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Life with jesus hasn't turned out quite the way I thought it would.
As a child, "testimony time" was my favorite feature of Sunday evening church. Each week the white-haired ladies and gentlemen around me would grab the pew ahead, pull themselves to a slightly stooped stand, and proclaim, "I accepted Jesus forty years ago, and it's been glory ever since." I figured "glory" must be great, and couldn't wait to follow in their steps. I expected to soar through life with unswerving faith.
Instead of soaring, however, my faith journey has more closely resembled the flight of my first homemade kite: first rising, then dipping and crashing, so I'd have to start over again. Why couldn't I be more "spiritual" like those saints I'd known as a child?
I decided to study the Old Testament heroes listed in Hebrews 11 as members of the New Testament "hall of faith." At first, their stories puzzled me. How could God possibly put Jacob in that list? He'd stolen his brother's birthright through treachery. What about Samson? He spent his life chasing women such as Delilah. David had committed adultery and murder. None were people I'd choose as an example of faithful living. So why did God?
But as I read more carefully, I saw how those listed in Hebrews 11 shared a common story: God worked through their lives to shape them into individuals who trusted him despite seemingly impossible situations. Each experienced the same ups and downs of faith I knew so well, yet God used those events to build strong faith in him.
Why does God often seem to take us back to square one in our journey with him? What can we learn only when we have nothing left but God himself and his promises? Here are some answers.
Faith and feelings aren't the same. Throughout high school I promised God I'd follow him fervently, no matter what. God's presence seemed palpable as our school Bible club grew from 15 to 115 members. We prayed. God answered. It was great.
Soon after beginning college, however, I found myself seated alone in a dorm prayer room, wondering what had happened to God. The same Bible that had been savory meat for my soul now tasted like cold French fries. Prayers seemed to bounce off the walls with mocking echoes: "God isn't LISTENING … listening … listening." How could this be?
That's when I glanced up to see a plaque on the wall quoting a verse from Job 23: "I do not see him … but he knows the way that I take." I opened my Bible to read the whole chapter, and it described my situation perfectly. No matter where Job looked, he couldn't find God—yet God always knew where to find him. Based on that, Job determined to continue trusting God through the darkness.
That fact—that God knows where I am when I have no idea where he is—has been one of the most stabilizing truths in my life. I can pray, "God, I haven't a clue where you are in this mess, but I thank you that you know where I am. Please hold on to me when I can't seem to hold on to you."
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