What Do You Believe In?
The phone slipped from my hand and landed on the floor.
I stared at the screen without seeing it.
For several seconds, I could not move.
The news I had just received had travelled through my body like an electric shock. My heart was pounding so violently that I pressed my palm against my chest, almost afraid it would break through my ribs.
I walked to the window.
Outside, people were going about their lives. A woman was selling bread by the roadside. A taxi stopped. Someone laughed.
How could the world continue moving when mine had suddenly stopped?
I sank into a chair.
My eyes filled with tears, but I fought them.
I had always considered myself a woman of faith. I had prayed through difficult seasons. I had encouraged other people when they were frightened. I had told people that God was still in control when circumstances seemed hopeless.
But sitting there alone, I discovered something uncomfortable.
It is easy to say you believe when everything is going well.
It is when life takes something from you that your belief is tested.
I lowered my head and finally allowed myself to cry.
Not the quiet tears that disappear before anyone notices.
I cried until my shoulders shook.
I cried because I was frightened.
I cried because I did not know what would happen next.
And, perhaps most painfully, I cried because for the first time in a long time, I did not have an answer.
I whispered, “God, I believe in You. But help me.”
The room became painfully quiet.
No miracle happened.
Nothing suddenly changed.
The problem remained exactly where it was.
But something inside me became still.
I realised that perhaps faith was never a promise that nothing terrible would happen to me.
Perhaps faith was the decision to keep standing when something terrible had already happened.
That night, I understood myself differently.
I had believed in people, and some had disappointed me.
I had believed in plans, and some had collapsed.
I had believed that if I did everything right, life would reward me.
It did not always happen that way.
But I still had a choice.
I could allow disappointment to make me bitter, or I could allow it to make me deeper.
I could allow fear to control me, or I could walk forward while afraid.
I could demand answers for everything, or I could accept that some chapters of my life would only make sense when I looked back.
I wiped my face and stood up.
The circumstances had not changed.
But I had.
And perhaps that is what I believe in now.
I believe that faith is not pretending that you are never afraid.
It is being afraid and still taking the next step.
It is crying and still praying.
It is being wounded and refusing to become cruel.
It is losing something precious without losing yourself.
That night, nobody saw me.
Nobody heard my prayers.
Nobody knew how completely I had fallen apart.
But perhaps that was the moment my belief became real.
Because when I had nothing left to hold on to, I discovered what I was actually holding on to.
I was holding on to God.
