There they sat huddled around a mound of neverthawing ice known as CAN’T, congratulating one another on their shared stubbornness against believing in anything they personally could not prove. The only warmth they generated was from each other, which is why they huddled so close. CAN’T just sat there, cold, unyielding, uncaring. Empty.
Others came by, pausing momentarily to stare.
“Uh–aren’t, aren’t you a little cold?” Rhetorical. They had to be cold. Canting their heads and squinting, mouths slightly ajar, the passing travelers struggled to understand.
“Is there anything we can– do you want a lighter or something?” The answer was swift.
“Oh, no-no. NO. We’ve spent our lives thus far establishing and perfecting this persistent strain of CAN’T so it won’t melt! We’d never think of doing anything to alter its properties. You’re welcome to sit with us and listen to our theories. You might want to unpack your heavy coats, though. The closer you get to CAN’T the chillier it is. Not just anyone is up to this, y’know. It takes a lot of faith to disbelieve.”
CAN’T is the cousin of QUIT.
The travelers slanted eyes at one another. She hear what she just said?
“Un-huh. No, we, ah, we need to press on with our journey.” With one more musing glance at what looked ridiculous to any but those shivering around the icy mound, the travelers turned and began heading up the path toward the Light they could see reflecting in the distance. As they did, the shivering-but-intent huddlers saw “FAITH PATROL” on the back of their jackets. Sneering and making rolling-eye contact as they shook their heads, they shrugged deeper into their heavy coats as the remorseless freeze of CAN’T continued working its way through each protective layer.
“They’re really serious about that, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yeah. Zero sense of humor.”
“But what can we—”
“Love ’em and be praying for them. There’re some super people hunkered down around that mega ice cube; but the only way they’ll get free is if they allow God to open their eyes.”
The travelers sang as they walked . . .
Everyone makes their own choice in life.
I’ve no quarrel with friends who disbelieve in the Bible and it’s teaching, though I think them unwise to ignore it.
Neither do I believe as they do, those tens of thousands willing to sit in numb acceptance that “It can’t be.” Fact is, if you’ve been sitting on frozen ice for very long, ‘numb’ is about the only way you can sit.
I think it silly to dismiss anything that resembles the (to us) miraculous hand of God at work. I’d like to think I’m fairly well-educated and -read. Yet I’m not about to say I accept nothing beyond what I myself am able to prove or know to be true.
That’s putting a King-sized limit on what’s possible in my life. I don’t see that happening. Having seen what God’s already done in and through my life thus far, I’m almost a-quiver with joyful big-eye at what else He’s got in store.
“Answer me this: has every prayer you’ve prayed in your faith been answered the way you wanted?”
“See? SEE? Right there’s th—“
But I’ve seen enough of them answered to keep believing. I’ve had blessings enough to keep trusting. I’ve seen God’s intervention and protecting power often enough to know: I never, ever have to worry about Him having my back. And the prayers that God answered in ways that at the time puzzled me? They all turned out far better than if He’d given me what I wanted – or thought I wanted.
So let me ask you something: What d’you got?
I’d rather believe than doubt. I’d rather travel with those hardy, curious, thoughtfully-cheerful, smiling souls whose quest after FAITH has never wavered. I’d rather have FAITH PATROL on my jacket and be continually jazzed and on the hunt for “What if it is?”
“What else does God have up His sleeve?”
No. Not sure if God has sleeves. But you can mark it down, He knows how to hide stuff, now. Oh, yeah, babe.
I’d rather sing with those cool people with FAITH PATROL, “I will sing praise, I’ve made my choice . . .”
Because I have. And living in and by faith in God suits me a whole lot better than anything else out there.
© D. Dean Boone, June 2015