A Question of Faith

Questions rage in my soul. They surge and churn within me, twisting my heart and forcing the breath from my lungs.

What do I do when I want to go home so badly I ache all over? How do I live when it feels like my heart is so mangled that if I could pull it out into the light it would look like a bruised misshapen mass? Does life still go on when I don't have the strength to live? Does God still move when my faith has shrivelled and died?

I reach deep inside my soul to draw from the well of faith that has always sprung there, but find only dust. The once living and then gradually stagnant water has now completely evaporated. When did it stop flowing and even more perplexing; why? I try to redig the well, deeper this time to tap a new source, but the ground is hard packed and dense. God help me! There must be another fountain, a greater level of faith that I don't yet understand. How can I break up this parched soil to reach it?

I can't live without my faith. Without faith there is no joy and no hope. My lungs gasp for air as if in a vacuum. Is this perhaps a necessary emptiness before God can give me revelation of true God-given faith? Perhaps my well of faith has been merely human belief all along and God longs to fill me with an ocean of faith such as only He can give; an ocean that would flood my soul, sweeping away the broken wells and cracked, dry earth beneath them.

Let it be so Lord. If I must be torn apart in order to feel your love for people then let it be so. If I must thirst and search until it seems I've gasped my last breath in order to find you at the end of myself, then let it be so. If I must be jerked upside down and emptied in order for you to fill me, then let it be so. Whatever you will Lord, let it be so.

With surrender comes a cracking and breaking in the hardened earth. I see a trickle and then a spurting stream of fresh faith.