A Faithless Wretch
Recently a friend told me she liked thinking of me at home trying to do roundhouse kicks in my kitchen. (She was also a little surprised, I think, but she liked it.)
“Well, I’m an introvert,” I said. “So I am my truest self when I am home alone.”
We laughed and went our separate ways, but when I was alone in my house being my truest self, I couldn’t help thinking about what ELSE my friend might be surprised to know about me...
I AM A FAITHLESS WRETCH.
Yeah, you heard me. ME. ME who writes about funny things Jesus says to me and ME who writes about seeing THE GOOD and THE GOD in people – I am a faithless wretch.
Don’t get me wrong. I MEAN those beautiful things I write. They are VERY TRUE on the Good Days that they occur.
On bad days I am as dramatically faithless as I am certainof Him on the good days. (There is no in between for me. This over-the-top attitude is probably why I broke my wrist doing those roundhouse kicks in my kitchen.)
It’s not cool, the way I ditch God. Not cool at all. But I do it.
On the bad days, when a Sister’s lump is suspicious, when a child is withdrawn and will not talk to me about whatthehellisgoingon, when I wake up at 3 am and whisper are you there? and only silence answers…on those days I don't believe in miracles, or healings, or people-having-epiphanies, or angels, or divine intervention or divine purpose or anything. And I am NOT comforted by memories of the Good Things because, unfortunately, spiritually I can be a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately kind of gal, and “lately” usually means TODAY. (Like I said. So. Not. Cool.)
On the bad days, when the Big Bad Wolf starts huffing and puffing, I am squealing like the Pig I am by the Wolf’s second outbreath. I run around all crazy-like, crashing into furniture, knocking over lamps, running into walls… and, folks, here’s the kicker:
I don’t live in the house of straw, nor in the house of sticks. I AM THE PIG IN THE HOUSE OF BRICKS.
But there I am, thrashing and bashing about, screaming that the house is going DOWN. When I finally stop for a moment (because I’m out of breath), I see Him there. Right there. He places His hands on my shoulders, looks at me with all that love and assurance and says,
“YOU are okay. WE are okay. And this house will stand.”
That’s when I remember the bricks, and that it’s HIS house, really. I mean, we built it together, He and I, but it was mostly Him. And suddenly I know the house will stand.
I look around at the mess I’ve made inside the house, feeling a little horrified at my Great Abandon and Loss of Control, but then I remember something else. I remember that when we built the house, the last thing He did was hang a hand-carved wooden sign over the front door. (He’s a carpenter). That sign reads:
FAITHLESS WRETCHES WELCOME HERE.
One of my favorite millennial writers recently posted: “You know what I just realized? Life is good even when we fail to see it.”
The House will stand even when you think it's going DOWN.