Proof

“I need You to prove Your faithfulness,” I screamed toward the sky as I drove through the darkness by myself, the stress of the last two months finally collapsing in on me.

So I got out of the car to see a sky full of stars for the first time in months.
A sweet four-month old smiled and giggled in my arms.
I finally got to hug my mom.

“I just need to see someone who actually believes this, who isn’t acting,” I thought as I received the 15th cliche response of Oh, you know God is sovereign, His plan is best in one day.

So a professor shared her personal story of depression and how God brought her back from the pit.
My uncle talked with me for hours and hours and hours.
I sat on the concrete beach with my roommate and saw the tears in her eyes and could FEEL how hard she actually believes this radiating from her conversation.

“I need to know I’m not the only one feeling this way,” I scribbled in between church notes.

So Jocie showed up on the train with just a few hours’ notice.
Work slowed down for a couple hours and I sat with my boss and coworkers talking about pain and doubt and lamenting and sovereignty.
Open mic night brought honest and raw confessions that, in fact, I am not the only one feeling this way.

“I’m not sure You’re in this,” I finally admitted, tired of pretending and at the end of myself.

So He began to show me where He was.
And He was everywhere.

I questioned.

He answered.

I doubted.

He affirmed.

I cried.

He comforted.

I fell.

He picked me up.

I asked for proof.

He proved Himself.

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