I want to talk about faith.
To understand it. To hold it. To feel it so strong that it will hold me up. To be able to pick it up and put it in my pocket. To be able to rely on it. Text it when I need to.
But faith refuses.
It doesn't want to be talked about. Nor to be understood. It's not my Facebook friend. It's just a silent ever-present witness. A witness that I either allow or ignore. Just outside of my peripheral vision. And if I turn my head too quickly, I lose sight.
I have lost many things in my life. My mother. My business. My home. My marriage. My family. My friend.
But none compare with losing my faith.
Because losing faith means losing life, self, and the belief in love. Because losing faith means giving up.
And we can't give up.
Even when we want to.
Even if we have every right to.
So I want to talk about faith.
To bring it alive in my soul. To remember that everything really will be ok. And that all of this really does matter. And that we truly are loved. And that we can hand all of this over and just serve.
And that this is enough.
My friend, Jarrod, says faith is like electricity. You can't touch it, taste it, see it or smell it. But you can see the effect of it.
Yes. Faith is like that.
And as I write this, I see two men across from me at the cafe.
Both of their heads are lowered toward their clasped hands. One is nodding. Wiping tears from his eyes.
This act of offering. Right here in a coffee shop.
It humbles me.
Humans are beautiful.
And for just a moment, I see faith looking me straight in the eye.
With a smile and a wink.