Are You There, God?

It’s a painful question to ask because I really want to know, but also hate to admit that I’m doubtful. I don’t hate Him because of my doubts. No, I hate myself for holding onto these doubts even though I’ve been reassured one too many times. I hate admitting the truth because it’s not the

I began writing this post on May 2nd, 2015. I wrote a subsequent post which I cannot find but faintly remember having the words, “I wish I could stop being a Christian.” I meant to publish these writings, but was too ashamed to do so. I feared the backlash of admitting such outlandish statements. How could I admit my doubts when I was about to embark on a two week mission trip to Cambodia? I would be cast out as a hypocrite and a liar. Fortunately, the question changed.

Back in May, I felt so helpless and desperate for an answer. I struggled to understand why God was necessary in my life if I was doing fine. I turned away from Him, instead of towards Him because it was easier to conceal my sins than to bring them to light.

But then I met Sreypao, a little Cambodian girl with the most sincere smile. She would tug at my hand so I would follow her, gesticulate in order to help me understand Khmer, tell me that God loves me, and say “Love you!” when I had to leave. On the last day together, she gifted me with a picture of herself at the beach. At first I thought “no way” and tried to return the photo, but she pushed it back. Pointing her finger at the picture then at me, she smiled and patiently waited for dimwitted me to comprehend.

As soon as it sunk in, I could feel myself tearing up. I looked down and patted my body to search for a gift to give her, but my hands came up empty. I felt helpless. I wanted to give her my shirt, pants, shoes, anything really. I wanted to give her my all, and I couldn’t. It broke my heart to realize that I was limited in how much I could give her despite how much I loved her. It angered me to realize that I couldn’t come back to see her again. As we drove away, I had her picture tucked in my hand and she had my UNC baseball cap tucked in hers, I began to freely cry.

I cried because of how they live, how the parents do not love their children, how the children are not loved and cared for, how there is corruption and evil, how life is so cruel to them. God broke my heart for them. In doing so, I realized something great.

Even though my all is not enough, God is enough. He can provide for them in ways that I will never be able to.

Therefore, I have a new question for Him.

Are You alright, God?

I cannot fathom the heart wrenching pain You must feel as You look down at sinful, suffering, and wicked us. How heartbroken you must be, Father, for Your children are not living the lives that You intended to gift us.

You are good all the time, Lord. I’m sorry for forgetting.


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