I have often been criticized for my choice of religion. I am also criticized for not fitting a certain stereotype within it. I make jokes about enjoying my Dyson, I sometimes think a hot toddy would put a nice end to a difficult day and I can fall victim to judgement and jealousy faster than the moosh can spot my hidden loot of Oreos.
All that being said I would not give up on my faith for anyone or anything.
Sure there’s times when it’s easier to stand behind my convictions with a burning testimony.
But there’s also times when it’s really hard. When something I’ve worked so hard for never quite seems to work out in the way I think it should.
Infertility is an excellent example of this.
There is a huge part of my heart that wants to be done with all the tests and waiting. But there is also a very rebellious part of my heart that knows it’s just not my time and it’s not up to me to say ‘when.’
There’s another kerfuffle currently brewing in my life that I have thrown myself and my faith head first into. I want so badly to see even just one tiny improvement. To know all the sacrifice, fasting, tears and hours spent on my knees in prayer has helped.
That we physically can’t take another persons pain, suffering or burdens upon ourselves is frustrating.
Some people are given too much. And it’s not fair.
I may not have the faith to move mountains right now, but I still have it.
And I hope it’s helping.