Last fall, when I decided to move home following graduation instead of living in OC with a friend, I remember the bittersweet moment when I realized that moving home might be exactly what I needed at that point in my life. I realized the need for me to return to my roots before heading into the unknown. To remember what I used to be, to be reminded of the way that I used to think, and to be surrounded by the people and places that made me into the person that I was and still am in many ways.
This time I was entirely right. I did need to come home, I did need to be immersed in this familiar and yet so strange environment, I did need to remember in order to be able to fully look forward.
Things have been happening lately to remind me that so much is still up in the air for me. There is so much in this world that I don't understand, and so much that I have a changed perspective on. As I find myself thinking differently than those around me, I am forced to consider the ways in which these differences are both good and bad. I am forced to consider whether or not the changes I have undergone are good or bad.
Sometimes it's easy for me to read things that my family members say as being opposite to how I think now. I have been realizing lately, though, that this may not be at all the case, but rather, as I interact with those who I interacted with at a different point in my life, I am reminded of the person I used to be. So maybe it's not entirely about me being any different from those around me (although I would say that I am somewhat different than those around me) but rather about the ways in which I view the world differently than I did in high school.
A year ago, if you would have talked to me, you most likely would have heard about my struggle with my faith, how I was coming out of the struggle into a more spacious place, and how I felt as if NW had caused this struggle with unbelief, and how NW was a sketchy school as a result.
This last fall, I went back to NW, delivered from my struggle with doubt. At some point in the midst of that final semester, I changed. Or at least woke up and realized I was different. I guess the simplest way to put it is that I am now okay with all the questions. It is no longer about the strength of my faith...rather, it is about the strength and faithfulness of my God. I am okay with not being certain on the finer points of my doctrine. I am okay with admitting that I don't know for certain whether creation happened in seven days, and I am okay with admitting that I don't know for certain that God handpicked certain people for salvation and others for damnation.
And yet, I hide, afraid of those who would not understand the changes I have undergone. Afraid that in my admission that I am uncertain about certain things, I will be branded a heretic. A wanderer. Lost. Afraid to admit that I am fundamentally unsure about some things. Afraid because I know how I would have judged someone like myself just a few short years ago.
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I remember freshman year at NW, sitting in Introduction to Biblical Studies. I remember being appalled that the professor would even mention the possibility that Genesis 1-11 is not literal. I laugh now...because I understand. Even though I would still tend to think that Genesis 1-11 did indeed happen, how do I know? And, if I believe God's Word to be inspired and infallible, does it really matter? Either way, the stories are powerful, even if they did not literally happen as they are written. Either way, God's character is revealed. My professor was not attacking the character of God or the Truth of His Word. He was simply saying that perhaps the way that we read and interpret the text may be entirely too based on our culture and worldview.
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I remember sophomore year, when I fell from certainty...when life became scary. I remember wondering if I would ever be okay again, if I would ever have a childlike faith again. I wondered if I'd ever be able to talk to God again without wondering if He was even there or listening. I remember the spring semester of 2008, taking Modern Europe, just following my fall from certainty. I remember being terrified that reading the works of those who had "fallen" centuries before me would ruin me as well. I remember being terrified that one day I would wake up and no longer be able to believe.
And so I teetered on the brink, wondering day by day what the next day would bring...swearing I'd never betray my Lord, and that no matter the mental cost, I would hold on... and yet wondering if I had the strength, or if holding on would continue to even remain an option.
I remember assuming that recovering from this spiritual desert would mean a return of my childhood faith.
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I look back now, infinitely more wise. I have learned so much, both through simple life experience and the people I have met at school and at work, and through my time of doubt. First, my faith is NOT the same. I never woke up and got my old faith back. My thought patterns are different. For whatever reason, I am so much less judgmental. I do not look at people and see only their sin. I am less likely to let someone's sin define them. There is so much more I could say about this change, but it'd be a huge rabbit trail. Secondly, I have learned that my faith has so little to do with me. If it had to do with me, I never would have made it out of the desert, and I would no longer have my faith. God is the One who is faithful. God is the one who never lets go. I believe only because He continues to see fit to allow me to see Him.
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