For the Believers, Doubters, and Halfway In or Outers
Last September, we went kayaking for the day, Nate and I. We put in at a populated spot and paddled south and east, upriver where the blue turned green and nature canopied over us. We went farther still and found a bog and a small stream just deep enough for us to continue paddling until the water was too shallow and narrow to keep going. We turned around then and went back through the bog and then turned due east, the current growing stronger now and our strokes faster. We could see a lock ahead where we’d paddle into and, once surrounded by four steel and concrete walls, await the water to level down and us with it. We’d repeat the process again on our way back, this time our boats rising with the rush of water leveling us up.
There’s something a little anticlimactic about the leveling down process, it happens slowly, the water seeping out like a leak you can’t find or air from an inner tube. It’s gradual and calm even, your boats rocking gently. But the leveling up process is anything but. The water rushes in from the front of the lock in whitewater waves, the pressure from behind the dam making it impossible to go slow. All you can do it sidle your kayak up against the concrete walls, hold onto the ropes on the side, and wait it out. It’s either scary or thrilling, depending on your disposition.
Faith is a little like all of this. We eagerly put ourselves into it along with everyone else and then the terrain changes and the current gets a little more swift, but we’re in it for the long-haul. We meander around the bogs, through shallow water and small inlets, exploring the unexplored—or rarely explored—off the beaten path. Then we backtrack to wider spaces, but with stronger currents. We know what we’re up against now, but we are strong enough to keep going.
But somewhere along the way, we find ourselves boxed in by something. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s hurt. Maybe it’s doubt or paralyzing fear. Maybe it’s rejection or confusion or something worse.
Whatever it is, we feel the walls closing in on us, we feel the air leaking out of us. We’re still afloat, we haven’t lost our way, but it sure feels like it. And, in some ways, we’ve come to the end of ourselves. The lowest we’ve been, and it can be a bit scary to turn around and face the tsunami that we know is about to bowl us over when we engage the fear and grief, anger and doubt we need to engage to get back home.
All we can do is hold on for dear life.
The thing about water is it’s a very predictable thing. If one knows their way around it, on it, through it, if they understand weather and rapids and currents, water everywhere acts exactly the same. That doesn’t mean that what the water is doing is always safe. Just because the way a thing is is predictable doesn’t mean it feels or acts predictably.
A few weeks ago, Nate and I watched a kayaking documentary on HBOMax called The Edge. It was about three elite kayakers who endeavored to paddle the most difficult stretch of water in the world. They went about halfway through the planned 11 day trip that had turned into 28 days, and (spoiler alert) they failed. They couldn’t do it. The water levels were too erratic, the boulders too dangerous, and the camaraderie too fragile. Later, though, I reflected on the reality that though they may have failed to complete their mission, they did not fail entirely. They understood water so intimately that they knew being airlifted out was the only way they would come out alive.
Our artificial rapids in the small lock in an Adirondack river in no way compare to their endeavor. But it all does compare to faith.
Faith in God is the most predictable thing in the world. Christians believe with their whole hearts that God is establishing a kingdom and nothing, nothing, will prevail against it. Practicing our faith may be difficult, but the Object of our faith is sure.
But there will always come times in our lives when we feel boxed in by what we know and what we think we know, and maybe we begin to get lulled into an easy faith, a simple faith. The sort where we accept easy answers or ask easy questions because we’re terrified of what will happen if we ask a hard one. I’m not even talking about easy questions like, “Are you real God?” or “Are you good God?” because everyone knows those are just the entry level questions in a faith crisis.
No, I’m talking about the questions like, “What do I believe about suffering?” “Is hell real? “What does God’s word say about sex/money/tithing/LGBTQA issues/politics/gender roles?” “Is God really like this role model who failed?” Or the questions God is asking us like, “What have you done?” “Do you love me?” “Do you believe me?” These are the questions our faith is made or broken over. These are the questions we have to hang onto the side through and just trust our way through.
What I mean to say is, if you will trust what you know about the water and trust what you do know about God, the questions will not leave you submerged and gasping for air—though things might get rocky, they might get wobbly, you might even overturn a time or two.
The way through is all the way through. We don’t live in bogs or rushing currents. We don’t live with stunning mountain views or shallow water. We don’t live in locks. We pass through them. This is the way we go.
I have no concerns about deconstruction, faith crises, or renovations. I know everyone everywhere must have them and I know they are good for us. We must risk the first question and move through to the second, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, until we get to the question Jesus asked Peter on the shores of Galilee, “Do you love me?”
“Do you love me?”
“Do you love me?”
And we must not, when the time comes, give the answer we think he wants, but the answer that is true, even if it is no, or maybe, or I want to, but can’t.
“That’s okay,” he says, “I am the water of life and I know the route home and I will not let you go.”
Jesus will not let you go.
Love,
Lore
Tomorrow my second book A Curious Faith releases into the world. I made it for you—you just starting out, you in the bogs, you in the beautiful views, you in the lock, and you in the boat. I made it for the believers and the doubters and the halfway in or outers. I made it for the ones who want to believe there is a way through.
Today is the last day you can preorder it and receive some beautiful preorder gifts in the mail if you fill out the preorder form.
Why preorder?
Because preorders are one of the best ways you can help support authors who are releasing a book in the world. Preorders tell booksellers to promote visibility of new releases, therefore helping our books reach more readers. No one needs to tell you that our world is heaving with a faith crisis in 2022, and I can’t think of a better time for someone who’s struggling to read this book. Please preorder! You’ve got through midnight to do so (Plus, you lock in the lowest price.).
When you preorder one copy, you get:
The book
Four printables from the book
A digital copy for stickers with four crucial questions on them
Early access to four guided meditations from me!
If you preorder TWO copies, you get:
The book
Four printables from the book
Four beautiful stickers with four crucial questions on them mailed directly to you
Early access to four guided meditations from me!