I’m feeling quite small this morning. Homeschool work is looming and the baby who has entered our life in a provision sort of way is sitting on her blanket, looking at me like she thinks I’m the silliest thing she has ever seen. I really need to wake the kids up and begin our day, but the coffee is good and so is the quiet. It’s holy time, this early morning time.
I sit in the same room that our church gathered in last night. Last night, the spirit of the Lord filled this room and this morning, I wonder if He is really here with me.
I sip coffee and feel the heat of it hit the back of my throat and I feel unbelief creep into my soul, quietly.
I curl my legs under my body. The window pane is cool to the touch, even as the first rays of sunlight pour into the room. I see God in the rays of light on the floor and I feel Him on my fingertips as they warm in the sunlight. And still, unbelief unsettles my heart.
Its ugliness mars the beauty of the moment.
I wrap both hands around my coffee mug and hold it close to my chest. I can feel the steam on my chin and I feel like I’m suffocating as my heart recalls scripture and my mind tries to make sense of it all. It’s a silent war, this belief and unbelief crowding in on one another.
My heart believes and my soul is saved and I belong to Jesus, but Satan has his fingers in my mind and he jumbles up all that I know to be true.
All I can whisper is “Lord, help my unbelief.” I stumble over the words and I feel foolish in saying them aloud.
How can I call myself a believer when I struggle with unbelief?
The room fills with light and in the light I breathe again. Deeply, fully, richly.
And I see Him in this light and for the briefest of moments, I believe. Deeply. Fully. Richly.
He is in this place this morning, just as He filled this place last night.
For a moment, I chase after this belief and hold on tight.
Lord, help my unbelief.