Flipped open a page, flatten the book down to the spine. These words surface and rise up to my nose and pose a challenge to my disbelief, a heart with 4 guarded walls ::
Groaning where words fail. Prayer matches to the rhythm and pitch of the entire broken and frustrated creation. That song of lament and protest in a minor key; mournful, defiant like the song slaves sing picking cotton or prisonors sing breaking stones.
Words sound to my ear, rote, trite, mechanical, often fought down an inner voice that mocked her.
Putting band-aids on mortal wounds.
Singing lullabies to breaking hearts
Crossing fingers as the sky falls.
When capacity to believe is strained almost to extinction.
Flipped to a few pages after that, His Words come charging in flooding the red dirt ground of disbelief. Words come like roaring sea storms. Volumnizing inside so that all I could hear is His steady promises, “Was is not I, the LORD? And there is no God apart from me, a righteous God and a Saviour, there is none but me.”
You pray anyhow, according to what you knows of God, not what you sees of Him.
Your prayer is anchored in His revelation of Himself in Scripture, not in your first hand experience of Him in your daily miniscule life.
You don’t pray because you can taste and see that the Lord is good.
You pray in spite of that, contrary to the evidence at end.
What you taste is bitterness, what you see is darkness.
Circumstances erode your faith rather than buttress it.
You push yourself beyond circumstances; you resist the temption to equate circumstances with God.
You pray not because God has been good to you, but because God’s Words says God is Good, and you are betting the whole farm on its being so.
That is biblical faith.
Everything short of it is a hedged bet.
Everything short of it is a faith based on what I can, at least dimly, see, and to the extent I can see it.
It is not pure faith.
Winter grows pure faith. It grows nothing but it grows biblical faith like no other season can.
Winter is the season above all seasons when we walk by faith, and not by sight.
There is no better ground for growing an abiding faith that weathers the worst life can throw at you.
Faith that is fierce, hardy Scotch brooms of a thing that clings to rock and ledge, grows in sour places, withstand hurricanes.
What more can I say but to keep praying with the end goal of cultivating pure and fierce biblical faith in times like now to walk and accuse the Lord, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”, I also await for His authoritative “SILENCE!!!” to calm my despicable disbelief.