It’s been more than a year since I embarked on a journey to sort out my faith from the one of those around me. Despite my best attempts, I cannot seem to shake the character of God, nor the life of Jesus, nor the sentiment that many people I meet seem to claim both and understand neither.
Tomorrow, I will go into work and care for dozens of elders on my day off because there is no one else to do it. I will work as a nurse’s aide for twelve hours straight and get paid for zero of them. I will drive past several churches, where coworkers sit and abstain from working on Sundays because it goes against their religious beliefs. The character of God and the life of Jesus tell me that the nursing home on a Sunday morning is as close to worship as I can possibly get.
This is not a brag. Matthew 7:20 warns that we are known by our fruit, and mine is often rotten. It’s been a long year of soul-searching; I acknowledge that I am not out of the bitter wilderness yet. But I very much want to be, and I think I can see the light through the trees.
