…some of us…

Some of us find faith to be more about exploration than rest. Some of us ask questions with reckless abandon, not knowing whether the cost of the answer is something that we can afford. Some of us talk to God in ways that conjure memories of both Abraham and Cain. Some of us believe deeply enough in the promises of God that we aren’t willing to twist them to fit our circumstances; they either are or they aren’t. Some of us hold tightly to the ironic pleasure of believing that we don’t understand what God is doing – we do this because as far as we understand it God isn’t doing what He said He would – and our inability to comprehend brings us hope and trust that He actually is doing everything He said He would, just without our permission or approval. one in a crowd

Some of us leak tears at unexpected times. Some of us intensely hope that God counts our honest griping as holy prayer. Some of us are afraid of what we’ve already missed because some of us believe that individual moments matter. Some of us long for tangible results to our prayers all the while secretly grinning in our souls because intangible, unseen things create more wonder. Some of us wonder why volcanoes and tornadoes kill people quickly but greed and pride and consequences often take so long. Some of us have some questions so sordid we would sooner be beaten and killed than ask some of them out loud.

Some of us dare to believe that holiness is about something much more important than cigarettes, political parties, and saying the right things. Some of us suspect that being killed unjustly might just be better than ever going to war. Some of us are weary from years of trying to make sense of life, liberty, and the exhausting pursuit of happiness. Some of us love people enough to keep our mouths shut about things that we believe. Some of us grow tired of pragmatism. Some of us are literally held together by the echoes of a song that we feel like we’ve heard before every time we hear it, and yet we can’t quite put our finger on how we know it. Some of us have accepted that we will spend the rest of our life trying to figure out why we are so loved. Some of us are happy to spend our lives figuring out that very thing.

And by some of us, I mean me.

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