In the Comfort of the Clearing

 

O taste and see that the Lord is good; How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! -- Psalm 34:8

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. -- Psalm 34:18

A small part of me wants to hang on to vengeance.  I find myself looking back and wishing I could repay some harms, teach a few lessons here and there, put one or two folks in their places (wherever that would be) and perhaps point a few fingers of righteousness at ones I declare wicked.  But, there is a larger part of me that is thankful that vengeance is the Lord's.  There's another part of me that also wishes everyone else knew and believed that  -- that vengeance is the Lord's -- and would quit trying to do what God has said He will take care of.  So, you see, I have many parts, being "wondrously made."  No wonder God's love has to be so deep and wide.  I'm so often veering one way or another, up or down, side-to-side.  Still, His mercy is just inescapable.  Vengeance?  Maybe also?

In my life, mercy often appears like a clearing in the woods at just the point where it seems that one more thorny vine or scratching tangled brush, or one more exhaustive lost step of wandering would be too much, a clearing appears with a view from ground to sky and I am reminded that even when the path appears overgrown and treacherous, threatening to swallow me up in dangerous darkness, there is a clearing.  Room to breathe, to rest, to wait, to renew my strength, to ponder past missteps and consider a new course before pushing forward.  Mercy.

Even in my darkest moments of being abused, or my black times of determined depravity, or when frittering here and there in the shadows of sexual brokenness, or slinking along in the gray dealing of dishonesty, there were clearings, those points where I felt clearly the presence of God.  Sometimes I would behave like a possum caught in a sudden light and curl up in defense, playing dead and waiting for the moment to move beyond me.  Other times I would flee, fur-flying like a fox caught in the barn of iniquity by a bright and frightening light and run into the darkness to hide and plan another deceitful descent.  Other times I would throw my hands in the air in a "you caught me" moment of surrender.  Mostly I would sit still and silent to consider carefully the consequences of letting my tears flow and my heart open as opposed to the consequences of fighting back the tears, burying the heart deeper and moving forward on my own with steely determination.  Oh, the choices we make when the light shines in dark places.  

It seems strange to me that so many of the worst things in life happen within the most beautiful circumstances.  My final abusive moment in the hands of a sexually-deviant Scout master came when I was around 8.  He knew a place a little outside of town that was like heaven for little boys.  A short distance from the railroad tracks, next to a flowing stream which fed a bright blue and clear pond surrounded by polished stones on which turtles sunned.  It was just a short hike, punctuated by stopping to collect a few loose railroad spikes, skip some rocks on the pond and then settle down in the sun.  I have never forgotten the beauty of the place and have often wanted to find it again, but I have a feeling now a housing addition sits there, homes built around the peaceful pond that was once my clearing.  I was not even a Christian at that age, yet I clearly remember standing on the banks and seeing my reflection there and believing I was not alone.  The water was bright and beautiful and I did not play possum, but instead took strength from that believing.

God has always provided these places of clarity at times when it seems that I would be driven deaf by the clanging callousness of life, or permanently disabled by my own clanging gongs and cymbals.  How many times I stood upon the edge of a cliff, lifted a foot and prepared to step into thin air, only to be distracted by immeasurable love.

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. -- John 10:27

And I would turn.

 

If only I had been able to always distinguish His voice from among the cacophony crying out.  Why was I such a frequent visitor to the edge?  Was it to test His faithfulness?  Perhaps I wanted to know for sure that as unlovely as I am that God does indeed love me.  And how He has proved it over and over.

What about you?  I know.  One day not so long ago you were sure . . . and then a few forays into darkness later . . . the surety seems dimmed, clouded by layers of sinful residue.  

Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord. -- Acts 3:19

I look for the approval of men when I sin . . . and I seek the approval of men when I stop.  Yet, only God really knows my heart and only God knows what it will take to refresh it.  So, it is when I set men aside in good times and bad and put God first that I gain from my time in the clearing and it becomes more than a passing place of pause and reflection.

