.. believing in God

Some things are a mystery. Trust God.

I used to often experience moments of doubt about whether God existed or not - I still do. Although such moments have become less frequent now, and I’ve found my way of believing in God, once the taste of dubiety has spilt over one’s lips, it’s difficult to wipe it off and forget about it.

I remember the first time I questioned God’s supposed presence - at the age of eleven on a grey Saturday morning. It was indeed a Saturday, etched in my memory, as my parents and I would always go to my grandparents' house on Saturdays. That particular Saturday was different, though - after we arrived, I remember how, within my chest, I carried a cold, heavy feeling, perhaps because of the crisp January air or maybe subconsciously I knew something was different. My mind was busy with thoughts about the atmosphere around my grandparents’ house which seemed somehow... discoloured. At that moment, I didn’t know yet that the flora and fauna were already mourning the loss of my grandmother. A person who encouraged me to be courageous and audacious with my life decisions and live my life through art. The person who would embrace me in a hug so tight that my body would hurt for a fraction of a moment but then she would release me from this exceptional embrace and grab me by my head, only to start pulling it upwards while making remarks that this would help me get a long, slim, beautiful neck. She was the type of person who would talk with animals as if they were humans and understood every word or ask the flowers in her garden if they were feeling cold or needed more water. A person who had a heart bigger than life itself.

A mere moment after we found her, many feelings poured in and out of my body - the two that have remained with me to this very day are guilt over being alive and regret over the future I would never be able to share with her. When I was at the age of eleven, my mind struggled to comprehend why God would take my grandmother away, which seemed, to me, too soon. Why God wouldn’t allow her to see her family one last time and have it around her when her final moments have come - why let her take in her last breath lying on the tiled floor completely alone… That whole experience though, introduced an unfamiliar thought for me: What if it wasn't God?

Throughout my teenage years, I associated death with my doubts about the existence of God. If God were real, why would allow people to depart this world in solitude, without the opportunity to say goodbye to their loved ones? I harboured my exasperation and frustration towards God for allowing people to inflict pain on each other and take others’ lives away as if it were their right.

Years later, in my first couple of years living away from home and my family, my doubts led to immense guilt over the fact that I dared to question God’s existence. I began to perceive my doubts as a sin, rather than recognising them as the musings of a young, contemplative mind grappling with grief and pain. It took time for me to learn that questioning God's existence is not a sin. It may be the opposite. It could be that God encourages us to engage in this doubt that will prompt us to seek answers to deepen our faith and trust. Perhaps it is a lesson meant to remind us that our ways may not necessarily align with God’s ways.

Regardless of the reason, this raised another question: does God think of us as so unenlightened and dark that chaos, pain, and sorrow are the only means to lead us to deeper faith? Is it because we tend to forget about God unless we need support and hope during challenging moments? Or do we as humans find it easier to speak the language of hate rather than that of healing and love?

Indeed, some things in this lifetime will remain a mystery.

I wrote a poem to accompany my thoughts on believing in God. You can read it below.

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sending love to all who need it. today and everyday.

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