I Believe, because I Tried so Very Hard Not to.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a friend whose wife was killed in a car accident. She was young. They had a baby boy not even a year old. We found out on a Thursday night. It was jarring, unnerving. I went to bed feeling anxious as I tried to rationalize why things like that happen. I (as usual when things like this happen) was filled with questions and doubt. Questions about why God allows these things to happen? Does he make them happen? Does he pay attention when they happen? Does he really care about us? I had asked all these questions before as well as worse ones than that.

Then these past few weeks in Sunday school, we have been discussing why we believe what we believe, and how we came to our beliefs about Christ and God? Strangely, I had been wanting to blog about my struggles in my faith for the past few weeks, but I knew it would be more than a simple sit down and write sort of thing. I was going to need to really think about how to express what I feel and see.

I guess the question of belief and why one believes is a common one? Why do you believe in God? Millions have been asked these questions, and have supplied answers about hope, encounters with death, a oneness with the people and things around them. I don't think I have ever been directly asked that question. So if someone were to say, "Jeffrey, why do you believe in God?" I would honestly have to start with this answer, "Because I have tried so very hard to not believe in him."

It is kind of a scary thing for someone like to me to admit--that I have tried to not believe in God, to lose my faith and disprove what I know about Christ in my own life, and to admit I have done this dance on more than one occasion, but it is true. At several difficult junctures in my life, I searched for unbelief. I ignored; I denied. I hid; I angered. I slinked away from the truth and blessing I had experienced, because I couldn't rationalize it in the context of questioning and tragedy.

It's hard for someone like me to admit that. I grew up in church. I have worked for churches and ministries. I was involved my whole life in things involving Christ and sharing belief in him. It seemed like everyone (in all those situations) around me never doubted Christ, never doubted the existence of a loving omnipotent being.  But at very specific times I did.

For example, in high school, when new to my faith, at least new to my faith that made a difference in my life, I remember thinking about what came before God? And how was God made? I had asked those questions for a long time, even before high school, but had always pushed them away behind my blank glazed eyes that couldn't find and answer.  I remember coming to a conclusion that what I had felt in my heart from the Lord must have been a comfort that I had created for myself, to ease those questions. I had resolved myself to this quietly, and kept it secret from my parents, FCA friends, youth group for a time. I would go to sleep at night, and I would find myself desperately wanting to prey to God. It was a strange phenomenon. It was like I couldn't control my heart, as if I was breathing prayers to God, all the while my mind was telling my spirit to stop. And I would hear the verse from Romans 8 (8:26) about the holy spirit groaning for us, intervening for us with God, when we don't have the words to express what we feel and want.

I woke up one morning, after several nights of this, simply sat up and felt it in my heart. God was real, whether I wanted to believe it or not. Christ loved me and this messed up world, whether I wanted to believe it in my heart or not. But the thing was, even though I really didn't want to, I believed. And I was happy (if that makes any sense) about my belief.

This sort of occurrence happened a few other times in my life, always in the face of something I couldn't explain. In college age 21. After a string of bad decisions, bad friendships and relationships, an inability to reconcile with myself about who I was and would be, I became very sad. I wondered why wouldn't God give me things I had prayed for for years, or why wouldn't he make the changes in me that I had prayed for for so long. I was hurt. I felt dark inside. I couldn't rationalize the way I saw myself, the way I saw others treating each other and me, the great chaos of everything around me with a loving God. If I could stop my belief in God, then the world would make sense, because it would all simply be my bad choices and bad luck. But one night lying in bed in a particularly black state, once again I found myself praying even though I didn't want to be.  I found myself utterly helpless and honestly begging to be let go. I wanted to be let adrift in the vastness of my sadness, like a forgotten lifeboat at sea. I remember that dorm room and how empty I felt. It was so cold.

And in that silence I simply heard a voice say "You're going to have to get over it."  And I knew again that no matter how badly I didn't want to believe, I did. I knew the truth, and thankfully I knew the God who made promises that he did not break, one of which was to never let go of me in any situation. The next day, I prayed for forgiveness, and still quite sad, started going to class again, started doing my homework, calling my parents, resound to the fact that I loved God and he loved me, and that changes would come if I just accepted that.

And there have been brief moments of that since. When Addison died, the wife of my friend a couple weeks ago, moments where I have wanted to let go of what I know to be true, so I could find easy answers and not struggle with reconciling each of those things with a loving God. But to claim I didn't believe, or to claim that I didn't love a loving god, or to claim that I didn't trust an ever relevant and kind Christ would simply be a lie. I believe in them. I fail in trying to honor them every day. I am a good non-example of Christ on many, many days. But I realized it makes no sense when trying to reconcile Christ with the world, because Christ is so much better than this world, and this world is not how he wants it, and this world is not how God had wanted it.

And even through these seasons of my struggling self, where I tried to distance myself from what I knew and know, God still blessed me, still blesses me today, with so much more than I ever could have deserved or even wanted for myself. I know many people would see my little life and not think much of it. I teach, my wife subs, I have a baby girl in a small house that isn't very new, with two Ford Taurus's in the drive. But this seemingly shabby existence is so much more than I ever could have dreamt for myself, more than I would ever let myself believe was possible, and God still honored me with everything I had every really prayed for and wanted. That is for another blog, which will come.  But I hope this helps answer the question that was asked of us in Sunday School, about why we believe in God? How we first came to our faith? I believe, because I tried so very hard not to.