[This post was written for the Rally to Restore Unity, hosted by Rachel Held Evans.]
We all have our own stories of how we came to faith. They are as different as our fingerprints. They are a small part of our bigger stories, of life, love, and hurt.
My story of faith has led me to one place. My husband’s currently leads to a very different place. He doesn’t understand my decision…but he understands a little bit of the journey. He understands a little bit of the search for Truth, the desire to put into practice what I find to be true. He understands who I am, and in knowing that he understands why I want to do this, why I must do this.
So he gives me freedom, even though he disagrees. I take it, and pray that he can understand this place enough to go beyond the stereotypes.
I believe there is absolute Truth. I don’t believe that I know it. But I have to search for it. My conscience and heart won’t settle for any less.
I may believe that someone else is wrong. But that doesn’t mean I can judge them, shooting arrows at the heart. I have my own story, my own struggle, my own dark nights that no one else can ever know but my Lord. How can I do any less than respect their stories and struggles? How will it help if I spout the same reasons that they have already wrestled with and put to rest?
We all say the same creed, together in harmony, expressing the same sentiments, though the words may twist into different orders. We all try to reach the same Lord, through tears and laughter and the smokescreens of this world, theology, and our own inescapable perspectives. We are all muddling our way through.
Let’s love each other through it.