Questioning Faith

I have always wanted some sort of happy clappy testimony. I wish I could have been saved at the age of 7 and that could be the end of it. That seems so much simpler. There seems to be so much less wrestling there. My story has had a lot of ups and downs, figuratively and literally, more so lately as I deal with the ever present bipolar disorder in my life and as life keeps throwing more curveballs than any person can handle on their own. 

I used to write letters to God and place them in the cabinets of my toy kitchen, praying he would get then words I could not speak out loud, and over the course of the last two years I have found myself doing something similar. I found myself not being able to pray out loud. I would scribble the words down my heart could not muster to say, in journals, on napkins, on tiny pieces of paper. The sound of my voice sounded foreign and dry. My prayers sounded distant and unheard especially when everyone around me just kept on dying. The blows kept coming, life kept happening, and now my moods were cycling for the first time in a decade. 

I have questioned my faith more in the past two years than I have in my entire 29 years of existence and honestly I do not see my questions going away anytime soon. I believe God is a God of answering questions. I say that because he keeps willingly answering mine. Just this morning I have answered 5 billion questions asked by my four year old and I answered just about every single one. Wouldn’t our Creator be even more patient, even more willing to answer the burning desires on our hearts? He wants to sit with us in all the questions. That is what I have learned over the course of this dark dark time. That no matter how far I veer. No matter how alone I feel. He is still sitting with me in all of my questioning, in my reasoning, and as I come to some sort of conclusion about my world he is the solution for it all.

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