I know some of the people reading this were moments ago  perhaps surfing the web for porn, or fighting off the urge to enter a cycle of sexual fantasy, or fighting the pull to step outside the bonds of a God-ordained marriage to find self-centered satisfaction.  And I know some feel entitled, longing for a way to bury deeper the scars of the distant past, or to escape the pain of a difficult present.  Some are in pain, some are in denial, some are in a desperate cycle fueled by a displaced sense of unworthiness.  This is not a happy path.  But . . . there is a clearing.  

When we recognize we are sinful and tend to take the wrong path.

When we realize that our sinfulness is a rebellion against the very God that has cleared our path.

When we admit we know all this and resign ourselves to helplessness, that we have been lost and stumbling, ignoring our guide.

When we trust in God's willingness to forgive and again shine the light for our feet to follow.

When we actually accept that forgiveness and take His hand to lead us out of the darkness.

When we stand in the clearing, look around us at the underbrush and tangled clutter from which we have been rescued.

When we stop and look up, surrounded by threatening but held-back darkness and observe the brightness of the night sky and the sweet comfort of the approaching dawn.

  

When we know we are not alone.

When?

We stumble along way too long.  

The unsettling thing about a clearing is that the clutter that surrounds often still remains.  In my case, the former friends and church-members who are overwhelmed by skepticism and shuttered.  Or my children who decided I delved in that darkness too long and am the mole in the hole instead of the bird in flight. Still, the sense of peace that clearly passes understanding is the prize we receive when we pause in the clearing and accept His loving kindness.  I'll take the peace; perhaps the understanding may one day follow.

If God can restore me, once deemed unworthy among unworthies -- and He has -- I can certainly trust Him to restore all worthy things. 

And I can wait.  Here . . . in the clearing.

God Bless,

Thom

If You're Going Through Hell, Don't Stop at the Gift Shop

For a man's ways are in full view of the LORD, and he examines all his paths. The evil deeds of a wicked man ensnare him; the cords of his sin hold him fast. He will die for lack of discipline, led astray by his own great folly. -- Proverbs 5: 21-23

We are often visited here at our home by large black birds which walk around the yard pulling bugs from the grass as they sneak their way toward the dog food bowl, the real prize.  Our two big black dogs dogs lay sleeping, but often with one eye open so they can pounce at the birds just inches shy of the bowl. The birds flee to a nearby tree, then drop to the ground and begin again their determined march as soon as the dogs relax.  The dogs keep watch and pounce again, but occasionally they doze off completely and the persistent birds escape with their Purina prize. The cycle repeats and no one really wins, but the dogs and birds grow comfortable in the familiarity of the battle.  Are they enemies?  Are they adversaries?  Or are they just at play at the sport of life?  I am mainly an observer from my office window, drawn into this cycle, though perhaps a bit of an enabler, since I do buy the food in 50-pound bags.  I am amused by the endless cycle.

When I think of hell, I think of endless cycles . . . unrealized hope punched to breathless despair, a prize always extended, but guarded by the hounds of hell and their "you never will" growls. Sneaking and fleeing, pouncing and preying . . . over and over with the same results.  And everything is black, determined to absorb and defeat any stray impulse of light. Desires to overcome acquiesce to a simple acceptance of survival.  What will be will be.  What should have been becomes what will never be.  Hope rests on the bottom of a raging sea churning like a vast whirlpool, holding it down, burying it deeper beneath the silt of life.

Fortunately, I rarely think of hell . . . other than to acknowledge its existence and the truth that God, in His love for me and and as proof of His excellent greatness, provides a way to never really know what hell is like. But, unfortunately, the proverbial "hell on earth" is all-too familiar to many.  It varies in its intensity, from a camouflaged pool of quicksand to a raging whirlpool itself, pulling us down, sapping all our energy to grasp for one more breath, leaving us dazed to ask ourselves . . . "how did I get here?"

