Faithful Writers

And if we stopped yanking this verse out of the middle of a very intimate, emotional conversation — if we actually slowed down and listened to what was really happening — we might hear something much more human. Much more hopeful. And far more powerful than a doctrinal threat.

I didn’t walk away from faith — but I did start asking harder questions. And wouldn’t you know it, that’s when something deeper began to grow.

We’ve built entire sermons around words Jesus never spoke. It’s time we stop preaching a misquote and start living the truth.

There’s something profoundly sacred about folding socks, waiting at stoplights, and fixing dinner for the umpteenth time. These are not wasted moments. They’re invitations. Brother Lawrence, the old monk who found God in doing dishes, once said, “The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer.”

I’d close my eyes, exhale, and then — bam — launch into a bullet-pointed list of wants, needs, and stressors. It was fast. It was organized. And it was empty. But for a while, I felt like I was fulfilling my prayer obligation of being a good Christian. (Sad to say).

So, how did we get from there to here? From house churches to $60 million sanctuaries. From martyrs in the arena to pastors with private jets. From “take up your cross” to “God wants you to be rich.”

We usually come to God ready to unload.But good conversation starts with listening. Scripture gives us God’s side of the conversation — His tone, His heart, His repeated themes of mercy, justice, presence, and love.

Doubt was treated like a disease. If you had doubts, you were either backsliding, disobedient, or not truly saved. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, it was the process of dealing with doubt that I discovered a richer relationship with Christ.

Faith isn’t about pretending the mess isn’t there. It’s about finding God in it anyway.

This isn’t the kind of life you can fake with a forced smile or spiritual performance. This is the kind of life that seeps out of your pores, even when you’re tired, even when you’re flawed, even when you’re unsure.

Recognition. Reward. At least a little celebration. But it didn’t come. Instead, I watched people walk away from the church, come back, and get welcomed like heroes. I clapped on the outside. But inside, I was thinking: Really? That’s it? Just throw them a party and move on?

Let’s start here: Shame is a liar. It doesn’t convict you, it crushes you. And that’s not how God works. When we mess up, it’s easy to believe the voice that says we’ve crossed some invisible line God won’t forgive. But that voice isn’t God. That’s fear. That’s toxic religion.

Yes, there’s judgment. God deals seriously with sin. But I also saw a God who is incredibly patient. Who keeps giving second chances, and third, and fourth. Who rescues people over and over again, even when they keep running away.

Suddenly, we weren’t in buildings anymore.We weren’t being led by a stage team with fog machines and countdown timers. We weren’t sipping free coffee between services or navigating church apps to register for “authentic community.” And many of us didn’t miss it.

That’s the tricky part, right? Because the Spirit doesn’t always show up the way we expect. We want a booming voice, a divine sign, maybe something with flashing lights and a deep Morgan Freeman-esque narration. But more often than not, the Spirit’s help looks like:

It doesn’t need a glow-up, a rebrand, or wrapped in skinny jeans or delivered by someone with a TikTok following and a smoke machine. What it needs is a person bold enough to live it out with honesty and imagination.

You don’t ask why does God allow suffering because you’re curious. You ask it because something inside you is crumbling with anguish. This isn’t really a question born from curiosity. It’s more like a scream we turned into words.

I grew up with the impression that doubt was something to repent of. Like it was mold on your spiritual fruit. But when I look at scripture with fresh eyes, the ones God seemed to draw nearest were often full of questions.