I’ve never really been an overly religious person, despite having been a Catholic all my life. I do make the occasional visit to church, yes, and I most definitely know the words to the Lord’s Prayer. Yet, despite all this, I’ve struggled with my faith on numerous occasions, even going so far as to question the existence of the abstract being known as God. Is he merely a figment of our imagination? A convenient excuse to convince common folk to do good? Are all our highs and lows really part of his grand plan? Does he really possess an elaborate, multi-faceted blueprint of our destinies? If so, why would he put us through any suffering – especially if he loves us? His ways were tough for me to get my head around, then I realised, not too long ago, that I wasn’t meant to understand them in the first place.
Perhaps we’re not meant to question the existence of God, nor question his ways. For even if conclusive evidence of his existence is never found, his grace transcends the realm of possibility. Maybe he doesn’t really have a plan for us – maybe there isn’t an author in the skies penning down our life stories. The test papers we somehow passed against all odds, all our successes and tragedies, they all might very well be predetermined scrawls on the scroll of time. Even so, I like to think that I believe in God. Not in his existence, but rather in the reassurance that he can offer me when I need it most.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve subconsciously muttered a prayer under my breath when in distress. Somehow, it always helped in calming my nerves – be it in the examination hall or when alone in the dead of night. Isn’t it magical how one can find the strength and courage to press on, just by having a little faith? No external motivation necessary, just pure, unadulterated belief, yet it is enough for one to find great fortitude. In essence, God is to me what a well is to a vast desert, a ready source of sustenance in what can be a long and bitter fight – a fight known more simply as life.