I grew up in church. I practically lived at church for most of my childhood. In fact, I even went to a private church-school through the sixth grade. My dad was a deacon, my mother a teacher. My playground was a place of worship, and I had make-believe tea parties with communion cups.
I thought I knew who God was. He was the Santa Claus the made the world.
Later, my parents had a rough patch in their marriage, but eventually it all smoothed out. I went to the university of my dreams, twice over. I joined up with a church, a group of people who were serious about this Jesus thing, and I was enthusiastic to go along for the ride. I heard God speak to my heart. I saw things happen before my own eyes that I thought only happened in the pages of my Bible.
I thought I knew who God was. He was a friend, healer, a miracle-worker, and the Santa Claus that made the world.
When I was trying to get pregnant, I faced a great crisis of faith. Why wasn't God answering my prayers? Why wasn't I being healed? Where had my friend gone? There is a Bible story about a woman who has been bleeding for many years; she reaches out and touches Jesus' clothes, and she is healed. Do you know how many times I pretended that my bedroom curtains were the garments of Jesus... I closed my eyes, and pretended to be that woman? I reached out and touched...curtains. Just white cotton curtains.
I couldn't find my Santa Claus, miracle-working God. I was not getting the present I asked for, and I was not being healed. My BFF was not returning my prayer text messages, AND THIS ROCKED MY WORLD.
Although I was emotionally crushed by my inability to conceive, I was equally as disturbed that this trial had shaken my faith. I had the presence of mind to understand that this wasn't the hardest thing a human being had ever endured, but this hurdle seemed insurmountable for me. Somewhere along the journey, I discovered I was a bratty little kid inside. Would I reject my God simply because I didn't get what I wanted? Was I merely worshiping a candy-dispenser up in the sky?
When my heart wandered away, He (the real God), not Santa Claus, did not leave me. There was a spring of fresh water that bubbled up from my soul. It was a chorus that wouldn't be silenced, and it always sang the same thing. Sometimes it whispered. Sometimes it screamed. But it always said, "GOD IS GOOD." I argued, gave offerings of countless tears, and rational debates as to the contrary, but He won. My spirit knew it. My circumstances and feelings did not dictate the unchangeable character of God.
When I discovered this, I found peace. And in a true miracle, I became pregnant.
It took me a long while to find Him... God, the real one, the one outside of my coloring book pages and brightly wrapped Christmas presents. The one who is good despite the hurricane. The one who anchors my soul in the storm.
I thought that I knew who God was, but I'm still learning. What I do know, is that He is good.
Lots of love,