Meeting imperfect faith where we are and wondering what that translates to in daily life

Meandering thoughts on not getting faith right but allowing the wonder.

What does a path past God and into what believing might mean for each of us in daily life look like? For me, God is the easy part; it’s everything that comes with believing in God where I find myself a fumbling around a little unsure.

Take going to church, for example. I go to do… well, what is it beyond a demonstration of my belief? ‘I’m here, see, I believe.’ I start out saying to myself only to know in the same thought that it’s more than that. What do we connect with in these buildings—God, community, ourselves? It’s all of these for me, and yet trying to put it in a list feels ridiculous because it’s so much more. I don’t even know how to describe the way waves of goosebumps roll across my skin, or how I’m so easily choked up when a song starts. And what is it I come with? Because it is something. What do I leave behind, and what in me transforms? I’m different when I leave—but how is something I cannot even begin to describe.

And then there’s the Bible, a book that remains a bestseller. But as for reading it, in my experience, starting at the start is the quickest way to stop. All my good intentions have never been a sword sharp enough to cut through lists of family lineages. Yet I’ll hear another Bible story and feel inspired again to pick it back up. Opening the pages makes me feel like I’m on a treasure hunt—one that’s quickly sidetracked by thoughts about all the various interpretations of its passages. If a world of people tries to interpret, we end up with a worldwide list of meanings. Is it okay that each person takes what they need from the same passage? Or is the true meaning—what was behind the original pen—the only truth, always just out of reach unless we could ask God why these texts and stories were chosen?

And while I’m on that… why does the Bible dress like a complete book, yet speak in a way that’s open and unended? We have the devil, this rogue angel—but is there any reason to believe this couldn’t happen again? Has it? Why does it come across as a closed case? Would we even be open today to a new text being submitted, offering updates? Or would we simply think someone crazy if they were inspired to put something forth as an addition? Why was there a time for sending Jesus to earth, a time for a great flood, a time to create the stories of the Bible—and then a time where that all stopped?

And I’ll add a third and final point of ponder about the characters: God; who is Jesus, and is also the Father and the Holy Spirit—but those three are not each other. Then there are angels who carry out God’s will, but we’re encouraged not to interact with them, and so for that to be written, we must be able to do so. This only leaves a curious mind to wonder about that more—how angels have freedom, which brings me back to the devil—this angel who chose to rebel. What is it, in a divine place, that could create Satan? Is it tied to the free will we experience on Earth and our choices that aren’t always great? But again, how does one angel rise to become such a villain?

Where does all this big thinking fit into my school runs, dinner making, dog walking in my brief moments of reflection?

I don’t really know. It’s all too big most of the time.

But over the years, I’ve found I can live with that—the enormity of it. Somehow, that vastness fills the hole of wonder better than emptiness does. Nothing doesn’t quite fit me. So, I accept the questions it leaves me with as part of the process. I’m not at church every Sunday. I don’t follow all the rules. I do ask for forgiveness, and I try to pray in equal parts gratitude and help.

I know there is space for all of this in me. No answers are perfect—or even often forthcoming. But there is something. Something comforting, encouraging that comes with kindness and more love. And that is enough for now.

I’ll open that big book again later and see where it takes me.

I’ll live with the wonder because I would rather be than not.

I will take the comfort I cannot describe and I will remain open to all the things this human mind isn’t equipped to understand.

What questions does faith leave you with? You’re welcome to leave a comment and share your big thoughts too.

Baby A: Do you think there’s life after birth, outside this womb of Mother?

Baby B: Life after birth? We’re connected to the cord—how could we live without it?

Baby A: What if there’s another way? A world we can’t imagine yet. Maybe we’ll eat with our mouths and breathe air for ourselves.

Baby B: No one’s come back to tell us. And we’ve never seen this “mother” you talk about.

Baby A: Sometimes, when it's quiet, I can feel her. Her warmth, her heartbeat. We're connected, even if we don’t see her.

Baby B: Still… how can we leave this place and still be connected?

Baby A: Maybe love connects us in ways the cord never could. Maybe life doesn’t end here—maybe it begins.

Baby B: It’s hard to imagine, so it is hard to believe.

Baby A: I think believing comes first. Then maybe, one day, we’ll understand.