When I was young, my mother took us -- her trusting little children -- to the drive-in movie to see "The Birds."  I never really understood it that well.  Melanie, a pretty woman, buys a couple of beautiful birds, jets across to Bodega Bay wearing high heels in a speed boat, raises everyone's suspicions and pretty soon all the big black birds on the island start swirling around, attacking kids on the playground, plucking out the eyes of the plucky school teacher and generally wreaking complete havoc on the pretty little town.  The pretty woman goes kooky. My mother took us to see it on a dark stormy night and we rushed home in the thunder and lightning and I lay awake fearing my eyes would be plucked out.  Thanks, Mom.  Nothing from Disney was showing? 

If all's well that ends well, it's nice to know that the school teacher was reincarnated as Bob Newhart's wife in a happy sitcom years later and Bodega Bay thrives today as a world-class resort and bird-watcher's dream.  Melanie?  I think she lived out her life flailing her arms.

But . . . all does not always end well for the countless people caught up in the various cycles they would describe as their personal hell.  Those voracious addictions that creep in on little bird legs and then come swooping back with powerful black wings and menacing beaks to peck away the dignity and the peace that preceded the addictions to pornography and seduction and lust.  Some of the addictions arose from great inner emptiness, a desire to be loved and touched and valued; a desire that perverts itself into being used and using, a wandering that leads to being ever unfulfilled.  And the question the wanderer has, even in the uncertainty of where he is at any given moment:  "how did I get here?"

There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death. -- Proverbs 16:25

In my travels through the desert of addiction, I spent too much time wishing for sympathy.  I wanted those who did not understand to at least stand.  I wanted those who were hurt to also see my pain.  I wanted those who judged to set aside the robes and gavels and extend a hand of mercy.  I wanted those who shunned to support. I wanted those who ran away to walk beside.  I wanted those who jeered to cheer.  I wanted those who cringed to cry with me.  I wanted those who pointed fingers to offer a hand.  I wanted . . . .

And some did.  There are those who take on whirlpools.

But not many.

So . . . we often find that hell on earth is a nightmarish vacation spot of solitude and we make the best of it.  We shop as we travel through, sampling a bit of the goodies, trying to determine if this might be a place to retire to someday. If we don't pace ourselves, we may shop until we drop.

First Stop:  Defensiveness Department.  Here we find excuses carefully laid out for every size and fashion.  And they fit.   They really do.  For in many cases, these addictions we bear truly are not our fault at all.  Naysayers can nay all they want, but it is true that the abused are skewed and the bullied are blunted and the left-behind are left-resigned to be less than those who were nurtured and protected and guided.

Second Stop:  The Settlement Sale.  Here we find on display the limitations and labels that tell us we never have been and never will be as whole as everyone else, so we may as well adjust to our limitations and do the best we can.  We spend a little time in the alterations department and accept our limitations, telling others they may as well accept us as we are because we cannot be more.

Third Stop:  The Makeup Counter.  If we cannot escape our flaws, we find what we need to cover them.  Deep discounts are available here for the double-life.  We go throughout our day with a painted on smile and an inner voice behind our too-bright eyes:  "if you only knew me as I really am."

Fourth Stop:  Desperation Discounts.  This is the bargain basement.  These clothes have been tried on and rejected so often that they're on the verge of being rendered into rags.  Who cares?  They're cheap.  No one looks at me anymore anyway.  We stop in this shop when we have determined that it doesn't really matter anymore what we do or what we say or what persona we project.  Everyone's mind is made up and our label is affixed.  We're as worthless as the deepest of the deep discounts.

That's what sexual brokenness does.  It drops you to your lowest inner denominator.  And it feels like hell.  The traveling businessmen who makes a deal in the afternoon and scarcely finds time for dinner because porn is available in the hotel room. The same-sex attraction struggler who suffocates in the silence of his or her living room and finds a reason to go out and search for sound . . . and sex.  The lonely married man or woman who moves from sex partner to sex partner in search of . . . what? . . . understanding . . . comfort . . . completion . . . power . . . calling it pleasure . . . declaring it deserved?  The ones addicted to masturbation because their satisfaction seems bound up in fantasy now.  The real world has become distant and just doesn't do it anymore.

