I have been David, confronted by Nathan, shamed and found
out. Redeemed and given a second chance.
I have been Peter, thoughtless and big-mouthed, passionate
and bold. I have denied Christ and I have been restored.
But above all, I have been Thomas. Doubting Thomas. I have
walked with Jesus and I have seen his work. I have been faced with his grace,
lavished by his mercy, surrounded by his love. And yet I have doubted.
No.
I doubt.
I doubt daily.
I say: “Unless I see the wounds on his side, the piercing of
his hands, unless I see them…I will no longer believe!”
And over and over Jesus shows me his wounds, tells me the
story of how He died for me.
Over and over.
Day after day.
Long after I’ve been David redeemed, long after I’ve been
Peter restored, I am still Thomas doubting.
And I’ve worried: will his patience run out? Will He tell me
one day, “Enough already, you faithless girl!”? Will He tire of the endless
cycle of my doubt spitting in the face of the endless cycle of his
faithfulness?
Then He speaks.
My eyes fall tiredly upon a story I have read a hundred
times before.
There is a father whose child is dying. He comes to Jesus
for help and is faced with a phrase that has become familiar to us today: “All things are possible
for the one who believes” (Mark 9:23, NLT).
And this father utters what is becoming my life verse:
“I believe but help me overcome my doubt.” (Mark 9:24, NLT)
And with those few simple words from a man I’ve never met I
have been set free.
I am free to confess my doubt honestly and openly because
Jesus did not chastise the father. He did not cast him aside or called him
faithless. He met this man at the point of his desperate need and healed the
boy.
Such love.
Such patience.
All God is asking of me is to take one step towards him (I
believe!) and admit I have no more faith to take another (Help my doubt!). He
will come to me and give me grace to walk the rest of the way.
He is not angered by my confession of my need for him.
Neither is He surprised. I think He is glad to know that I know that I don’t
have it all together. That is not by my works or my strength that my faith
grows.
My faith does not come from my own struggle to believe but
by his power alone, and by his willingness to keep showing me his wounds and
telling me the story of his sacrifice.
And so I learn, because of this father’s tale, that I don’t
have to remain a Doubting Thomas. When doubt creeps my way and faith seems to
elude me, I become the father and repeat brokenly and trustingly “I believe BUT help me overcome my doubt!”
Over and over.
Day after day.
