Beware the little foxes

When you lose your faith, it doesn’t happen all at once.

It starts with a compromise here, a concession there.

Maybe that treasured memory of God showing up for you really was a coincidence.

Maybe it’s really ridiculous to think of yourself as special, to think he cares about you specifically. Because wouldn’t that automatically mean he doesn’t care about all the kids in war torn areas? And what kind of God would that be?

Maybe it’s really foolish to want to be part of a community, a church. Maybe you really are sheep, sitting in a pew listening to descendants of the colonizers in a pulpit. Of what use could learning to interpret a text written thousands of years ago, to a different culture, possibly be?

Maybe it’s really unfair to think of forgiveness as wiping the slate clean. Because why should anyone go scot-free? Shouldn’t they have to pay for what they’ve done? Isn’t the concept of forgiveness unfair?

Maybe the Bible was never meant to be interpreted literally. Maybe it really is general suggestions and philosophy.

And so you let the distortions and half-truths in. You struggle against them, but some still sneak in and take a hold of a small part of your heart. And then like yeast, it expands.

Bit by bit, you explain away the interventions, the answered prayers, the miracles, the ways he has shown you his love. Until all you have left is a hole in your heart where your love for him used to be, a tenuous string where your connection used to be fast. And maybe a tiny grain of faith. Smaller than a mustard seed. The size of a garri grain.

But sometimes that tiny grain is all you need find your path again.

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