Confession: It’s a good thing I joked about coming off antidepressant meds while I still could—while it was fuzzy and funny. I wasn’t laughing two weeks later. I thought I was losing my mind.
But I’d rather not think about that so much now—only say hence, six blog posts in three weeks. I can’t write when I’m very unhappy.
A brain is an odd thing.
Carefully I weave the fabric of my life—choices and plans, colors and textures. When I awake in the morning, I take up the thread. I weave.
Then I ask one question—Why? And the thread unravels.
I’ve come to a very important decision. Doubt may be a necessary path at certain times in life, but it’s not meant to spend a life on. I used to love asking philosophical questions for kicks—Who are we? Why are we here? What is this all about, anyway?
But I’ve lived there for a few months now, the last month worst of all, and I see what sickly colors bloom beneath this grow light. I thought I had lots of doubts, that they were coming from deep inside me; I see that instead, I was having them insinuated, hurled, bombarded at me–temptation disguised as philosophy: the temptation each morning to unravel all I’d woven the day before—the temptation to avoid moving forward because I simply had to keep chasing these winding rabbit trails to nowhere—the temptation to avoid trusting Him until I could figure Him out.
And then I came to a fork. I knew it was coming up, but I thought it looked this way, that I had to choose between faith and unbelief.
When I got there I found it looked like this:
that my paths of faith and unbelief had been separate long enough, and I split in two, gritting my teeth into duty.
He drew me forward into love.
Not “The world is ugly.”
Not “The world is unfair.”
But “The world is. Now, what am I going to have for breakfast?”
Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the hope of the world.