Faith is Easier Said than Done

For nearly the last ten days (it seems like a month) I existed without the energy to write, while aware of dozens of writing assignments given to me by the Holy Spirit. My body and mind, which used to seem much friendlier, have taken to betraying me in recent years. One such betrayal caused this recent overwhelming funk.

How sad I felt and how pitifully I prayed, “Lord, please give me the strength to give up fear and worry which I know are the opposers of faith.”

I say my body, affected by Crohn’s Disease, and my mind, afflicted with a wild tendency to fling itself headlong into a wringer of worry at the slightest provocation, have become my betrayers. The truth is I have allowed these two bullies to drag my peace and joy and faith filled spirit from its heavenward flight to the ground, and to sit on it. I’ve allowed this again and again. I’m so sorry, God. Forgive me.

Faith is easier said than done; or is it? Maybe the only thing making faith difficult is the complicity some of us share with old patterns we keep allowing back into our sanctified lives. My favorite guilty partner is the idea that I should be able to handle everything life throws my way on my own. In other words, I’ve cooperated with the control demon. My prayers for greater peace and faith have little impact if what I’m subconsciously hoping for is increased control over every situation. That lie in the gap between what I want and what I say I want becomes a quicksand that forces me to sink towards separation from God as I wriggle in agony, all the while pretending I indeed have got things under control.

This past Sunday, as my husband prepared to call our congregation to worship, I prayed urgently for God to sweep lingering evil spirits from the building we rent for our Sunday services so that the Holy Spirit could have His way with us. I generally pray this way before service, but the place had been a particular mess when we arrived this Sunday morning: spills and what looked like heel marks on tables, decorative columns out of order, dirty utensils and many wine bottles in the kitchen; looked like the leftovers of a wild Saturday night. So I prayed for a clean sweep and the Spirit to move in.

The Holy Spirit showed up. During praise and worship, I’m pleasantly singing along, when the next thing I know I’m face down on the floor. How I got down there with a swollen right knee that could barely bend is a testament to God’s power. To the best of my recollection, I’m tearfully thanking God for who He is, when I clearly hear the Holy Spirit say to me, “It’s you that needs to be emptied and filled again with me.” And He did just that. It’s amazing how the breath of God blew away the structure I’d built with weeks if not months worth of wondering and worry as if it were a spider’s web in a hurricane.

Suddenly it’s clear to me that prayer and Bible study are the bricks of my faith, but my building must be swept clean daily of opposing ideas so that the Holy Spirit can fill it up.

Will I be a better spiritual housekeeper than an earthly one? It’s easier said than done; or is it? All it takes is to open my doors and invite the Holy Spirit to blow. Something I can’t control.