Not really, not wholly.
Sure, I’m smart enough to know there has to be a God. I figured that out one day when I realized that you couldn’t keep going back forever; eventually something would have had to start all this, and that Something had to be eternal, and that Eternal Something must be a Someone, and that Eternal Someone had to be God.
But I’m realizing lately that I don’t really believe. Not all the way to my toes. Not all the way down to the bottom of my heart.
I’m not willing to accept that God is God. That His name is I AM. Not I will be, or I might be, or sometimes I am. Just I AM that I AM.
That He is more terrible, more awesome, more dreadful, more just, more wrathful than I could ever imagine.
Or even that He is more merciful, more gracious, more compassionate, or more loving than I could possibly fathom.
I don’t really want an extreme God.
I sort of want a tame god. The saying about Aslan not being a tame lion is cute and all, but are you sure He wasn’t tame? Maybe really He was… maybe His claws weren’t really sharp.
I talk about God a lot. I pray to Him. I read about Him.
But when it’s dark and I am alone with Him, and I think about Him being REAL and WILD and FIERCE and LOVING–I don’t think I really believe it, quite. I think I’m too scared. It makes me uncomfortable.
Because if He’s really real–If He’s really not a tame God–if He really is more power and grace and light than I can ever hope to fully fathom–then I am nothing. Nothing. Just a dirty, crumpled, miniscule bit of humanity.
And it’s really true. He really does exist, He really is wild, and I really am nothing.
And yet He really does LOVE me.
I don’t understand…
It doesn’t make sense. And I don’t really believe it, not fully.
But I’m starting to.
Lord, I believe–please help my unbelief.