Doubting Thomas

When something unexpected comes along in my life and disrupts my plans, I am quick to panic. Why this particular roadblock? Why now? How am I supposed to handle this? And what good could possibly come of this situation? My questions are rapid-fire.

But instead of reaching for faith, I often travel down the wrong fork in the road.

I often choose to doubt.

Like Thomas, I would’ve had to touch the nail wounds on Jesus to find them real. No matter how many times God’s proven himself to me, I am an Israelite. The past full of miracles pales when it’s matched up against my present hardship.

I’d love not to doubt. I’d love for my faith to be consistent and easy. But I haven’t matured into that kind of Christ follower yet.

Currently, I struggle and stumble whenever a boulder falls into my path and blocks the way. I’m a sit-down-in-the-middle-of-the-road kind of girl. Cross my arms and huff. What can God possibly do with this? How can he solve this?

It’s almost as if I’m taunting him. As if he can’t. But of course he can.

He just might not answer in the way I want him to. And maybe that’s truly what my childish fuss is all about.

Getting my own way.

Ouch. That truth stings.

So what do I do with that? How do I mature from a 2-year-old into a 10-year-old whose faith is rock solid?

I suppose I could start by telling God I trust him even when I don’t understand what He’s doing. Or that I want to trust him, but I’m messing it up. The Bible says we can admit our unbelief to him. So I do. I’m not sure why God sticks with me in the midst of all of this doubt. Must be that limitless love deal he has going on. But He promises to be there to help me, even when my tiny sprout of faith looks like it hasn’t been watered in weeks.

And then comes the really hard part: giving him free reign to answer however He sees best.

I thought the believing part was the biggest mountain to climb for me, but now I think I’m wrong. Each level of faith has its own stumbling block, and I’m bad at all of them. At least I can only go up from here.

My prayer might sound desperate, but that’s how I feel. So I pour it out…

God, this wasn’t the plan! Did you miss the memo?



This is the last thing I want to deal with. It’s making me sad and angry all at the same time. I don’t know how to “do” this. I want to fix it, but truly, there isn’t an avenue for me to do that. But while I’m limited by my humanness, you are not.

You are not. All of the answers that I could never think of are at your fingertips, and you have the power to make them happen. Better than I could ever imagine. That’s the kind of answer I’m hoping for.

Help my unbelief. I’m sure you get sick of that prayer coming from me, but it’s just going to be on repeat until I don’t need it as often. I’m not sure when that will be. You probably know better than me on that one.

Will you show up in this, God? I don’t have any answers, so I can’t tell you how to do it. (I can hear you cheering over that.) I’m at your mercy. I’m at the feet of your glorious grace, waiting for the answer that will surprise and delight me. The story that has your handiwork written all over it.

I’m holding out for that. And thanks for holding on to me when I know I’m the toddler who makes you want to pull out your royal hair.