Sarah Nyhan

I am having a crisis. In my faith? Of my faith? Or religion? I don’t like to refer to my experience as religion. That makes it feel so dead. Conversely, I sometimes feel so alive that it hurts. I wonder if ignorance is bliss. But I’ve never been that kind of girl. Ever since I was in middle or high school I have been praying to God that he would not let me be deceived. There is a dying in knowing, but I find no life in lies. I heard someone say that one of the most terrifying things for humans to think about is their vulnerability. I ask myself why I don’t have more anger towards those who have hurt me. The answer comes back that I am angrier at myself for allowing them to hurt me. There is some comfort in convincing myself I have the potential to be strong enough to stop whatever comes. And then you grow up and you get so tired. You can’t keep all the plates spinning. You can’t keep the world from falling apart. Can you do anything correctly? It feels like there will be nothing left if you admit defeat. As long as I keep facing forward then I can have hope. As long as I can keep running faster than the wreckage burning behind me. “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend into heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, you are there.” I tried to keep it all together. I understand now the rich young ruler. “Tell me, Lord, just tell me, whatever it is, I’ll do it. I have to get to you. I can’t live without you.” Jesus loved him. Jesus loves me. He lets me build my little ladders. He knows I need to work this out. He knows I am unable to receive him as a child. He watches. He stands by as I keep building. He listens as I make a lot of promises. He listens to my explanations and excuses. Many times everything crashes down around me. I am so scared. Terrified. I pray for more time. I make more promises. The answer is always, “do more.” But how much is enough? Where is this a light yoke and easy burden? I fail. Failure after failure. I tell people not to give up as I fight suicidal thoughts repeatedly. For months and years on end. “Why won’t you just answer me, God?!” “Why won’t you just tell me what to do?” He must be mad at me. I’ll try harder this time. More than I’ve ever tried before. Why are things worse than they’ve ever been? I became despondent. I chastise myself for not being grateful enough. I lay in bed are on the sofa for hours. Twisting this problem around like a Rubik’s cube in my mind. How much is enough? When do you know when? Proverbs 13:12. Hope deferred makes the heart sick. At one point I think maybe I’m possessed and all I can hear is the devil and my wicked heart. There is an invitation to give into that. To make of the most of my time as it runs out. But I can’t. Not if there is even the slightest chance that God will still take me. I’m paralyzed. I have no heart left. All I do is cry and feel angry. I work overtime to distract myself. I just can’t face him anymore. I’ll stop raising my hand in class. I’ll stop showing up early and staying late. I just go sit in the back and hope I pass. He calls my name but I can’t answer. He calls me again but I look away. He calls me again but I run away. I tell him I can’t answer. He stays by me without invading my space. He offers a hand. A friend’s tells me that I present as an angry abandoned wounded dog. I snap that God. I tell him he knows I’ve tried. I tell him I can’t anymore. I have been Peter resisting Jesus washing my feet. I have been Peter offering to build a tent for the Lord. I have been Peter vowing my allegiance and loyalty to the death. I’ve been Peter bidding Jesus to call me out upon the water. Now I am just Peter after I ran away in fear. Now I am just Peter, the public failure. Face to face with my inadequacies, selfishness, and gratefulness, weakness and unbelief. I go off by myself to lick my wounds and hope the storm passes. Still the small whisper of my name. I scream out to God, “I can’t, God! You know I’d do anything before but I’m all out. I can’t anymore! I don’t know who you are.” He is patient. He doesn’t leave me. My other prayer since I was a child. He whispers my name again. I challenge him. “I can’t come to you, Lord. You’re big enough. You can reach to me.” I half-expect to be instantly struck by lightning. But I can’t live like this anymore. I need a big God. He sends a woman. She asks me, after all my striving, if I know where I am going if I die tonight. I tell her I’m not sure but I hope heaven. I tell her I will be standing before Jesus with nothing to offer but empty pockets and open hands. I tell her my hope alone is what Jesus did on the cross and his mercy. She starts telling me about salvation. I start crying. Tears flowing down nonstop. I asked the Lord, “Was I really not saved?” He says, “No, you just needed to be reminded how simple it is.” I feel like Hagar in the desert. As I was running away, God sees me. He is big enough. But old habits die hard. Surely God is concerned about salvation but I don’t want to test his patience and bother him with all the little stuff. I set out again to prove to him that he made a good choice in me. He lets me. More painful failure. Always the whisper of my name. The lessons seem to cut deeper each time. Heart surgery. He is quick to answer prayers such as, “Please help me see you as you really are, God. Please help me know you more, Jesus.” I was determined to find the real Jesus on my own again. I decided I’d find the original version of the Bible and research the original language and compare differences.