I Want to Believe

I’m like Fox Mulder.  In many ways.  In far too many ways.  Though I love the “X-Files,” it’s not a positive connection.  Because…

I want to believe.

I want to believe crazy things.  Crazy things, against all odds and in spite of fact and logic.  I want to believe that God actually loves me.  And that maybe someone who lives here on planet earth could love me too.

I want to believe it even though I’m totally worthless and unlovable.  Undeserving.   I want to believe in possibilities.  I want to believe I’m not a lost cause.  That there is some purpose for me being here.  That I can connect.  That I matter.  If only just a little.

I want to believe God somehow stills loves me and wants a relationship with me.

Oh, how I want to believe!

I’ve tried to convince myself that I believe.  I’ve searched.  Prayed.  Reached out the only way I know how.  With my heart.  Numb as it is.  Broken as it is.

But…get real.  I’m so flawed, so imperfect, so unworthy, why would any man want to be with me?  Why would a perfect and Holy God ever love me?

Makes it hard to believe.  Even though I want to.  Desperately want to.

There hasn’t been much evidence to disprove my gut feeling.  The gut feeling that I’m not lovable.  The gut feeling that God wants nothing much – if anything – to do with me.  Because I’m not a good servant.  I’ve failed too often.  I haven’t done any great things.  Or even many good things.  Just surviving the day is a victory for me.  I want to believe there is more to life.  But I’ve lived a lot of years now.  And there hasn’t been more.  There has only been less.  Less and less and less.

Less to look forward to.  Less to hope for.  Fewer dreams.  Fewer opportunities.

And there has been a critical shortage of love throughout the years.  From people, the people who matter to me, as well as from God.  I’m starved for it.  Starved.

I have been alone far too much.  For far too long.

I want to believe this won’t always be the case.  But the evidence is hard to refute.  Years and years of evidence.  Reality is harsh.  And cruel.

I want to believe that the abuse – sexual, emotional, physical, verbal – I suffered as a child didn’t destroy my life.  Didn’t completely taint my perspective.  Didn’t utterly limit my possibilities.  Didn’t kill my spirit.  Or my future.

Fool that I am.  I want to believe.

Even though it’s unrealistic.  And a little crazy.

If I don’t believe, what is there to live for?

I want to believe.  The only alternative is not much of an alternative.  The only alternative is death.  Because life without hope, life without belief, isn’t life.

I want to believe.

I have to believe.

I want to believe.

 

 

One thought on “I Want to Believe”

  1. I hear you dear! I also have some issues with God but I really believe we are all loved by him and we came here for a purpose. It’s very heartbreaking knowing you think of yourself as unlovable, I’m sure this is not true. I’m sure plenty of people love you and you can also love yourself! Please don’t give up hope! Sending you warm thoughts! XO Nina

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