The disciples woke him, saying, “Teacher, Teacher, we are going to drown!” He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. He said to them, “Where is your faith?” – Luke 8:24-26 (NIV, with adapted language)
It’s around here someplace, Jesus. I’m trying to remember the last time I had it, give me a minute. Maybe St. Anthony can help. He found my glasses last week. He’s good with wallets, too. Parking spaces, not so much.
Where did I leave it? Maybe on the shelf where I stashed my hope after the last school shooting. Or in that box of unused things, like my voice. Or in the drawer of shiny gadgets meant to make life a breeze, like thoughts and prayers and a sense of my own innocence.
By the way, thanks for asking. I might not have realized it was missing otherwise. I’ve gotten used to doing without it, accustomed to the upset of storms, waves of dread and panic, outrage and blame. I still shake you, “Do something!” But I don’t expect rescue.
I tend to lose it a lot, as you know. It’s small. Breaks easily, too. All that exposure to corrosive elements. If it turns up, it might be just flecks and traces. I’d like to think that’s enough. You’re so kind. Mustard seed, you said. Even the smallest.
Still, I promise not to be so careless going forward. Well, I’d better not promise. I can be careless with promises, too. Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve seen an unbroken one around here anyplace. Maybe there’s one on the shelf, next to my faith?
Wait for me, Jesus. I’ll go check.
I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.