At times, I find myself wrestling with doubt, even though I’ve experienced the goodness of God in my life. It’s a puzzling tension between faith and uncertainty, and I don’t fully understand it. I’ve known moments where God’s presence feels undeniable, yet there are still times when doubt creeps in, leaving me feeling distant and overwhelmed by the suffering in the world.
I’ve recently started making my way through ‘The Matter With Things’ by Iain McGilchrist, and it’s shedding new light on this experience. McGilchrist explains how our brains engage with reality in different ways. The left hemisphere seeks logic and certainty, while the right hemisphere embraces intuition, faith, and the mystery of the unknown. This resonates deeply with me, especially when I realize that faith isn’t something I can reason my way into. It comes from a place beyond intellect—a deeper, more intuitive knowing.
In those moments when doubt surfaces, I don’t always know how to move past it. But I’ve learned to wait and be still. In the quiet, when faith feels absent, I often find that something stirs within me. Slowly, as if from the depths, faith reemerges—not because I’ve resolved the doubt logically, but because God’s goodness has never left. It’s just waiting to be seen again.
Sometimes,
Not all the time,
I doubt.
The gift of faith is absent,
And for a moment, I feel alone.
Sometimes,
Not all the time,
I doubt.
Overwhelmed by the suffering of the world,
Underwhelmed by tangible divinity.
The night is dark,
East of Eden,
‘Is anyone out there?’
The night is dark,
Homesick Exile,
‘Where have you gone?’
Sometimes,
Not all the time,
I doubt.
And then,
In the tomb of doubt,
In the darkness,
I catch a glimpse of him who is the Light.

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