They're cruising hell, collecting coupons and sifting through the bargain basement all along the way.  And the aisles are crowded, though the only way they can handle their own despair is to deny what they see in others pushing the baskets along beside them. "Hey . . . we must be okay.  After all, here we all are, just out shopping."

Did anyone happen to notice it's awfully dark in there?  You can scarcely see to make your best selections.  It's all running together into a grab and go. Anyone see the switch?

God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. -- Genesis 1:4

Even in darkness light dawns for the upright, for the gracious and compassionate and righteous man. -- Psalm 112:4

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path. -- Psalm 119:105

 Who among you fears the LORD and obeys the word of his servant? Let him who walks in the dark, who has no light, trust in the name of the LORD and rely on his God -- Isaiah 50:10

The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.-- Matthew 4:16

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." -- John 8:12

Have you ever toured a cavern or traveled down into a vast cave?  It was dark and cold and mysterious and dangerous, filled with potential to slip or fall and slide into the dark abyss.  But . . . in front of you was a guide, with a light.  Sure, you had responsibility to keep one foot in front of the other, to follow the path, to not wander into the uncharted detours.  But, in front of you the light persisted and moved forward and eventually you would emerge into the awesome, almost unbearable brightness of the daylight sun.  At the end of the tour of darkness was the gift shop.   It wasn't down in the hidden darkness, but out in the light where you could see what was good and valuable and select something by which to remember your journey.  And if you looked back behind you into the deep dark hole, you found yourself thinking "Thank God for the guide.  I could have been stuck in there forever."

For those of you who are wandering in the darkness of addiction and brokenness, turn away from the deep discounts of discarded merchandise and look for the light.  Are you asking someone to show you the way out?  It's okay to want people to walk with us, to support us, to pray for us, to stand with us, to forgive us, but only One will guide the way out.  The One who holds the light and knows the way.

Jesus answered, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. -- John 14:6.

And it's free.

God Bless,

Thom

Sex and the Church: Don't Ask, Don't Tell?

"When Christ said: 'I was hungry and you fed me,' he didn't mean only the hunger for bread and for food; he also meant the hunger to be loved. Jesus himself experienced this loneliness. He came amongst his own and his own received him not, and it hurt him then and it has kept on hurting him. The same hunger, the same loneliness, the same having no one to be accepted by and to be loved and wanted by. Every human being in that case resembles Christ in his loneliness; and that is the hardest part, that's real hunger." -- Mother Teresa

When I was in college, I spent a summer in Bangladesh, working with the Southern Baptist missionaries there.  I remember being told the country was about the size of Iowa, but had a population at the time of around 86 million.  The cities seemed crowded; the ferries loaded so full they barely stood above the water line when crossing the rivers; the buses packed, the trains jammed full.  Yet . . . it was one of the loneliest times of my life because I was so different. Different color, different language, different tastes, different prospects.  I found myself too often focused on those differences, forgetting that we all had a desire to be what we had been created to be and do the best we could with where our creator had placed us.  

My clearest memories are of those I saw in moments of solitude among the millions because they stood out. The little boy who trimmed the mission lawn, an older woman who washed her clothes on the rocks at the edge of the river, the man who paddled the boat when we journeyed from village to village, the teacher in the library, the cook in the kitchen.  Separated out from the others, these no longer seemed different to me.  They seemed very much like me, on a journey, seeking what goodness there was to be had, doing life.  They became recognizable.

I think that is how Jesus sees us.  While there are millions and millions of us, He doesn't look down and see a crowd in a city, or in a classroom, or on the highway.  He doesn't get at all confused by the colors and the languages and the perspectives and the prospects.   He doesn't separate us by intelligence or personality or even by good and bad.  He looks down and sees the cook in the kitchen, the man at the desk, the child in the corner, the sick and the wounded, the soaring and the grounded . . . and He loves them all the same . . . and each one in his own way at the same time.  And He knows we all battle temptations and we all sin . . . and He loves us.

He sees the whole world . . . and He sees my little world . . . all at the same time, and He knows how one affects the other.  That's what Jesus does.  He can do all things.  And He assures me that in Him, so can I.  He doesn't define me by weakness; He gives me strength. That's what Jesus does.

