I believe in a God, a good God, with open arms and overflowing grace and compassion that knows no boundaries.
I believe in a God, except for when I don’t.
I can’t tell you when it happened exactly, but I can tell you I found myself one day with a blank stare, pounding heart, and gripping fear.
Is there an eternity?
I have no reason to be questioning, but that is the nature of my flesh after all. So I wrestled. I prayed. I believe, yet heal my unbelief.
If death comes knocking at the cost of my faith, will I stand firm on the Rock of Ages knowing my spirit will go home forevermore? Or will I stutter, stumble, and submit to a master that has never loved me, never died for me, never moved heaven and earth for me?
Will my spirit even go anywhere, or will it die and go back to the ground from which it came? And then everything is over?
Coming up behind Jesus, she touched the fringe of his robe. Immediately, the bleeding stopped. “Who touched me?” Jesus asked. Everyone denied it, and Peter said, “Master, this whole crowd is pressing up against you.” But Jesus said, “Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me.” When the woman realized that she could not stay hidden, she began to tremble and fell to her knees in front of him. The whole crowd heard her explain why she had touched him and that she had been immediately healed. “Daughter,” he said to her, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”
He knows it when we press into him– he wants us to.
He knows it when his power leaves him– he wants us to take it.
What heals unbelief?
Prayer that presses in deep and relies not on the words we speak or the sentences we choose, but the power that comes from the One to whom we are praying.
The bleeding woman reached blindly for his robe, knowing she’d be healed.
Reach blindly and confidently, and be healed of your unbelief.
Sometimes love really is blind.