I believe that I’m on a string, a yo-yo string. I'm good at letting go, sometimes and most always, to my detriment. It’s good to let go. It’s good to feel the heavy-laden release itself from my grasp. I can bind things so tightly, round up so neatly that I forget the big picture. What's bound on earth can be loosed, though it's extremely tempting to stay bound up. It is so easy for me, so natural in fact, that I can hardly notice what I am doing. “Where is God in all of this”, I ask. Indeed, my cry of dereliction goes unheeded. Letting loose; unbinding a strangle-hold that grips and winds itself round about my soul is the prescription needed.
Life’s little challenges often present themselves as gigantic tasks—obstacles barring me from believing that anything is possible. That truthy-feeling is flighty, revealing a false sense of creation. The truth that I’ve come to know as holy and real is true and lasting freedom. Why? Because I keep getting pulled back towards God every time I wander. Each time I bind, I feel the tug-of-war to let go. Back and forth, so it seems, is the rhythm of faith.
Doubt, as we know, is not the opposite of
faith. Apostasy is faith’s contrarian.
Whether or not string-bound, I am still there holding on. The string cannot break; dirty with years of rubbed playing, but nonetheless strong as the day it was made.
Credo.
I believe.
I am a believer.
I am believed.
Amen.
