history of the world in which God Himself builds a bridge to span our separation from Him, apart from any human effort.
I breathe a sigh of relief, for now I know that the faith required for this stretch of the journey will be provided apart from my own weak effort. And even my faithless reflections will be redeemed. Like the Psalms.