Have Faith

So much happened in October that I hope to spend November bringing you all up to speed. Here’s one story from last month:

I had the privilege of hearing my friend Anna Courie speak. She has published a book, Christ Walk, which is a spiritual approach to physical fitness. You can read more about it here.

Anna and I met in college. We had some common friends and have often been at the same weddings and football tailgates. Anna was one of the visitors we had in our June family experience the result of which was realizing how much we are loved.

Nana's Hibiscus - photo by KDW

Anna’s speaking engagement was part of my local writer’s group’s Christian Writers’ Showcase, an event I originally declined to assist with because Christian writing is not my genre. I did end up speaking on self-editing, giving a basic English professor’s take on preparing your work for publication. Also, I recruited Anna.

In all the years Anna and I have known one another, I have never heard the story of how she became a Christian, nor heard her experience of being rendered deaf by an illness when she was very young. She shared both during her talk on Saturday and I found myself moved by her story.

I also felt a slight envy toward Anna’s conviction in her faith. She felt wrapped in it, strengthened by it, meant to be part of it and meant to have it as part of her. I thought about the intellectuality with which I approach my faith and felt a small regret that I didn’t have a passionate, acute-transformation story like hers.

Then I wrote this down on the paper I had in my lap:

God is the source of life.

God is the source of love.

God is the ground of being.

And I remembered my faith story. I remembered the moment in which I first came to my faith.

Digging for the Pony

Taking a positive perspective on things has never been a problem for me. I have been a glass-half-fuller my whole life. 

When we were kids my dad used to tell a story about two sisters. One was an eternal optimist, the other a pessimist. These sisters were supposed to be me and my younger sis.

One day the dad puts the two girls in separate rooms. The pessimist, we’ll call her Kristen, in a room full of toys and the optimist, we’ll call her Kasie, in a room full of manure.

It’s important to note here that my sister and I are not really the caricatures the story makes us out to be. We are both governed by a tremendous logic that tries to honestly weigh the odds and make calculated decisions.

That said I am more likely to think things will turn out okay and Kristen more likely to expect imminent disaster.

Anyway, after an hour the father returns