cobwebs & questions

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

I’m asking a lot of questions lately. I’ve got a fairly analytical personality as it is and some days, question-asking seems something of a compulsion. Ever since I possessed the abilities of cognition and speaking, I have been asking all sorts of questions starting with words like: Why? What? What if? How? and so on. Usually these questions give rise to even more questions. This is particularly true of my walk these days.

As some have said, this season is very much akin to walking through a thick and impenetrable fog. We put our hands out in front of us, trying to find our way through the thick vapors that surround us, hugging our skins like a heavy shroud. We can’t see the next step and we wonder: is this the one that will send me tumbling over a cliff and land me on jagged rocks a thousand feet below? We’re learning to trust in this place, occasionally pausing to ask God where He is, if we’re moving in the right direction, if we should keep moving at all, and if He could (please? now?) extend His hand to cut through the fog and guide us by the light of a clear day.

Where, God? And when? Do I sit still and wait? Or do I keep walking?

And then the silence. We remember His promises which, though they are not the answers we’re seeking, basically boil down to trust me. I am faithful. Trust me. And though I do not like it, it is a kind of answer.

But the tangle of questions persists: How will I know if I’m supposed to keep walking, or if I’m supposed to sit and wait for God? How can I move forward when my body is so frail and tired and yet, physical frailty has not limited the saints of God from ministering in their areas of giftedness in the past, so is this something I need to learn to push through? If I push through, it seems that I’m not honoring my body’s need for rest and yet, if I honor my body’s need for rest, it seems that nothing at all is happening. What if in my stillness, I’m not being obedient? But then again, does my stillness limit God?

I get frustrated and confounded with this line of reasoning.

Could it be that what I see as a fantastic mess is really a single thread in a larger tapestry? Could it be that one day, this will make sense in an expanded context, as a chapter in a larger story? Could it be that what I think of as a desire to serve God is really my own desire to be relevant, to provide something meaningful?

Truth is, I just don’t know. That’s as honest an answer as I can give. These questions still cling to me like the fine strands of a cobweb. They irritate and irk and annoy me, I want to brush them off but they persist in their clinging. Sometimes I can’t see them, but I can feel them touching my body: covering my eyes, tickling my arms and legs, tight around my belly. Despite my persistent brushing and slapping and clawing, they cling to me. The questions kick and scream with life in spite of being starved for answers. My internal dialogue goes round and round, ending where it started, and starting yet again.

And so I keep doing what I know: asking, waiting, and opening my hands. I keep feeling like the questions are holding me back, keeping me frozen and unable to make any meaningful progress toward that for which I was created, at least not the kind of "progress" as I'm accustomed to thinking of it (how very modern-western-thought of me!). It could be that in God's eyes, I'm exactly where I need to be. I just wish I knew. I just wish I could be sure, or at least more certain than I am.

It's easy to think that my faith is just fine, thank you in a place where there is clarity and certainty. Then I remember: just like a muscle does not get strong without resistance, neither can faith increase without it. Certainty and answers are easy and do nothing for my faith; in fact, certainty and answers are faith's opposite. But it's in places like this where the fog is heavy and thick, where the fine silky strands of the cobwebs are knit around me so tightly that removing myself from them is impossible, that my faith muscle is being tested. And it hurts. It is work: there is sweat and strain and soreness.

Maybe I just need to trust that God is handling this, that watching and waiting is all He's calling me to in this moment. Maybe I just need to remember that God knows His plans for me better than I do, and that He will clear a way when it's time for me to walk in it.

I guess part of what frustrates me is that I feel like a got such a clear glimpse of what that is when I was with you this past week: I see it and I trust it. Finally. And I want it to be now.

But it's not time and the questions thrive and multiply inside me exponentially. I want both: I want to trust God in the midst of my questions, and I want to take each question and tie a scarf over its eyes, string it up, tie a noose around its neck. And then I really want to be the one that kicks out the stool on which the question stands and watch while it flails and finally, dies.

But I don't think that day will ever come. I think I'm learning what it is to live by faith, not by sight or answers or certainty or a clear blueprint laid out in front of me. It's unnerving sometimes. But He is here. And He knows. And while I don't know what or when or how, I know Him.

Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.