Help for my Unbelief

I skipped through a chapter in my Bible this week. And it wasn’t because it was a long, tedious genealogy of names that I couldn’t pronounce. Nor was it a complex passage that my mind didn’t have the energy to untangle.

Honestly, it was just something that I didn’t want to read. It made me uncomfortable. It made me squirm. Because I knew that I should be doing more than just reading those verses. I should have been absorbing them into my heart and applying them to my life.

But I didn’t want to. Those words poked at a tender place in my heart. At a bruised place that still carries the reminder of a deep wound that has not yet found complete healing. My weary soul was not willing to unite the lingering pain with the shame(?) gift(?) of conviction that morning.

I bought myself a new study Bible for my fiftieth birthday last spring. The pages fresh. The words waiting to be received again with new eyes not influenced by the markings made in previous readings. In my last Bible, meaningful to me passages were neatly underlined all in one colour with the occasional precise star in the margin. I was careful to not tarnish my Bible in any way. When I would see the myriad of coloured highlighted sections, scribbles and smiley faces in the margins of other people’s Bibles it both awed and frightened my structured personality. Now I was compelled to stretch my interaction with God’s Word. With a nudge from the Holy Spirit, I bought a package of coloured pens to bring to my devotional time in expectation of connecting with God’s Word and not merely reading it. Now I use different colours for various themes. I circle words for emphasis. I double underline. With a ruler. No need for a complete, chaotic mess.

And now in my Bible there is a stark black and white section bookended by purple and green.

Lord, I believe; help my unbelief. Mark 9:24

Because that is what it is. Doubt. Mistrust. And the dull ache of defeat and longing. Even though I have received tremendous healing, I haven’t yet received all of it when and how I expected or desired. It hurts. Especially when, and because, I fail to trust God’s timing and plan for my life and find myself actively resisting His offering of hope. And with that, the ability to receive the answer to the prayer I no longer dare to pray.

But God is good. And God is good at being God.

God chases me. He wrestles with my spirit. He waits patiently for me to finish my stubborn temper tantrum as a good Father does. And then He holds me close and whispers to not give up. To trust Him. To let Him be God, and me just rest confidently in the assurance that I am His beloved daughter.

Those prayers I refuse to pray? God persistently urges me to continue praying them. I argue. I pout. And then I relent one more time. The tension eases from my body and the flicker of hope grows stronger.

The scripture I rejected earlier this week? It stands forever. Whether I highlight it or not. God has imprinted it on my heart. Days later, I cannot erase God’s personal message to me. Even though I’ve tried. It won’t go away because God won’t go away.

I continue to be healed by God’s supernatural power that is far greater than my pain, brokenness and willfull attempts to veer off the path He has set before me. God is running after me. It’s time for me to stop, turn around and run into His outstretched arms. Again. It is there I will find help for my unbelief.

Cindy