But, even though He can do all things, I think those who struggle with a sexual problem -- and there are many different ones -- need to know that there are some things Jesus just won't do.  He was into washing feet, not closing doors. He was into opening eyes, not pointing fingers.  He was into change, not condemnation. He was into "tell me" not "hide from me," "come down," not "run away."

I don't think Jesus would be very patient with the "don't ask, don't tell" stance of today's church regarding the sexual brokenness of its members.  If He were here tossing tables, He would discover there is a lot of hidden brokenness under the tablecloths.  Secret lusts, pastors perusing pornography, teenagers projecting purity and crumbling inside with guilt, husbands and wives filling their emptiness outside the boundaries of marriage, upstanding members and leaders combating spiritually-debilitating sexual addictions and unwanted desires.

Actually, He wouldn't discover anything.  He already knows.  He's seen it before.  We -- the church -- are the ones denying the overbearing disaster that our acquiescence to culture is wreaking on our families, our selves, our Body.  We move forward like a band of skittish ostriches unified by our habit of burying our heads in the sand, refusing to address the needs of those around us who are dying inside.  We are also the ostriches who won't tell others what we ourselves are dealing with because we are afraid they will treat us as we might treat them.  Unclean.

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
 

"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'
 

"Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."

-- Matthew 25:40-48

In many cases, the very things that have caused our lives to be so wrecked are the very things we fear will keep us there.  And many of the things that directed us down the path we long to detour out of encompass the way we treat others.  It is a dizzying cycle and the exit often eludes us.  We can become accustomed, hardened and unable to hear, soon unresponsive, dark and distant.  It becomes very hard to trust and obey and we become comfortable down at the riverside beating our rags against the rocks, lamenting the treatment, blaming the world for our issues, instead of accepting the reality that the love of Christ can turn our filthy rags into new and brilliant cloth.  

We forget that the church is called to be Christ-like, not just Christ-dependent.  We're called to do as He would do. What should this mean for the sexually-broken?  Not approval.  Not acceptance of the sin.  Not indifference.  It should mean acceptance of the person and a willing, helping hand -- not withdrawn, but wrapped around -- to walk as long and as far and as painfully deep as necessary in the hope of true repentance and restoration through the power of God's grace administered through those who truly love Him.

Instead of leaving the 99 sheep to go after the one that is lost, the church is often busy building a tighter corral to keep the lost sheep out with the wolves where he belongs in his assumed depravity.  Maybe he is not so much depraved as just wandering and uncertain and needing the right kind of love.  Honest and real.  Maybe the men and women in our churches who struggle with same-sex attraction would tell someone in the church themselves rather than waiting for that awful discovery to emerge and submerge them in shame, labeling them as perverted and perverting, if they believed the ears would hear and not recoil in disgust.  What is it about revealed sexual sin that sends us into spasms of shock and horror?  Are we, as a church, really silly enough to think that Sunday sermons and seasons of VBS somehow inoculate us from the evils of the world?  Jesus knew better.

Certainly we can't avoid the truth that often our own actions lead us to such hidden despair, and often our own actions leave us there.  We can be too embarrassed . . . too frightened . . . too ashamed . . . too weary . . . too self-loathing . . . to allow the love that some might have to penetrate the barriers we've erected for self-protection or self-justification.  We flee from those who want to be Jesus-with-skin-on in our lives. But, the other truth is that many of those who would comfort and challenge and do the freeing work of accountability are themselves restricted by leaders in the church who put protection of the flock above all things.  How about protecting the flock by allowing them to become stronger in meeting each others' needs?

My experiences with church during my long struggle with hidden homosexuality revealed the extremes present in the church today.  For some, Leviticus 18:22 --"Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable." -- settles it.  The man or woman who struggles with homosexuality is detestable, or an abomination.  Others fall into the "love the sinner; hate the sin" category and really do little to help the sinner walk free.  Love is wonderful and needed, but we also need people in our churches who are equipped for the hard walk that should be an expression of that love.

