THE THEOLOGY OF HOLDING ON

Samuel once said, “And David encouraged himself in the Lord.” Donald Lawrence sang it too: “Sometimes you have to encourage yourself.”

I’ve whispered those words more times than I’ve believed them, because doubt was often the only form of faith I could hold. I’ve been angry. At God. At the world.

At how long it takes to heal,

or to believe that healing is still possible.

And still, I hum the song.

I’ve held myself in rooms where no one noticed.

Told this tired heart of mine: cry if you must,

laugh if you can, but please, do not vanish.

That’s belief too—to ask yourself to stay,

even when the staying ruptures something inside you.

Faith is not a fixed thing. It’s a dare.

A bewildering invitation

to keep holding what makes no sense at all.

Sometimes the prayer is just remembering.

Sometimes it’s arriving; disillusioned, unsure, but still breathing.

This is what I know: to believe, even while dissecting belief,

is not a contradiction.

It’s the most human thing I’ve ever done.

Because faith, like grief,

is stitched together with the threadbare remnants

of what we’ve risked to forget.

And still, in our bewilderment,

our breath is a balm.

And we live in the seams.