Productive Doubt

Doubt has been dogging me for over a decade. I've tried to quell the questions, but then won't stop worming their way to the surface. I've tried to ignore them or push them deeper, but they will not be disregarded. They will eat away my insides until I let them see the light of day again. But I couldn't. A good Christian doesn't doubt. A good Christian doesn't question the things she's been taught to believe. A good Christian doesn't push back against what pastors are teaching. What if my questions caused others to stumble? What if I ended up dismantling my faith and God collapsed? 

I remember a time years ago when I got this picture in my mind. A picture of a frail little girl, shaking with sobs, stands crumpling before a strong, huge man. The girl is beating on his chest, screaming "why" between her sobs. Why is this so hard? Beating him with her questions and doubts with all her might. And he looks down at her with a face saturated with compassion and love. He's not touched by her beating. He's not hurt. He's not threatened. He knows that soon she'll exhaust herself and either collapse into him or crumple into a ball on the ground. He's waiting, with his arms open, ready for her to lean into him and find rest. He can handle her doubts. He's bigger than her questions. He's not threatened by their power. 

But somehow I've forgotten about that. 

I also remember finding rest in the tension of the doubts and questions and uncertainty. The Dark Night. I realized that the nature of my mind didn't allow me to have "blind faith". People would tell me to "just have faith. Just believe," but I couldn't. And believe me, it seems like it would've been easier to be that way. But then I realized that all my questioning had resulted in a deeper faith that some. I was forced deeper as I groped around, trying to grasp any answers, anything to hold onto. I saw a deep well with panes of glass stacked from the bottom to the top, with varying distances between panes. I started out on the top. And I thought I was on solid ground. But then that pane shattered and I started falling. That's scary. But then I'd land on another pane. Think I found the answer, finally understood and had something solid to stand on. But then that pane would shatter, and I would fall deeper still. A never ending cycle where I fell deeper and deeper into the heart of the well, the source of all life. 

But somehow I've forgotten about that.

Maybe it's the many experiences where I was told to stop questioning. I was shamed for doubting. I was told to just believe. I was made to feel like something was inherently wrong with me because I had questions. That my doubt was sinful. That I was missing something because I couldn't just believe like all these other people. I tried to shove the doubt down. I tried to hide it. But it just ate away. Like worms in my brain. In my gut. I couldn't ignore it. When it was swirling around in my head, it was bigger and scarier and more deadly. Out in the open, where it needed to be, it got the attention it craved and even contributed to making me more whole. 

Productive doubt. We can honor God in our doubting. Questions can draw us deeper. I can't help but dig, but when I thought it was wrong, I feared for my soul because I thought I shouldn't. I forgot that I can honor God by mining for more and more. Digging deeper and deeper, wanting to know him more in a real way. I don't always know what I'll find, and that's sort of scary, but I will keep mining. Mining for a lifetime.