Wrestling with Doubts

There was a time when my belief in God felt like something that I should cling to simply because it was expected. Like a piece of cloth passed down through generations, it was tattered and full of holes. For a long time, I couldn’t find a solid reason. I couldn’t convince myself why I believed in God. I didn’t fully understand what God wanted from us. Was it just to follow a set of guidelines? To obey without question? I felt like I was going through the motions, pretending to understand something that was a mystery to me. When I tried to delve deeper, I was met with silence—heavy silence that made me wonder if I was reaching out to something real or just calling out into the void.

In that void, doubts grew like weeds. I started thinking that perhaps it doesn’t even matter whether God exists. Even though being good morally, felt boring, and less promising I was still driven by a desire to been seen as good, as someone who could be trusted, if others thought as I did then I could trust them too. What if the whole point is to simply live a life that’s kind, to hold onto a good heart. So, I decided that even if God was mysteriously made up, if God is an idea, a fragment of human imagination, that certainly wouldn't change how I lived.

Yet, beneath the surface, I couldn’t shake the sense that there was something within me, it wouldn’t let that be the end of my journey. There was a shift—subtle at first— an echoing in my mind where I began to question. How can God save us if we will not bow to Him.

It took time—years, even—to stop wrestling with the idea of God as something I had to understand logically or defend intellectually. Instead, I began to see that belief is more about a posture of the heart, a willingness, even when life doesn’t make sense. It’s about laying down the need to judge and accepting that there’s more we need to comprehend.

I stopped judging His actions from my limited perspective. God’s command is not meant to break us or make us submit out of fear, it’s an invitation to let go of our need to grasp everything and having that deep recognition that there is something greater than us.

In bowing, it’s not bowing out of blind allegiance but having the humility that opens us to receive what we cannot give ourselves—a love, a grace, a healing that we couldn’t earn or create on our own. To bow is to acknowledge that we need saving, that we cannot navigate life’s wounds and struggles alone. Bowing is an act of strength—one that requires us to face our doubts, our insecurities, and still choose to trust. It’s a surrender, not the kind that leaves you powerless. It’s a surrender that empowers you to let go of the burden of having to figure everything out.

This shift happened slowly, as I began surrendering. I no longer felt the urgency to fit everything into a box. There’s a strange peace that comes with this surrender—a realization that faith isn’t about having every answer but for moments when I’m most lost, when I feel like I’m wandering through a landscape full of hindrances and holes, it’s this act to surrender that gives me strength.

I now know God was not made up, not because I have some undeniable proof but because I’ve come to experience that deep, quiet conviction that runs beneath all the --noise. A gentle assurance. I have taken that step, trusting that even in my uncertainty, I’m being led somewhere worth going and through it all, I hold onto this truth: faith isn’t about having everything neatly resolved. It goes beyond understanding, it’s about finding a peace that can hold you even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. That’s the faith I’m discovering the kind that doesn’t demand perfection but invites you to keep walking, even when the road is hard, even when you can’t see what lies ahead. I’ve realized that we are vulnerable to attacks, and God cannot reach us if we stubbornly refuse to bow our hearts to Him. I have surrendered whole heartedly to God’s will because bowing to His will is where new life begins