Deliberate faith…it’s a phrase that’s been running through my head for the past couple days. What’s it mean, though? Why has this phrase taken such a hold of me, such a grip that I can’t shake? I lie awake at night, and the question spins through my mind: why “deliberate” faith?
I think of the definitions of faith I’ve heard throughout my life. By far my favorite is “Courage that has said its prayers.” I picture the little stick figure of Courage bowed before the throne of the Almighty, pouring out his heart to the One Who Heals, the One Who forgives. And I know I am called to that same courage, every second of everyday. After all, I must become less and He must become more. So, in truth, I am (or at least should be) that stick figure bowing, begging, crying, supplicating.
But it’s not just about the courage to get through the difficult, painful episodes. It’s also the courage to stand tall and smile when things are lovely and gentle and easy. It’s the courage to say that I am so much more than I look or what I have been, even who I have been. It’s the courage to say that, “Yes, I have made mistakes, but I have been forgiven, and it’s that forgiveness that allows me to get out of bed each and every day.” By that definition I should have “courage” in spades.
Deliberation, now that’s a different animal entirely. Deliberation ensures it is a choice to be faithful. There are so many times and things in my life that could have, and at times, have made me pause in my heart and wonder, “Is He really there?” But “deliberation” brooks no room for that question. Instead, deliberation requires me to celebrate the active – the positive –decision to believe. And I do believe (most of the time. I think He’ll appreciate that honesty.).
The past few weeks have had me questioning Him in so many areas: friends’ lives turned upside down, family differences that lay like unmovable boulders in the road, illness that just won’t go away. But He is not a God to be questioned, but one who leads gently to the right answers, One who will reveal when He is good and ready, One who demands obeisance and obeying. And if I’m not willing, well, then He gets a bit more insistent. And my acquiescence to such is not merely breaking me, but it’s an act of worship when I hit the floor on my knees. It’s an active call by our Creator to change. And this, my friend, is my issue. What do I change?
I’m mired in questions without answers I can’t even manage to slog my way through right now, and it takes an active decision for my courage to “say its prayers.” But when those prayers are said, murmured, even shouted into the wind, what kind of courage does it take to have faith – purposeful – even in the face of a complete loss of direction or even destruction. When the dust devils swirl around me, obscuring the way, how do I keep a grip on the Savior’s robe begging for forgiveness, direction, or whatever may be coming between us, so that I don’t become completely buried in the sands of time?
Sometimes, let’s face it, there is no answer, at least not in this lifetime. Sometimes, there are answers but not the ones we want. Then, I, at least, want to bury my head back in those sands of time, ostrich-like, and ask again. But God never changes; He is the Alpha and the Omega. So, no matter how many times I ask, the answer will always be the same. But, maybe the point is that I asked at all. At least I’ve made it half way through the process. Learning to listen, well, I’m doing just that: learning (again, and again, and sometimes even again).
It takes faith to even question our existence, to acknowledge the Lord of Lords. It takes faith to hold your Bible breathing in the words, reflecting on those words, holding onto those words with your entire heart, daring your soul to sigh again, to allow hope to blossom tiny as an unfolding crocus after a freeze of your soul. And that sort of faith – that treasured gift of faith – must come from somewhere placed lovingly and deeply within, a reservoir you don’t even recognize you possess. And it’s that faith, that hidden reserve, that becomes deliberate. And when you acknowledge that, then I believe God must smile. After all, that is why He created us, to live a life of love for Him, and that life of love cannot be separated from deliberate belief – deliberate faith – in Him and His Love.
The Unexpected Life 