Faith is an interesting thing. It is evasive for a lot of us. Sporadic at best.
At least that is what it might look like if no thought is put into it.
Think about it — the guy that launches out into thin air attached to a bridge by a cord of rubber has to have faith. The gal sailing from an airplane dependent on a silk canopy to hold her and send her gently to land on terra firma has to have faith.
Everyone who banks electronically; who rely on a cell phone to connect us to distant relatives; who, like me, count on a computer to work to get a job done all have faith — in man-made machines.
We have faith that the car will start in the morning. That we will get to and from work safely.
We have faith that the roof will remain above our heads, the floor beneath our feet and walls solidly holding both at appropriate distances from each other.
And all those things are just things. Things that get used up, stressed out, in need of repair.
We have faith that the boss will let us work one more day. That the waitress at our favorite restaurant will serve us kindly. That the cook will do a good job preparing our meal.
We have faith that teachers will do their job and educate our children. That no one will hurt our children while they are out of our direct care.
We have faith that our marriage will last until we die. That even when we don't like our loved ones, we will still love them.
We have faith that our pastors will preach truth unashamedly. That they will minister to us, love and care for us.
That is a lot of faith. In people. Human, fallible, frail, broken, hurting, and seemingly, faithless.
Webster defines faith as this: complete trust or confidence in someone or something.
The Bible defines faith in Heb. 11:1 — “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”
Sure and certain. Sounds solid to me.
I watched a movie this weekend called “Faith Like Potatoes.” The gist is that potatoes are solid and real and our faith must be so as well.
I have thought about this for a couple days now. I was amazed at the lack of faith I have in the one thing, person, Who never fails. Never falters. Never walks away. Does not break. Cannot stop loving me. Or you.
In mulling this over these things came to mind.
A potato is real. It has weight, scent, flavor, color, texture.
Smell it — the wet earth it came from, the starchy white of its flesh.
Hold it — feel the weight, its firmness; examine its minuscule hills and valleys, the eyes from which new shoots will grow if it is planted; the smoothness of the skin once it is scrubbed clean or the sandpapery feel of skin freshly dried from its slumber in the ground.
Taste it — cool, watery, grainy, starchy, crisp.
Now I can tell you all this. I can go get a potato and I know all these things are true.
But what does my faith in God look like? Taste like? Smell like?
Understanding came over me as I watched that movie that my faith in God is sorely lacking. In fact, I felt deep in me the need to plant my face on the ground and cry out to the God who is all I need and more.
But I didn't. Something in me held me fast to the couch. I still don't understand it. No one was watching except the One Who matters most. The One Who would have been pleased. In my minds' eye, I could see my heavenly Father with tears in His eyes, but they were not tears of joy at my total abandonment to Him. They were tears of sadness caused by the moment we both missed.
Sometimes we think we are having a crisis in our faith, but there can be no crisis if there is no faith to begin with.
I know I have faith in God. I have placed my life in His hands. He has proven worthy of my faith too many times to count. In tangible things like rent money, school clothes for my children, a car to drive when mine broke down. And in the perceptible — in knowing and feeling the prayers of others on my behalf, in feeling protection from harm when there should have been none, in knowing I am not by myself on the day I feel most alone.
And, palpably feeling God's faithfulness to me, I turn to Lamentations 3:22 and 23.
“Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.”
New. Every morning. When the sun creeps in my window God's faithfulness is renewed. Each time I open my eyes. Each time I take a breath.
That I am still here proves His faith in me. That He loves me in spite of my failure to fall on my face before Him proves His faith in me. That He uses me regardless of how worthless and ineffective I may think I am proves His faith in me.
My faith in Him may not even be the size of a mustard seed. But it is there. And through His faith in me, it can grow — strong, fragrant, solid, and flavorful. It will be a faith of substance.
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