It's a dark, rainy night and my brain is keeping me awake with questions that will not shut up.
I keep midnight company with questions. Sometimes I make them a pot of tea and we stare bleakly at each other over the empty table and I say to them: "What do you expect me to do now?"
They shrug, sip their tea. We're sorry, they seem to say. We didn't ask to be here.
These questions, they ruin my life. Jerks.
Because with them, comes their friend: doubt. An evil bastard, that one. He blows in like a blast of cold air, making our teacups rattle in the saucers.
And now I'm making midnight tea for a whole host of these unwelcome guests and what I'd really like to say is: Could you all please go away so I can be the happy, confident Christian I've always wanted to be?
No. It seems that perpetual doubt is to be my constant companion.
I'm beginning to make my peace with that. I don't mind being Thomas. At least, I don't mind it as much as I used to.
Some of us seem to require proof. We can't take the leap without seeing the bridge.
Most of all, we doubt ourselves. I doubt my own ability to objectively analyze my own beliefs. I am too invested, you might say. I'm not exactly an honest broker because I get in the way of me.
In other words, I would like the things I believe to be true. It's not purely scientific. I am cooking the books to make sure that the result is the one I want.
My egocentricity skews my objectivity, don't you think?
It's late and I'm tired. Loneliness is nipping at my heart. I wish I could be a Peter or a John, basking assuredly in the warmth of irrefutable belief. But I'm a Thomas with a faltering faith and a stammering tongue.
My beliefs might not be true. I'll never know for sure. And by the time I do know, I'll be dead.
Now there's a soothing bedtime thought.
I'm going to go tuck the questions into bed.
Hopefully they'll let me sleep tonight.