Putting oneself “out there” is never easy.

I paused before hitting the publish button on that “Questioning” post a few months ago. It was raw. Real. And I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be that honest.

But, as always, you all surprised me. I wasn’t able to reply to each individual comment or email, but a belated thank you for enabling me to be honest and for showing your love and support.

This past summer set me on a journey to find answers. To ask questions that might lead to answers. And to somehow convince myself that it was okay to do so.

Our pastor once said a faith that has never been tested can’t be a very strong faith. It needs to be tried and true.

At one point in my not-so-long life, I believed I had most of the answers. After all, anything I didn’t know (being I was young), I could surely find in a book or a seminar or an article providing the answer… as long as the person writing or speaking was someone on “the list”  of approved theologians.

The problem was, the list changed. And then changed again. And yet, again.

I wrote in my journal, at age 17, that it seemed the more people I heard trying to explain some “truth” about God, the less and less I knew or understood. Was it, I wondered, just me? Was I not smart enough to grasp what they were saying? How could I be so confused? It had to be me. Everyone else seemed to “get” it.

Since I couldn’t fully understand the deep issues, I figured I’d just continue to focus on the rest of them. The ones I could understand. I learned how to recite great speeches on issues of dress, music, church programs or the lack of them, family planning, relationships, and even food choices and haircuts.

I had a clear-cut written and unwritten code of conduct, compiled by a variety of influences who may or may not have known what they were doing to a passionate and zealous young girl, eager to please.

Now, in light of God’s greatest commandments–to love Him wholeheartedly and to love the ones He loves–and this “back to the very, very, very basics” journey on which He’s taking me, the issues I focused on during my formative years seem trivial. Distracting.

I no longer carry a mental checklist of all the things I must do to look like a Christian. My desire is to live like a Christian. But without that list, I’m not always sure how it’s done.

And yet, as I said when I admitted my questioning state of mind,

“. . . life must be lived. But how? What is truth anymore?”

I know God has given me two great commandments and He requires that I obey. He desires an intimate relationship with me and He promises to guide me with His eye–a promise with implications of me gazing intently at Him, a God of strength and beauty.

I do know that much.

I used to think Christian living meant checking boxes on my list, always wondering if I was holy enough, pleasing enough to God. Pleasing enough to the people I put in place of God. I thought it meant striving.

I used to think I knew the answers.

Now I know I don’t have any.

And maybe that’s the best conclusion I could have come to.

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