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We sat on the couch, hand in hand, tears streaming down our faces.
“Is this what faith looks like?”
We’d been struggling. Life had been heavy. We felt strained — unsure of what the future would hold.1 And, as this burden grew in our hearts, doubt and fear began to obstruct our perspective. In fits of discouragement, we’d find ourselves pleading with God — wondering when or if any relief would ever come.
Hope felt like a lifeboat tethered to a ship that was miles away. At any moment, the waves would capsize us — anguish swallowing us whole.
“Is this what faith looks like?”
If you’d asked me years ago, what I thought faith was — it wouldn’t have been this.
I didn’t think desperation could hold space with confidence, or trust. I naively thought that God could only be found where it was good and done, not in the unfinished or suffering. In retrospect, I don’t know if I had ever been shown how to acknowledge and live in the tension between the now and the not yet — between the triumph of Christ on the Cross and this life here on Earth. I saw this play out most significantly in my body, mind, and soul. Though there were parts of me still broken, searching, and dead — I implicitly believed that these parts needed to be outcast. And, I worked hard to rewrap them in declarations and beliefs that only skimmed the surface of the underlying pain. In truth, I was the victim of gaslighting.2
The offender?
Me.
I had worked hard to undermine my humanity.
And yet, ironically, this led me to be less faithful. Not more. I was only giving parts of myself to the Lord, not the whole. I had begun to believe that my weakness was somehow a hindrance to His strength. So, I withheld it — as if God can’t take us as we are. As if the Cross could buckle under our trepidation instead of being held up by Christ’s unfailing love. What I had called faithful, was, in fact, only pride.
But, faith — isn’t meant only to be lived in the light, but in the dark.
We’re meant to embody it.
We’re meant to let our faith marry the sinews of our dying bodies so desperate for tender care. We’re meant to let our faith be more than just a posture, a platform, or a performance but, human — walking and talking and needing oxygen to breathe.
Faith is more than a checklist of triumphs and prosperity.
Faith is saying the hard things even though they might disrupt the peace. It’s groaning and crying and gnashing our teeth when propriety would have us silently ache. Faith is telling the truth — the whole story — even when others try to silence us. It’s fighting for justice, extending mercy and grace, and personifying compassion in the face of our greatest enemy. Faith is holding tight to the ones you love, even in their imperfection. But, it’s also leaving an institution that’s failed to uphold and honor the Lord, and/or abused you. Faith is acknowledging something wrong and asking for help — even, dismantling the system. It’s resisting the drive to work for love and live in rest alone. Faith is waiting, even with bated breath. It’s asking questions. It’s getting out of bed in the morning. It’s taking one more breath. It’s walking through that door or even, shutting it. It’s saying no to conventional methods and trying something new, something different. Faith is miscarrying a dream, and grieving it — without feeling the need to numb the pain. Or, cauterize it.
Faith is many things.
But, without fail — faith is the willingness to hold our tangled, unrefined lives in our stained hands to proclaim over and over again, “Hell, no. Heaven, yes.”3
Our sorrows and our joy — make us who we are.
I think we know this. But, we struggle to live it.
What we’re willing and unwilling to hold before God is different for us all. For some, lament may come easy, but not praise. We may know God intimately in our hardships, but be less inclined to lean on Him in times of ease. It may be tender to say, “Thank You.” Or, rejoicing at a prayer answered, without waiting for the other foot to drop. It might simply be too much to have our cake and eat it, too. It might be too difficult to ask for not just what we need but want. So, we don’t.
But, faith welcomes it all.
Which of these makes you most uncomfortable? Which makes you cringe?
Pay attention.
Listen.
You have permission to bring the parts of yourself you’ve abandoned back to the Lord.
Bessel van der Kolk, a well-renowned psychiatrist, wrote in his bestselling book, “As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself.”4 He isn’t talking about the things we keep from others as much as he is referring to what we keep from ourselves — what we deny the light. But, I can’t help but also make a spiritual connection — that when we keep things from the Lord, we deny Him access to our fragmented pieces that need to be healed, helped, and held.
Van der Kolk claims that the body keeps the score, and I agree. It does. Of both trauma and sin. Of battles lost and won. Of heartache and grief. Of anger and hate. Of joy and wonder. Of hope and desperation. Of life and death. Of yesterday and today.
But, when we profess a faith that bypasses all this, we not only harm ourselves, but we minimize the power of the Kingdom in our lives. Inevitably, we choose to bear the burden and the weight that Christ came to make easy and light.5
But, with Him, and in His hands, the score has been settled.
It doesn't have to be kept by us anymore.
The body can reveal our witness and our testimony.
This is, in all design, what faith is supposed to look like—you and me, in our humanity, sharing our brokenness honestly so that God’s glory can be revealed.
What has faith looked like for you recently in your life? Tell me in the comments below.
alongside you,
Tabitha
P.S. — If this was helpful or encouraging, would you please share it with a friend?6
If you feel financially strained — I see you. We’ve been there. And, while it’s often not discussed, most of us feel worried about keeping up with the cost of living. If that’s you, would you let me know? I would love to pray for you.
Gaslighting is a form of manipulation and abuse in which one person attempts to lead another to question themselves and their judgment. Merriam-Webster also chose it as their word of the year in 2022. I found this article to be incredibly fascinating and informative.
I recommend this book to everyone. If you haven’t read it yet, please do. It’s life-changing.
In 2023, I would love nothing more than to expand this community. To double it. Would you be willing to help me do that? If every person who reads this shared it with one other person — it would make such a difference.
Tabitha! I loved this article so, so much. The Spirit is teaching me a similar thing this this season, he wants all of me. And peace and rest are more about settling into that tension filled with Faith that God wants even the weakest parts of us, than it is about a perfectly relaxing day. Thank you, as always, for sharing this with us 🤎