Cynic or Believer?

Hi, it's been a while.

I'm not really sure why I logged into this old blogger account tonight. To be honest, I haven't thought about this dusty corner of the internet in quite some time. 

I did log in, though, and it's been.. refreshing? Nostalgic? I don't quite know what to label it. 

I began reading through some of my posts, and to my surprise they made me begin to cry.

You see, I remember the girl who wrote them. I remember the young women she was becoming, the dreams and hopes she had for the future, the assurance she felt in Christ, and the joy she had in His presence.

My journey of late has been such an odd mixture of sorrow, of pain, and yet still the undeniable finger of God weaving in beauty and grace. I'm afraid the joy, though, is no longer permeating through me. That fire, it's just a flicker. 

Occasionally, I have a little taste of what once was. It feels like coming up for fresh air after being engulfed by the unstoppable might of the ocean, but the next moment I find myself again overwhelmed by the waves, holding my breath to stay alive, fighting to find the next break.

I knew pain before, I was well acquainted with her pangs, but I was able to rest in Christ in spite of it. Those trials, they pushed me further into the arms of my Father. They birthed more faith and joy in  spite of themselves. 

This pain has left me feeling estranged. I have not found any solace, no balm for these wounds.

My heart is overgrown with fear, doubt, distrust and anxiety. 

I think what scares me is that I’m not even sure who I am anymore. There are ghosts of the girl that peak out from the darkness, shadows of a woman that flit across my consciousness - but I am not them anymore. Pieces of them are still in me, but I’ve been changed. 

I didn't want to change because of this. I don’t want it to affect me, to change me, to mold me to someone new. I want to hold on to the person I was, and pretend that this has not affected and changed my spirit to someone I don’t fully know.

I am left to wonder what is my personality vs. what is my anxiety and PTSD speaking. I don’t want to be controlled by these things, but I am.

I feel like I have little grounding for who I am supposed to be. I am more cynical, more somber, there are less smiles and less laughs, there are more sleepless nights and teary mornings. I trust less, see evil where there may be none, and shrink from strangers in a new and wary way.

I cling to Chris, and try to make him my center, my steady, my home. It isn’t fair to him, but I can’t seem to fully trust God. I tell myself I know God is still good. I don’t know if I know that, really. I think I believe it, but have a hard time trusting it’s true as of late. 

It is as if there is a silent battle waging in my mind, the old trying desperately to hold on to faith, while this new cynic pulls away and taunts them to give up hope. 

I am not sure which one is really me - I don’t want to be the cynic, but I feel the one holding on is too naive to truly understand the gravity of it all. Perhaps I am both, but have yet to find a balance between having hope and facing the depravity of the world. I’m sure this is probably more accurate, and yet, the idea seems so undesirable, so alien to who I assumed myself to be. 

I thought I was sure of what I believed, sure that God is who He says He is, sure that I was walking in His will.

That is why I feel as though I can't trust Him, I guess. I thought I was walking with Him, thought I was doing what He called me to do, and in that situation is where I was hurt. Not just hurt. I feel betrayed by God, as if the trust I had was undeserved, that I cannot be safe if I follow Him.

I understand that safety is relative, that there will be suffering and hardship… I think I understand. 

Yet, here I am, angry at this suffering, angry that this happened, angry that I can’t get any answers. 

Why shouldn’t I be angry? I keep trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t be angry, but I am angry. Saying I’m not is just pretending it’s not real when I know it is. I am angry because I feel abandoned. I feel that if I was sharing the gospel with someone, trying to show them the light, trying to help them and stop them from committing suicide, there should have been a protection over me.

I shouldn’t have been raped for trying to do what I thought God wanted me to do. 

I know God didn’t rape me, but I feel that He should have protected me.

Reading what's been written brings afresh overwhelming grief, then boiled over by anger. Maybe it's because I am more of the hopeful believer than the cynic.

It makes me angry because I don’t understand how God works. I know that bad things happen to good people, and yet I am pissed and upset and feel alone and like He doesn’t care when the bad things happen to me. It is hypocritical.

I was sure of God’s hand and presence all through the years of trial, but now? What is the difference here? Why can’t I still believe it? Why do I feel that God has not lived up to who I thought that He was? 

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My instinct is to try to end on a hopeful note, to say that there is beauty coming from these ashes, that I have found hope. 

I can't say these things truthfully. I desperately want to believe them, to have them be real in my mind and heart, but they are not and wishing for them will not make it so.

I can say, I know that God is still with me. I find it hard to believe most times, but when I stop to reflect, when for a moment I can break free from the endless loop of intrusive thoughts, I can look at my life now and see His provision for me. 

I am blessed with a husband who loves and cares for me more than I knew was possible. He pushes me back towards Christ when I'm floundering, faithfully prays for me, encourages me, and takes care to understand my insecurities, fears, defensiveness and endless triggers. He is patient, kind, forgiving, and does not hold my wrongs against me. 

His selfless love is a constant reminder that God's grace is real, that I am not forgotten, that my broken prayers are heard.

I cannot say where I would be without his love pouring into me. To me this is the proof that I will hold onto, to know that God is still with me.

So, believer it is, then.

-Rebekah