Sunday, July 8, 2001
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Sunday, July 8, 2001 |
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Of doubting, wondering, questioning... By MARY JANE HOLT
It was midnight, or later, on what I think must have been a Monday night. I was in the newsroom of a Georgia newspaper. My partner and I were putting the finishing touches on a project that would go to press the next morning. That was when our paths crossed. He said he read my column regularly. He said he was not a Christian but if anyone could ever convince him to be one I could. "Whoa," is all I could think that night. Speechless is what I was. Still am, really. That was several years ago, but the incident stays with me. How little he knew of my own personal, continuous, endless struggles. Of how the doubts never stop and the questions keep coming. Sometimes they come so hard that I want to feel guilty, but can't anymore. Could be I have grown too tired to carry the guilt too. The doubting and the questioning is heavy enough. Don't really know what set off this most recent round of doubting. Of wondering. Of questioning. Could have been the song I wrote a few weeks ago for my grandson. It started out like this: "You told me about Jesus when I was just a child; "About how much He'd loved me, for such a long, long while, "Before I was ever born, you said, he knew me even then, "You said that he loved me before you and I were kin. "Now Grandma, I don't understand how it all came about, "How you became so assured of your own chosen route, "Oh, how I want to walk that way, I do, I really do, "But I don't know where to start, I just don't have a clue ..." The song goes on a bit then closes like this: "... Oh yes, she told him about Jesus when he was just a kid. "She planted seeds she knew would sprout and he's so glad they did. "She told him about Jesus so he would learn to stand. "She knew the day would come when he would have to be a man." I cannot imagine that there could possibly be anyone who has been afforded more coincidences that led them to believe in God, in his hand, his active hand, at work in their life. I mean my life is so checkered with so many coincidences beyond my own wildest imagination that you would think there could be no more room for doubt. So where does it come from? Why do I succumb to thoughts like, "What's it all about? What's it all for? Why try so hard? Nobody really gives a ____. Everybody is just trying to outdo the other fellow for some insane reason, or for no reason at all. Am I really so 'so assured?'" The thoughts come when I'm not even especially tired or depressed. They come out of nowhere. One day, one hour, one moment I can be so assured of God, of Christ, of his death and resurrection and of my own salvation. Then the next minute, it all seems like a fairy tale. Another fellow who once read my column regularly (don't know if he still does or not) told me he enjoyed reading the make-believe stories that I told. He said I was "entertaining." He never did believe that I never made any of it up. Every tale I ever told in this column has been the truth. But you know, sometimes, like now, when I look back and read some of those stories, I even have trouble believing them. I'm glad God's bigger than all this, aren't you. That he is so patient with us. That his love is so all encompassing. It is that for sure, you know. Never once, amidst all my doubts over the years, have I doubted that God loved me. Oh, I've wondered how he could at times. But I've never doubted that he does. And somehow the assurance of his love is always enough to help me get though times like this when the doubts abound. I am reminded once more, as I write this, of Paul's letter to the church at Corinth and of his words concerning love. He had become convinced that love never fails. Prophecies may fail, tongues may cease and knowledge may vanish away, but love ain't goin' nowhere. Love remains, Paul said. Yep, whether we deserve it our not, love remains. Go figure ...
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