Blind Terror

Faith in God ought to scare the crap out of us. There’s nothing easy about it. It may be a simple prospect to talk about, but it’s nothing but trouble to put into practice.

The idea of God can scare a person sober for a bit. The prospect of judgement and the counterpoint of faith certainly rattled me during my darkest days.

But ideas run out of steam, eventually.

Or they change and morph and become a vapor, easily dismissed as a familiar afterthought.

A cloud hangs near my selfish intentions, but it doesn’t even distract me after a while.

Yes, faith is scary. But without it, I really am in the dark, in the dead reaches of humanity.

Discontent breeds willingness. And it was in the bitterness of a newly (barely) clear mind that I conceded to myself, for myself that I would have to live for something more than myself.

Recovery programs everywhere give us frameworks. And they’re great. And they’re simple. And they’re actionable.

But they’re about God. And if I’m gonna take that seriously, I need to expect a certain terror to accompany my pivotal choices.

The sweet terror of certainty. The fear and trembling of doing the next right thing. The blindsided horror of considering it all joy. The upending shock of crucifying precious parts of me.

God, I want to change. Draw me through the fear of doubt.