Tag: memories

My son published his first book recently and gave me a signed copy with the words, “For mom, whose faith is the inspiration for my own”. I desire to leave this legacy for my family, yet faith often alludes me and I find myself falling short where I most want to grow. This is when the Divine reminds me I am not the source of faith, He set that in motion when I was very young. I can remember my first experience with my Creator. Lying in bed one night, I looked out the window and my little heart burst at the vision before me. The night sky was filled with brilliant light, thousands of stars and a moon that I knew was bigger than my house. I recall staying at the window and allowing this display to soak into me, feeling so small and insignificant. What followed this was a thought that “I was created!” Somehow my soul felt connected to the scene before me and the Creator. Questions flooded my mind like “what if I had never been born, how did He decide to create me?” My journey of faith began that night, which was a compass in the chaos I grew up in.  A seed of faith was planted and grew into a longing over the years. A longing for more than I could see, a knowing that Someone bigger and greater than I could imagine, set the stars and the galaxy into place. Did He see me? Know me? Love me with all of my imperfections and doubts?

I have faith that when I wake up in the morning I will have air to breathe. I trust without any thought that I will see birds and trees and grass when I walk into my back yard. I also trust that my favorite grocery store will have all I need for meals I want to cook. I can go about my daily routine with no concerns about these constants in life. Just when I feel like I can confidently say I am a person of faith,a circumstance arises where I am reminded why faith is so difficult and at the same time necessary.

I went with a friend recently, to the Garfield Observatory in Chicago. After parking the car we walked toward the entrance where two men stopped us and began asking questions; “Did you hear about the toddler who was murdered at the lagoon? I guess they found a foot last night and a head this morning. What is your reaction to this? Can we record it?” I was speechless and sickened. This is not supposed to happen to an innocent child. Here lies the struggle,when circumstances like this horrific tragedy happen it’s too much to bear. The harshness of the world and its evil like the news of Syrian children losing their lives while searching for a better life, or young black men and women fearing violence at the hands of their own or those sworn to protect them, or churches turning their backs on those who have found love from same-sex relationships; these realities and more create doubts and questions about a Divine Presence in the world. My own loss and grief over the past fifty-three years has often caused me to ask the same questions of the Creator; “why did you allow this, why didn’t you intervene, where are you, do you care?”

There is no possible explanation to satisfy the incomprehensible evils of the world or the questions that seem to deserve an answer.  There is no comfort in hearing words like, just have faith. In fact, I find more  comfort in knowing I do not have answers. I cannot restore what has been lost and am content to remain in that place of unknowing today, because there is something greater than any unanswered question I might have; hope. Without hope there is no faith, all is lost and meaningless. The violent death of that innocent baby has no redemption. Faith is hope and confidence that, what I cannot explain or see today remains in the hands of a God who sees and knows the answers. I have faith that He will bring meaning and will redeem the broken and evil things of this earth. He loves His creation and is near to the brokenhearted and weeps with those who weep.  I am the instrument of this hope. I can choose to turn away from hate and violence and be one who loves and trusts. One who offers compassion and gentleness to broken and angry people. I am small and seemingly insignificant, but the One who hung the stars and moon is huge, bigger than many houses.

He is writing my story, with many unexpected twists and turns, some filled with delight that have taken my breath away and others that have been like a punch in the gut.  When my story is complete I would like this inscription written to my sons, daughters, and grandchildren; “Look at the stars and moon, they speak to a Creator big enough to put your faith in. He created you and loves you. He knows your name. He created you for a purpose. Trust Him when you cannot see, He is a God of redemption.”