Perhaps the most dangerous movement in churches today is the emergence of the gay-affirming church, like, for instance Mayflower Congregational Church in Oklahoma City. The damage these churches do in their flaming embrace of culture creates chaos in the name of God.  Aligning themselves with culture may make them feel cool or sophisticated, but it undermines the Word of God and cheapens Grace.

Why are we so confused in the church?  Maybe because we have all grown up in the world and we're more familiar with what the world will do to us . . . and we've forgotten what Jesus will never do:

Jesus won't abuse us.
Jesus won't excuse you. 
Jesus won't embarrass us. 
Jesus won't reject us 
Jesus won't neglect us. 
Jesus won't avoid us.
Jesus won't lose us. 
Jesus won't use us. 
Jesus won't belittle us.  
Jesus won't confuse us. 
Jesus won't blame us.
Jesus won't lie to us. 
Jesus won't forget us. 
Jesus won't mislead us.  
Jesus won't turn away from us. 
Jesus won't give up on us.
Jesus won't label us.  
Jesus won't fool us. 
Jesus won't hinder us.
Jesus won't abandon us.  
Jesus won't dismiss us.  
Jesus won't hate us. 
Jesus won't compare us. 

Maybe loving others is reflected not only in what we do, but in what we don't.  We in the church are supposed to be like Jesus, but for some reason, we fall short and pick and choose a scripture here and there to justify our actions, rather than looking at the whole of His life.  He was consistent.  The things that Jesus won't do are, in many cases, the very things that people will do.  Maybe we treat others this way because we at some point have ourselves been abused . . . excused . . . embarrassed . . . rejected . . . neglected . . . avoided . . . lost . . . used . . . belittled . . . confused . . . blamed . . . fooled . . . lied to . . . forgotten . . . mislead . . . turned away from . . . given up on . . . labeled . . . left behind . . . hindered . . . abandoned . . . dismissed . . . hated . . . frustrated . . . compared. 

Whatever sin we struggle with -- and we all do -- where we are and how we got there is different for each of us.  Where we go from here is dependent on something we all need to do:  forgive and love.  Forgive those who sinned against us . . . and seek forgiveness for the sins we have committed against others.   Love each other as Jesus loves us. 

Is that so hard for the church to do?  Is it too hard to create a place safe enough for confession and repentance to be worked out without the weight of condemnation and judgment?  Would it be that hard for the church to do the things that outside ministries like Exodus and its local affiliate ministries do, or at least support those efforts?  Of course, the issue with that is, many of our cities and towns don't have a local Exodus-type ministry . . . but all of them have churches.  Churches should take up the slack, not be the slack. Can we not look at the sexually broken as at least being as acceptable as the least among us . . . and do unto them?  Shouldn't we as the church do the hard work of ministering to our members? Is that not what love is?  Maybe we are just too afraid?

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. -- John 13:34.

I can scarcely remember a time when I could not sing Jesus Loves Me.  It's one of the first songs we learn as little ones and it may be those lyrics we will never forget as long as we live. It calmed the fears of our young hearts.  Loving each other as He loves us can conquer many a fear and allow us to both ask and tell.

God Bless,

Thom

Where Would We Be Without Doubt?

Lord, I crawled across the barrenness to you with my empty cup uncertain in asking for any small drop of refreshment.
If only I had known you better, I'd have come running with a bucket.
-- Nancy Spielberg

One of the hardest things anyone with a significant struggle -- such as same-sex attraction -- deals with, is doubt.  Self-doubt, sure.  But, also the doubt others have in his or her ability to change . . . or even doubt that the person really wants to change. Sometimes this doubt is not truly expressed, but is instead hidden behind the "we're with you" smiles, which can so quickly become "we knew it" frowns at the very first sign of a fall. How nice it would be for all involved if this battle were but a minor skirmish with a certain outcome, instead of one of those "well, I had my doubts all along" battlefields, littered with the wounded, some doubting they can get themselves back up again to move forward, some doubting if anyone even cares anymore.

