I read the words on a day when I want to pull the covers back over my head. Surely I’m the only one who ever has those days.
And then there it is…
“I believed in you, so I said, ‘I am deeply troubled, Lord.’ ” Ps 116:10
I think of how I might say it…
“I believed in you, so I said, ‘I’m fine, just fine, Lord.’ ”
A smile starts to catch the corner of my lips. I laugh at myself a little, at how I imagine the God who spoke the world into being can’t handle my emotions–all of them.
So I climb out of bed and tell Him how I feel afraid and wonder if I have what it takes. I tell Him I wish I had more courage, more love, more time and energy. I tell Him all of it all day long.
I don’t fake a smile.
I don’t pretend it’s okay.
Because I believe in Him.
It’s an act of faith, like a child running to her father and saying, “Daddy, it hurts!” What father would turn away? Not ours.
I climb into bed that night, tuck the sheets in around me, lay my head on the same pillow where it rested when I first read those words. I drift to sleep not fearing monsters under my bed (or inside my head) because I’m covered by grace and I know that He knows.
All of it.
On days like this, it seems the sweetest miracle isn’t that I believe in Him.
It’s that He–impossibly, stubbornly–believes in me.
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