On believing God

I told God not long ago that I didn’t know if I believed in Him.

It’s been a long couple of years with too much loss, loneliness, fear, and brokenness. There’s been a lot of good things in my life too, but it’s the struggles that have weighed heaviest on me. The latter half of last year brought much growth and healing, but then I got stuck. I looked at my life, and all I could see was that I wasn’t where I wanted to be. Too many of my hopes and dreams went unfilled, and it became harder and harder to hold onto them.

In December, I was hit with fatigue. There were days when all I could do was work, eat, and go to sleep. I turned down invitations from friends, because I just didn’t have the energy to go out. It felt like I was nearing the bottom again, and I just didn’t see a way up. I wondered what good my faith was.

I could look at the Bible, history, and the lives of those around me and see God at work, but it no longer felt personal. My prayers felt hollow and empty, and I wasn’t sure He heard them. I wanted to believe in Him and to believe that He was still good, but I just didn’t feel like I could.

So I told Him. 

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On starting a blog

I jumped into the world of blogging headfirst last week with an incredibly personal, vulnerable post, and I have been totally overwhelmed by the response to it. I received so many more supportive comments and messages than I imagined possible. I wrote that post because I needed to and not for approval, but the affirmation from everyone meant a lot to me. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Starting a blog is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I briefly blogged on Myspace several years ago, which I enjoyed, but I don’t really count it. I think there were probably about five people who read what I wrote. Since then I’ve thought about starting a real blog often. I’ve even started to compose many posts in my head, and I started to set up this site a year and a half ago. So why haven’t I written anything before now? I could give you lots of excuses, but mostly I think it was fear.

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On remembering my mom

I was sitting around a bonfire a few weeks ago with friends when the topic of cancer came up. I quickly glanced around the circle, and I realized that no one knew my story and how cancer had affected my family, even though I considered a few people in the circle my good friends. The conversation continued for a few minutes, with one person commenting on how much more prevalent cancer is today, and another stating that his roommate had lost his mother a few months ago.

And I just kept silent and stared at the fire.

I should have said something. I should have spoken up and shared some of my story. I wanted to.  I lost my mom two years ago… I thought the words and opened my mouth to speak them, but no sound came out. It turns out not talking about her is a hard habit to break…

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