I love math. Always have. Just today, I felt a small thrill when my kids returned from school (AKA their computers in the kitchen, thankyouCovid) with a math problem they needed my assistance with. The reason? An equation is straightforward, solvable, with a clear conclusion. I wish faith were more like algebra. Instead, faith sometimes reminds me of the tedious, makemewannapullmyhairout, task of untangling my headphones. It is the actual worst. I would honest-to-goodness rather buy a new pair than have to tackle this nearly impossible task. Just me, here? Okay, admittedly this is a very minuscule example of a much larger issue. For instance, John the Baptist was a person of exceptional faith on all accounts. He was set apart from birth to be the forerunner to the Messiah. He was an obedient, faithful, honorable, humble, and hardworking man who spent his life in service to Yahweh. Yet, he met an ending more terrible than most. Eventually, John the Baptist was beheaded- his head delivered to King Herod’s wife on a silver platter. What? In chapter 8 of Relentless, I mention reading a book some time ago. Miracles, by Eric Metaxas is a fantastic book filled with accounts of exceptional miracles believers have experienced. I devoured it. Hidden beneath my fevered page-turning was a buried belief that if I filled an internal storehouse of miraculous stories, I could avoid any discomfort of confusion in my faith. “If I could collect all these stories of big, firework kind of miracles of God doing extraordinary things, then I could believe & not doubt; then I could have the kind of faith that was super strong.” With my super strong faith, I could successfully avoid the unwanted measure of guilt and shame that accumulated alongside any creeping doubts. Why do some people get the big, life-changing, or even life-saving miracles, while others collide with tragedy, loss, or even death? As it turns out, my trying to get God to prove himself through my mathematic equation didn’t render the results I had hoped for. Moreover, I realized that, “Miracles don’t always make faith.” “In fact, in many cases it’s the lack of a miracle that forces a person to really wrestle with what they believe.” In our suffering, we become increasingly desperate for answers, believing they will finally rescue us from our pain. The truth is, answers may bring relief in the short term, but even the clearest of reasoning can’t make sufficient sense of some heartbreaks. The real art is learning to trust amidst the unknown, to rest amidst turmoil, and to trust the trail our questions lead us further along. Doubt feels scary and destructive and unfaithful. “However, over the last couple of years of wrestling through my own faith journey, I have actually come to see doubt as a gift.” So, how do we deal with the reality of doubt?  Acknowledge it. Doubt is a normal part of an active, stretching, growing faith.  Keep asking questions. To not ask questions is to not think.  Keep moving. Don’t get too comfortable in your doubt; it should be productive. There’s nothing noble about staying lost in the forest.  Accept that not all questions will be answered. If we could solve the equation of God, he would be far too small.  Choose trust. We are either going to trust in our own capacity and ability or God’s magnificence and mystery. “Doubt is not the enemy of your faith, it’s the means to deepening it; So, take it to him.”