Squalls and Serenity

I had a post prepared regarding an interesting abortion article I read today. But I'm entranced by the rain, and my words tumble through my fingers in incoherent patterns. It's the clapping of a thousand tiny hands; the swishing of new seas, without names, sloshing across blackened streets; whispers of wind whisk the water into waves, rippling into rising mists. What was I contemplating? The deaths of unborn infants? Les enfants mortalis?

Why such somber notes while these tiny percussions plummet to patter against the slanting roof, drizzle down the gutters, and puddle and pool across the green grass? Waters collecting into droplets, streaking down the windows into pools along the walls, forming runnels in the grass towards rivulets in the roads, gurgling into drains against the curbs and stagnating in rainbow-swirl pools on sidewalks and where the road dips and deepens. Sugar maples slap their branches against the walls, the oaks jettison browning leaves, dogwood whispers with the whimpers of butterfly wings, and the regal pines ruffle,  but stand proud against the prevailing winds. 

An excellent night for philosophical dialogues while sitting under fleece blankets and sipping ciders. One of my roommates and I, we discussed determinism and predestination, miracles and divinity, Christendom and creation, stories and mythologies, culturally infected beliefs and ideologies. I've missed long philosophical dialectics full of witticism and crafted hypothesis. I could linger long into the night on such musings, if life permits. Tonight, life does not permit. Humbly and thoughtfully, I retreat into the darkness of the room, and listen once more to the rain's storming outside these screens. Makes me want to set up tarp and tent, and sleep beneath the soggy heavens, snug against the bristling winds and tearful clouds.

Oh, I wish I lived in a log cabin with a loft and could listen to these sounds until morning. The power flickers. We'll see who succumbs first: the storm or the electricity. Let the tempest of this night commence. 

Belief

Amid other deep or casual conversations yesterday, I was asked at one point, "Do you ever find it difficult to believe in God?" I responded no, with a little explanation, but it's actually quite a difficult question. There are a couple of ways this can be interpreted, even, so I'll start with how I responded. (These are my answers, and not indicative of actual apologetic arguments. I'd have to write a book to explain everything, not a paragraph)

1. Do you have trouble believing that God exists?

No. I've read numerous essays and books on apologetics, from Christian, Jewish, and Muslim writers. From ontological arguments to arguments of design and existential arguments and arguments from morality and meaning - all of these and more I've delved into, searching for various proofs. I've been moved by each, and I certainly have been affected by some more than others. I've even read their counter arguments, and arguments from the problem of evil or chaos or arguments on why there does not have to be a being beyond existence, beyond time, beyond space for such things to exist.  But at the end of the day, my experience and my belief and the things I've seen and heard and felt propel me deep into the heart of God and knowing. I don't have any trouble believing that God exists, but that does lead me directly into the next question.

2. Do you ever have trouble having faith in God?

I think one of the biggest cultural blows to religion was at our nation's foundation, when our nation spurred our culture in a very individualistic, deistic direction. I remember a story I was told, about a missionary who went into a small third-world country devastated by famine, war, and sickness. When he was helping at the church, he struggled every day with the hardship, the pain he saw, and asked the priest, "How do you stay faithful when you see such pain? How do you endure when surrounded by such trials?"

The priest was a bit surprised, but responded, "How do you have faith when you want nothing? And culture tells you happiness is simply another toy easily within your grasp? How do you have faith when it is harder to see what you are being saved from?" Sometimes I do have trouble having faith. Not often, but it happens. I heard once that if you do not doubt, you are not asking enough questions. Sometimes, doubting can spurn you into greater wisdom or into seeking more fervently after answers. Yet if doubting turns you bitter, perhaps you are more angry than curious.

If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.

~Yann Martel Life of Pi

3. Do you believe that God cares? Or believe in God's interaction in your life?

This comes back to the topic of deism. Yes, I do believe God interacts with me on a personal basis. I have some different perspectives than many American Christians, but I very fervently believe that God loves ME and died so that I could be sanctified by his blood unto salvation. So do I believe that God interacts with me and my life? Everyday. Do I believe that God cares? Absolutely. Do I always feel comfortable in that belief? Certainly not in the most difficult circumstances.


There are difficult times, and there are less difficult times. Sometimes it is like when I have a runny nose or stomach aches. Whenever I suffer such symptoms, I regret not being thankful when I am in good health. You only remember how difficult times are when they are difficult, and how much of a struggle doubt is when you are doubting. The wider view is the tougher one.