I used to think I had faith.
I heard about faith in Jesus. I heard about faith in my eternal reward. I heard that faith big enough to move a mountain was only the size of a mustard seed. I heard an old, old story — how a Savior came from glory.
But then I lost faith. I parted ways with the teachings I’d received, and stopped believing the precepts I’d been taught about this world and the next.
But then I found faith. And I discovered what I’d had before wasn’t actually faith. That was merely religion.
Ironically enough, I found faith in the last place you’d expect — in church. Sitting in the choir. Surrounded by people nearly twice my age. And in my 40’s, that’s saying something.
I found faith that the good in us will eventually prevail. Faith that the struggle is the glory. Faith that God is working in the world and in our lives. Faith that even though terrible things happen, there is an amazing spirit that moves in us and between us –probably the closest thing to God I’ve ever experienced.
I heard God’s voice in the quavering notes of the voices around me. I saw God’s tears at the prayer request of a woman about to lose her husband to cancer. I saw God’s arms when one of these elder souls hugged a grieving mother as she buried her son.
I realized that I’d been looking for the hand of God my whole life, and that it’s been right there at the end of my arm the whole time. And I have faith that with these hands, and maybe with your hands, we can heal this world and make every life better.