By Lisa Huddleston

“I do believe; help my unbelief!”  (Mark 9:24).

I have been doing so well.  Just ask my husband.  Ask my friends.  Ask my kids.  Heck—ask me.  Yes, I really have.  But, sometime over the weekend, a tiny pebble of doubt fell and stirred up the recently smoothed-over surface of my soul.  It wasn’t much.  A ripple of fear here.  A curl of anxiety there.  The familiar feeling of being a little out of place in a world where others are all on the inside.  Ugh.  The undulation of unbelief rolling in the pit of my stomach.  Lord, help me!

Still, everyone will tell you I am doing very well.  And I really am.  I have felt God’s hand and seen his healing at work.  Forgiveness extended and received.  Undeserved blessings rained down upon seeds of joy that were waiting to sprout during the long, dark season.  Tender skin and wide open spaces.  A captive set free to dance and laugh and delight in life.  Renewed faith that God will never leave me nor forsake me and that I can stand firmly on the foundation of love.

I am doing really well; however, I do have my moments.  Like this weekend.  Like two weeks ago.  Like today.  Occasional visitations of doubt.  More to be forgiven.  More to forgive.  Forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me, Lord. 

And he leads me on.  Sometimes taking me by the hand.  Sometimes asking me to go on ahead and wait for him to guide my next step.  Always with patience and love and mercy for he knows that I am but dust.

So, I am doing well.  Getting better and growing stronger.  Learning to rest, to trust, and to ask for help.  I really am.  Lord, help my unbelief!

2 thoughts on “DAILY BATTLES

  1. Sometimes, believing feels like a bridge between larger periods of unbelief. And then there is the grace given us to grow and live well and to believe. It is then that unbelief feels like brief moments of solar eclipse in an otherwise bright and hopeful day. I have known some of what Henri Nouwen and, subsequently, Parker Palmer referred to as the ‘dark night of the soul.’ I don’t claim to have gone as deep or into as dark a place as they, but a dark night of the soul is still dark to that soul; it doesn’t compare shades of black. And it taught me more about what it means to walk in the Light than anything else I know. I applaud your courage, respect your intentionality, and am often awed by your gift of writing. I look forward to your book.

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