East Scotland Youth Councils November 2007

Those were my nails
That was my crown,
That pierced your hands
And your brow

Those were my thorns
Those were my scorns
My tears that fell down
And just as you said it would be
You did it all - for me

And after you counted the cost
You took my shame, my blame
On my cross.

Such simple, beautiful words. Sometimes they can be so easy to say, they trip off your tongue of the morning like a God Bless in Church. But then there are times when these words are the most difficult words in the world - practically another language. Like when you aren't in Church, but at uni or at work. Like when you feel the red mist welling up within you as you get angry at someone. Like when you doubt. And that is what I'm going to write about here. Doubt.

5 wee letters. So simple to say. So quiet that they creep in unnanounnced into our thoughts, our dreams and our lives.

Lord, I doubt. I disbelieve your power, I do things my way, I disobey you, I do not listen to you, I do not read your word in a way which is fruitful to neither you nor I, I make excuses. I say I'm tired or that I've work to do or that I deserve a rest, but this is me running from You, Your Grace and Love. Lord, let me feel your presence today, let my worship not be blind duty, but life changing. Invigorate me, rejuvenate my zest for you and let your Spirit descend upon me. Amen.

Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem 'If':

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; if you can think and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same. If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch... you'll be a man, my son!

And what about the ifs in our relationship with God?

If only he could show himself clearly to me. If he could tap me on the shoulder and tell me that He is here, that He could wrap his arms around me and hold me and tell me that it doesn't matter how broken I am, that He will fix me, and that I can feel his love. If only I had the strong unshakeable faith of others. If only it were easy to step out there and evangelise, to proclaim faith to all and sundry. If only I had the faith to proclaim...

You can probably tell that I had doubts over the weekend, or more precisely, feelings of doubt which had grown over the past few months. I still turned up to church, acted like a good Christian. I read my Bible, although I always had a voice nagging me saying that it was OK to miss it tonight, I was tired, I wouldn't get the most out of it. I knew the doctrines, and what people wanted me to say, but would they really be my answers if I answered truthfully?

Alison McCaffrey gave a wee bit of her testimony in which she gave the brilliant analogy of coming so far off the tracks that you can't even see them anymore, that you can't see the train or hear it tooting. God and I were so far apart that it was perfectly feasible we were in completely different universes. Prayer was always supplemented with the wee annoying voice asking me if he was really there, or if I was desperately hoping for there to be something for me to pray to, rather than thin air. I worried that I had devoted the past (nearly) 7 years to something in my head that wasn't there, and was simply empty space.

Scary, absolutely crushing stuff.

So I talked to the young people from my corps (Chris, Fifi and the McCaffrey's) and they were of immeasurable help. They reminded me of how unique I am, of how loved I am. Chris talked about the 'Footprints' poem, where the two sets of footprints become one. At that moment of time God was carrying me. True I was struggling and kicking to run away from me, but He has the amazing Grace to welcome me back when I realise that He is Lord and that He is here. Right here, right now.

And I found that.

After many prayers from the corps folk I've talked about above, and from the DYO Janet, I was still praying in vain. Until worship this afternoon. As we sat there (in what was to become a 'greetin meetin') there was an incredible sense of peace. Tingles, comfort. Everything clicked. My God had returned. Or rather I returned to Him - arms high and heart abandoned, in awe of the one who made it all. Amazing.

I still can't see those tracks - but this time it's because I'm in that train - I'm riding in God's carriage. Cheesy I know, but that's how cool it is to be a (re)new(ed) believer. And it feels goood.