They always ask the good questions. Tough ones. Ones that’ll make me fidget and think, “Oh, boy. I know this feeling. I’ve been there once, but I never got to ask these questions before.”
Because, frankly, I never had someone to ask them, being the type that keeps myself to, well, myself.
But I am here, pushed out of my door and into the company of five smart, strong girls, all with their own uniqueness, with startling wits and surprising talents. There was no going back. No running to the books. There has to be, at least, a shove in the right direction.
The question Mayee asked was this: How do you have faith in someone you don’t see? [non verbatim]
This, in the middle of tackling things about purpose. PURPOSE. The Big Thing. The Real Deal. Halfway through Paul and his Damascus came this unexpected but very welcome inquiry, and that sets me on another road. This was not going as I planned, but that’s life.
It was never how we planned it.
So, I responded with the same childish bearing. “I know that. Been there. It’s like calling on the telephone and nobody answers on the other end. Not the really the most comfortable thing in the world, right?”
Faith, I’m afraid, was never comfortable. In fact, in all of life’s lessons, faith is the hardest one to teach. Because unlike maths or sciences or language, there’s no algorithm to it. No sentence structure. No formula. Faith is its wholeness. It’s either you have it, or you don’t. It, like God, is something intangible.
But faith exists. Faith can be learned. Faith can grow.
And so, dear girls, this post is for you.
When we were in P&W, our mentors told us to keep our eyes on one portion of the audience. The trick is focus; you don’t want to be looking everywhere; that’ll make you dizzy, and that’ll also confuse the congregation. So when I’d stand up, I’d look at the farthest end of the audience, and sometimes, think that Someone was there. Someone not like any others. Someone with clothes shimmering like the sun, with a gentle smile on His face.
The song was for Him, after all.
I can’t tell you how God looks like, because the Bible was so careful at even mentioning His Name. We don’t know if He had brown skin or fiery skin or hair like snow or as black as night. I can’t tell you His height, His waistline, how smooth His hands were, or how His voice sounded like.
But I could tell you this: many minutes of my daily life, I think of Him, talk to Him about my deepest fears, lodge him my highest hopes, and, at times, thank Him for You.
That’s called faith. Picking up the phone and listening to the silence on the other side of the receiver, believing that in that same quiet, God has spoken.
In the quiet, there He was.
Faith is something you need to discover in yourself. Faith is something you need to grow. Nobody’s hurrying you. Nobody can bend it for you. All the world may impose their wisdom and what-ifs on you, but you will have your own sweet, secret moments with your Savior. You have your own faith and you will give it to the One you feel who deserved it most.
I can tell you this: nothing in this world, or the universe, rather, deserved it more than Christ.
Your faith journey has already begun. Because here you are, reading your journals, sitting down with me on often-sabaw discussions about life. And you know what?
I don’t have faith in myself and in the stuff I randomly share to you. I’m not really a good teacher. But I will be here, to hear you, to receive your questions, to tell you my God is so real I’ve cried at His beauty on a regular basis. I wrote songs for Him. Did leaps for Him. And I have faith in God, that He’s promised me every word that goes out of His mouth will not return empty, and will accomplish his desires and achieve the purpose for which He sent it (Isaiah 55:11).
I’ve asked about his Hello God moment, and our answer is the same: it comes to you when you seek Him. There’s no “special anointed” moment. No thunder, lightning, no suspense, no voice in the dark, no ghost. It comes to you quietly, miraculously, in the marvel of the mundane things, the small miracles that happen to you. That where God exists. In the folds of your everyday life. And if you take time to notice them, I have no doubt, you will see Him. As clear as the sun. Because He’s there. And He’s answering you, loud and clear, not in loud voice, but in a cosmic love that glimmers in the stars.