Faith in Nothing


Sometimes when I sit down to write, I know the exact origin of the words that find their way to the page. In those posts, I am writing about the moment of my life, where I went that day and who I spoke with, and very few particulars are changed.

Other times, I speak (write, technically, but it’s my voice either way) from some place way down deep inside. I cannot access these thoughts, which are always more profound, if slightly less fully formed, through any kind of will or effort. I cannot grasp, entice, plead, pluck, or threaten them into existence and onto the page.

The best things are like that, I suppose. The force of our intention is powerful, but it’s nowhere near the unparalleled strength of our faith. Faith, the ultimate security, the deepest kind of trust, is the knowing that the hidden places, although unseen, remain bountiful in their reserves and resources.

And yet for so many, faith is a borderline dirty word. In some circles, it connotes- or does it excuse?- conscious ignorance, naivete, or a lack of personal responsibility. Even our language gets it wrong, I think. We always have faith in. The problems begin with those two little letters- in. It’s the in that can be a screwed up system, a leader gone astray, a set of laws that is outdated, or a code that lacks compassion.

But the faith itself, that is where good lies. Imagine how different faith would be if it was grammatically correct to go around faithing all day. To have faith, not faith in, not faith that, just faith, that pure combination of hope and knowing and trust, the sentence not closed off with a name, a place, or a hoped-for outcome, but open-ended and limitless.

That’s what I think our inner selves must look like- boundless beyond imagination and encompassing all possibilities. I have faith.

In love and light, Kristen

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