I wake up and put the feet to the plank floors, and I believe the Serpent’s hissing lie, the repeating refrain of his campaign through the ages: God isn’t good. It’s the cornerstone of his movement. That God withholds food from His children, that God does not genuinely, fully, love us.
Doubting God’s goodness, distrusting His intent, discounted with what He’s given, we desire…
I moan that God has ripped away what I wanted. No, what I needed. Though I can hardly whisper it, I live as though He stole what I considered rightly mine: happiest children, marriage of unending bliss, long, content, death-defying days.
What I have, who I am, where I am, how I am, what I’ve got – this simply isn’t enough. That forked tongue darts and daily I live in doubt, look at my reflection, and ask: Does God really love me? If he truly, deeply loves me, why does He withhold that which I believe will fully nourish me? Why do I live in this sense of rejection, of less than, of pain? Does He not want me to be happy?