I had a friend in college who lived with no doubts. He was always sure his project would be the best.  He would sing the song just fine.  His parents would, of course, send the money.  His car would run.  His jokes would always be funny and people would laugh.  He would always be understood. His friends would ever be loyal and everything would complete itself perfectly, right on time.  He was never timid or understated because he never doubted.  But, he was also pretty much tied up in secret knots of frustration.  He'd exchanged doubt for denial.  When he didn't win first place or his joke fell flat or the check didn't arrive or the tire went flat or a friend let him down, he would bottle up inside and close down. What most of us might have lived through as dashed hope he died to as devastation.  His forced-open eyes would fill with tears of anguish.  He definitely needed some doubt.

I haven't seen him in many years, but I "doubt" he is as certain of everything as he used to be.

Some might say my friend had faith.  But the presence of faith is not the absence of doubt.  Faith is based on a belief in hope.  It involves assurance . . . and trust.  This friend lived on assumption, not assurance.  A little too much "it'll be all right," and a little too little "what will be will be."  He had no faith to test because he allowed no doubt.

But what if we have a lot of doubt?  Does that mean we have little faith?  I remember I used to sit on the curb in front of our house on Saturdays when I was a little boy.  I doubted my dad would show, but I had faith that he would.  Could the measure of each  -- doubt or faith -- be determined by how long I sat with my chin on my knees looking to the left and right to see if he might come walking up the street?

I have no doubt God clearly knows the difference between doubt and faith.  I'm not sure we always do.  On our own, we usually reward our doubt with our deepest fears.  Our faith, on the other hand, is usually God-tested and leads us to our greatest joy.  "A little while" of testing can feel like a long time . . . and produce an awful lot of doubt.

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. -- I Peter 1:6-7

It used to bother me that, of all the Biblical characters, I was named Thomas.  The doubter.  I know my mother did not really name me Thomas because she was debating which Biblical character I would be like.  After all, my brother's name is Mike, and my sisters' names are Deb and Sue.  Mother was merely reflecting the popular name choices of the decade in which we were born. We could have as easily been Bob and Gary and Judy and Peggy.  But I was Thomas, the doubter.

I think God loves those who doubt.  In dealing with our sincere doubt, He demonstrates the truth that He is patient and kind. It is a wonderful truth that the greatest doubters often become the greatest believers.  Our honest doubts can become the bedrock of our faith.  Truth that comes rampaging in to dispel doubt is sweet and strong.

Maybe we should think less about what doubt is . . . and less about who doubts us . . . and instead think about what doubt may do.  How does it motivate us?  Does our doubt send us searching or hiding?  Revealing or masking?

Doubt is like looking out the window and seeing the sun go down for the gazillionth time, knowing once again that the darkness will follow, mimicking the darkness inside us.  We might forget momentarily that the sun is only gone for a while.  It does not yield its place to darkness in God's creative balance.  Through grace, the light comes back around to overwhelm the darkness . . . lest anyone doubt.  We strive hard to resist letting our sexual sin define us; let's not let our doubt do it either.  You've read the Bible.  Yes, people wander, but they are never beyond the gaze of God. 

But what of those who doubt us or the sincerity of our quest for freedom?  I say, let each doubter bear his own.  Sometimes we expend so much energy trying to dispel the doubts of others that we have too little energy left to put on the armor for our own battles.  Let them doubt.  God can deal with that.  And, if they want someday to put their hands in your scars, scarcely believing this new you is . . . you . . . then let them do so and forgive their doubt as you forgive your own. Maybe they tell us we've used up all our chances.  They've moved beyond doubting to knowing.  "You can't change."  Well . . . life is not a game of chance; it is a reality of faith.  Let them keep their assumption; you have your assurance.

I am thankful for doubt.  Anyone who struggles with temptation knows that doubt is a glimpse of freedom. If we can doubt, we can seek.

Doubt leads us to the door.  That door where you knock.  Where you ask.  That door that opens.  Behind which no despair lingers.  Where doubt no longer dwells.

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. -- Matthew 7: 7-8

And if for some unfounded reason you doubt that the word "everyone" includes you, then let that doubt lead you to the door. It will open . . . no doubt.

God Bless,

Thom