I want to believe.

I want to believe.

Some­times my heart absolute­ly aches with the desire to believe in a god who is ever-present and lov­ing. Who doesn’t say things like, “If you don’t love Me and believe every­thing exact­ly right, I’ll throw you into a lake of eter­nal tor­ment and fire.”

Some­times I get glimpses of a love like that. But most of the time it feels like the long­ings of a small child who real­ly believes that San­ta will remem­ber her this year.

I am so angry. And yet I’m not angry at all. I just ache. Every pore of my being aches for some con­fir­ma­tion, some proof that isn’t the faux apolo­get­ics of my entire life.

But in the mean­time, I’m try­ing to soak up the good­ness in the world around me.

A warm pup­py who snug­gles close when I’m sad.

Nestling into my husband’s body, where I have nev­er felt so safe in my life.

Laugh­ing and adven­tur­ing with Paige.

Read­ing beau­ti­ful words from Caleigh, Hän­nah, Eliz­a­beth, Dian­na, Sarah, Grace, Toranse, Tori and feel­ing in my heart that maybe we could real­ly tru­ly be friends (even though that long­ing for friend­ship often gets lost in the con­vic­tion that I come on way too fast and hard and will just scare them all away).

Snow that’s a lit­tle bit more like con­crete that also seems to not lose its beau­ty so quick­ly.

Christ­mas lights and dec­o­ra­tions in my house and on my house that bring an inex­plic­a­ble joy.

Hold­ing my baby nephew and soft­ly singing him to sleep. (Good thing he likes deep voic­es.)

Sit­ting and forc­ing myself to play through the entire­ty of “Christ­mas­time is Here” and being tick­led that I can still stretch to hit that 13th stretch, even though I butchered the song.

I’m just…I want to believe, but at the same time I have to find joy even when I don’t. I have to know that it’s okay not to believe. Good things hap­pen, good things exist, even in doubt and uncer­tain­ty. And if they exist in doubt and uncer­tain­ty, they will exist still in belief.

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