A Faith in Recovery | Crossroads

Too many questions, not enough answers: That’s been the story of my life for the past 48 months. Ever since my faith was blown up, I’ve been questioning just about everything I believe. But I’ve been avoiding some big questions because I’m afraid of the answers. I’ve caught myself thinking that if I follow the trails all the way to the end, I could wind up an atheist. (That still sounds awful to me—no surprise, considering how badly I was indoctrinated.)

I didn’t want to ask these questions. I’ve been avoiding them. But this week, I’ve asked them, anyway. Since I’ve been confronting things head-on in the last few posts, I want to confront some of the many questions inside my head.

A Faith in Recovery | The Best of Me

Whenever ideas land inside my head, the results may vary. Sometimes, the ideas stick. Other times, they make no sense. Other times, they make sense to me at the time, but life and experience help me understand them.

We see this happen all the time. We don’t know what it’s like to lose a loved one until we go through it. We don’t know how to raise children until we have children of our own. And we don’t know what it means to live without comfort zones—that is, until just about every last one has been stripped away.

A Faith in Recovery | Surfacing

In the spirit of my last post, I’m still in hot pursuit. Now that I know what I’ve been avoiding, I need to talk about what I want.

And if you think that’s going to be easy, you must be new to this blog.

A Faith in Recovery | In Hot Pursuit

Last time, I wrote that my heart is in a civil war: I want to believe in God, but I’m also looking for an exit. The closest door leads to atheism, which makes atheism look pretty appealing. Frankly, though, I think that’s a royal cop-out. Something else is making my faith and life messier than ever, and atheism won’t get rid of the problem.

Fortunately, I’m starting to realize what’s going on. Instead of fighting this battle of faith vs. unbelief—a battle that has kept me from dealing head-on with my biggest weaknesses—I’m now tackling the weaknesses head-on. I’m now understanding why my faith looks like a nightmare and why my closest relationships continue to suffer:

I’m afraid.

A Faith in Recovery | The Cost

Honesty is the most valuable writing tool I have—more than grammar, punctuation, and a decent level of eloquence. Everything I write comes from my head and my heart, flowing downstream from what I think and feel deep inside.

At least, it should.

A Faith in Recovery | Eyes Wide Open

Last time, I said my brain has been in a labyrinth. Fear, music, apologetics, indoctrination—all that and more taught me to defend my faith at all costs. As long as I never challenged God and faith, I figured my faith would never come under attack. I thought was safe in the maze of convoluted thought patterns, especially if I never dared to leave it.

But the labyrinth failed me. It didn’t give me the tools to confront challenges to my faith. It couldn’t defend me from the extreme crisis of faith I recently went through. Instead, it’s left me wondering if I know what’s really so. Now, I’m on my way out of the labyrinth, and I’m also facing the most important questions of my faith journey:

Is God real?

Is the Bible true?

A Faith in Recovery | The Labyrinth

I was raised in a Christian home by loving Christian parents and educated in a Christian school. My father was a pastor in my single-digit years, so I was at church every time the doors were open. I listened to Christian radio, jammed along with Christian songs, and bought or heard every Adventures in Odyssey episode I could get my hands on.

I was a Christian. I had no reason to be anything else.

Jump to 2019, and I’m still a Christian. But I’m starting to realize how much of my faith was built on assumptions, reinforced by dogma, and shielded by dilemmas. Creation vs. evolution, conservative vs. liberal, skepticism vs. belief, fear vs. fearlessness, Baptist vs. Charismatic—all those (and more) distracted me from addressing the most important question of all:

Is there a reason to believe?

Can I actually assume God is real and the Bible is true?

A Faith in Recovery | Discretion

Last time, I compared myself to a man lost at sea. For years, my heart drifted away from God and others—never resting, rarely trusting. It was time for me to stop playing it safe, to come ashore and be more vulnerable with God and others.

Even though I believe that, the idea needs balance. I’ve been brutally open and honest about my faith long before I started this blog—and in the last year, my honesty has begun to cost me.

A Faith in Recovery | Home

When my faith was in crisis, my heart came apart. Not only was I drifting from my faith, but I was also killing my closest relationships through my bad choices. 

You’d think that, by returning to faith and trying to make things right, my relationships with God and the people in my life would improve.

No such luck—and now I know why.

A Faith in Recovery | Freedom

It’s been six months since my crisis of faith came to an end, and already I’ve made huge progress. I’m not afraid of God. I’m not afraid of divine punishment or discipline. I’m learning how to live minute by minute without trying to have life and faith held together.

Even so, I’m still a hot mess. I’m still overly concerned with pleasing people and looking like a good Christian. I’m still trying to reverse the consequences of some bad choices I made. And all the while, I’m trying to keep my heart from breaking apart all over again.

But it’s not faith that’s still in crisis. It’s my heart.