I struggle at my faith. I
do not struggle at belief, I find it completely logical that a miracle kicked
off this whole show, and giving credit for that spark to the God of the Bible
requires a smaller violation of scientific reasoning than the other oddball
theories posited. I believe. I also find the Bible to be a credible volume of
works that has stood the test of time and the firing squad of criticism of all
calibers. So my faith struggle is not one of belief VS disbelief. It's what
comes from that belief that I struggle with; the impact belief has on my
actions.
I struggle at my faith; and
most of the time I feel alone in this.
I struggle to read my
Bible. I find that when most Christians say this they really mean, "I do
not read my Bible at all and I feel guilty about it." That is not my
reality. I read the Bible. I probably read the Bible more often and more
studiously than the majority of people I know. But I struggle to do so. It
simply does not come easily to me. Sometimes I give myself consequences if I do
not get a few chapters in, like refusing to turn in an important document at
work if I haven't done my study, or not having a bite of food until I've dined
on The Bread (Christianese for Scripture). I do it, frequently, but I struggle
to do it.
I struggle to respect
people. My theology is that all people are created in God's image and therefore
are deserving of my due regard. I'm also to be a tireless servant of all, a
humble grace-giver and loving helper. Two days ago a woman passed me on the
shoulder of a residential road at great speed then slammed on her breaks at the
next intersection so hard that she missed the turn, reversed as I was
approaching, then made her turn while non-verbally communicating her
displeasure at my existence. I called her an ass hat. Yesterday I was at
Dunkin' buying my cuppa, I walked out to find a vehicle parked so far over the
yellow line that I could not walk between it and my Jeep. I waited. Then,
finally, went inside to politely inquire of the lady who owned the vehicle. She
told me, in gruff and exasperated tones, that she was getting her coffee ready
and that I would just have to wait patiently. I did not harbor goodwill in my
heart as I said, "Apology accepted, I'll be waiting outside." In my
department there is a heavy atmosphere of fear of pending cuts and raised
expectations. It's near cut-throat sometimes. I repeatedly look like a fool
when I rely on others to deliver what I've sold only to learn they've let down
yet another client because they did not take the time to make a real effort at
collaboration and customer service. I get pompous and superior as I make my
displeasure known, then put in yet another twelve hour shift to "just do
it myself". Then I apologize. Again. Because I'm supposed to respect
people. But I struggle to.
I struggle to be pure. I
avoid driving certain routes when I'm able because of the billboards that I
can't seem to divert my eyes from. I awkwardly insist on making long drives for
work on my own, not with my female sales partner. I duck out of inappropriate
conversations with the manufacturing guys I often sell to. I can't watch
Dancing with the Stars, Top Model, some of the Transformers series, almost any
James Bond movie, or anything at all with Salma Hayek, or Salma Hayek's name
being mentioned in the credits, or a poster of Salma Hayek in the movie, or an
actor who played in a movie with Salma Hayek that I saw and so reminds me of
that movie with Salma Hayek in it. No Salma. You're more like, Salmonella,
you're gross and weird and undesirable and come from raw chicken. Leave
me alone. All this struggle, and still I fail.
I struggle to go to church
sometimes. I love my church. I love to worship. I teach every Sunday. I have
great friends at church. But I go there and I feel like not many people are
struggling. As if there are two groups of people: those who obey every
Gospel-related message with neither hesitation nor difficulty, who pray freely
and hit all the right notes during the songs. And the other group, most known
to the outside world, who attend for some reason or other, but whose Facebook
albums reflect repeated drunken attempts at being Selma or being royal A-holes.
I don't fit in the second group because I struggle to live out my faith. I
don't fit in the first group because I struggle to live out my faith. I offend
the second group when I cite my faith and excuse myself from their revelry. I
offend the first group when I admit that I called that lady an ass hat. Gets a little
lonely.
I struggle to pray. I pray
a lot. Not just daily, more like hourly. I pray before meals, and before
meetings, and occasionally before I speak. Or write. I know Jesus. I
acknowledge His ever-presence. So, naturally, I talk to Him. But when my life
gets crazy and I'm closing on a house and launching a business and picking up
the slack for the two vacant positions on my team and volunteering at youth
group and teaching a class at the college and teaching Sunday school and
serving on committees and applying for a grant and closing a statewide deal, it
becomes less natural, like remembering to turn off the lights when leaving a
burning building. I do it, but I struggle to do it.
I struggle at my faith. I
feel alone in this. I'm certain that I am not, but who can tell the heart
anything? Sometimes I wonder if this is all wrong, that the freedom that is the
byproduct of faith is being missed somehow in my wrestling. I don't believe so;
I have freedom today in knowing my destiny and freedom tomorrow from the sin
that provokes the struggle. I do get tired, though. Sometimes I lose joy. The
struggle may not be the idyllic Christian life, but it is authentic, or, as the
meme goes, the struggle is real.
