Climbing Jacob's Ladder

I waited for You today
But You didn't show, no, no, no
I needed You today
So where did You go?
You told me to call
Said You'd be there
And though I cannot feel You
Are You still there?
I cried out with no reply
And I can't feel You by my side
So I'll hold tight to what I know
You're here and I'm never alone
Never Alone, Barlow Girl

Faith in Scripture is described as "the evidence of things hoped for, the substance of things unseen." (Hebrews 11) But how can you have evidence of a hope, substance of the invisible? That's what makes faith, faith.

And what happens when faith is shaken as never before? When a faith so old and grounded seems suddenly uprooted by a single event? When there are more questions than answers? When the answers that surface don't satisfy?

That's where I am right now.

I've had many wise people over the years of my journey tell me that it is OK to ask God the hard questions, to tell Him t he real feelings that are inside. Read the Psalms, people tell me. God is God. Infinite. The I AM. He can handle it. He is not surprised by my emotions or questions.

But what if I am doing all that, and I still feel that my words aren't getting past the ceiling? I don't like this place in which I find myself. It is uncomfortable. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I'm restless. It makes me feel like I might be going crazy.

Still, in all of it, I have this gigantic urge to think about God. To wonder what He's thinking about me. To wonder what He wants me to do about all of this. Sometimes, even if I feel like He's not listening, I try to talk to Him. The words may not be happy ones. But they are directed to Him. So my heart, my spirit, must still be holding something that my mind, for now, is rejecting.

A dear professor used to counsel me in college. Sometimes I laugh at how green and naive I was back then. Once, during a particularly difficult time, I told him about the doubtful and angry prayers that I was praying. I was scared that God might be mad at me, or at the least, too disgusted with me to listen.

"Amy," said my professor, "God would rather you come to Him in anger than not at all. If you had said to me that you'd stopped praying, then I'd be worried."

So . . .

All that . . .

And I'm still praying (if you want to call it "praying") and still - what is this I've come to? A new faith? That scares me. This is a place where I have no answers that satisfy me, where speaking as I did in my old faith annoys me, where no scripture that I think up helps me sleep in peace through the night. So what does all of this mean? Am I wrestling with God now? Climbing my own ladder? Where will I end up? If still accept God at the end of it, will He still accept me? Am I normal? Should I be this afraid?

One thing I've realized is that the scariest part of faith, for me, is that you don't have to believe anything. Faith is up to me. It's my choice. Truly . . . a leap.

I feel . . . alone. And God said He'd never leave me or forsake me. And I know Scripture says not to trust my feelings. But what happens at a time like this, when faith and feelings don't match? When my Bible weighs ton? When I can't have that meaningful prayer time?

And what does it mean, that I'm feeling like this? That the strong faith I once knew wasn't real? That I am not know, or ever was, as strong in my faith as I believed? Or is there some level I never knew about or imagined?

I miss that blessed, peaceful faith. I'm whining, I know. I want to know what's at the end of this wrestling-in-the-night stuff.

I've never had a problem being vulnerable when it has come to issues of spirituality. I had a problem writing this. I didn't know if I should share. I don't know what someone might think. But I have tried to think and write something pat and pretty about how I feel, and I just can't do it right now.

And still, there's that God-urge, but my prayers aren't working for now, so I'm asking the Holy Spirit to pray for me like He has before.

I don't know, but I want to think that maybe something important is happening, or it wouldn't be so hard.