Now, I’m a Believer

One of the saddest things I encounter in my day job is children as young as six or seven who have given up believing.

Much of it is out of necessity. Parents who live in extreme poverty, can’t afford the pain of children who wonder why Santa missed their home. There are always toy donations, of course, but they’re usually generic. There’s no list making or wish books in these homes.

When asked what they dream of becoming one day, most of them shrug. Long ago, I stopped prodding because it was akin to poking at a fresh wound.

One 11-year-old stopped me in my tracks. “Do you have a dream for your future?” I asked.

“I’m going to study business and start my own landscaping business.”

I was impressed at the clarity of his vision. “What made you choose that plan?” I asked.

“My dad is the hardest worker in the world and if I owned a business, I’d be honored to have him as one of my workers. If I create this business, I can hire him to do what he loves, and he’ll never lose another job for the rest of his life.”

Children who lose the willingness to believe, the faith to hope in the future, the drive to imagine a better day, often come from homes where parents long ago lost hope or they’ve sold their hopes to substances or to bitterness and rage, or they wrestle with the demons of untreated mental illness.

These children are skeptics from the time they’re toddlers. More than one parent I’ve encountered instructs their children to trust no one and never to imagine help is coming. It’s their way of preparing them for the life they’ve experienced. In this thinking, they’re doing their children a kindness.

The children I see don’t care about stories, future plans, or dreams. They look at me with blank stares, pleading with me not to tempt them to hope. When hopes have been dashed enough times, it’s just easier to let it go – like a helium balloon we were only meant to enjoy for fleeting moment.

You and I have a good Father.

Our Father envisions a future that is eternal, full of worthwhile ventures, inclusive of all nations, tribes, and peoples, and free from sin and death.

He has sacrificed everything to lay hold of this future for us. And this is the season when we remember the waiting – the centuries of waiting – that came before the promised arrival of His Son.

His kingdom has come. You and I are citizens of this kingdom and we must not lose hope.

No matter how the world scoffs at our believing,

kicks sand at our dreams,

pokes fun at our stories of a Savior and of transforming love,

calls us gullible for worshiping or trusting miracles,

mocks our prayers when we suffer trials and setbacks,

or doubts our intelligence when we look to a Creator and study an ancient text,

we have a good Father who keeps His promises, even when they are slow to appear.

Just as Christ finally came after centuries of delay, so He will come again, and our eternal lives will come with Him – whole, intact, and guaranteed by the Holy Spirit.

So, we must hold on. But we don’t sit idly by as we wait. We love Jesus. We do kingdom work. We cultivate hope. We resist unbelief.

I remember one family with another 11-year-old, a chubby girl, the middle child whose father was lost to substances, living in dire poverty. Her family mocked her all the time. Called her names. Ridiculed her dreams.

Of course, I’d suggested better ways of parenting, but they resisted all attempts at change. One day, I arrived to find her crying.

She’d read them an essay she wrote at school about her hopes to one day audition for American Idol. They’d laughed at her. Told her she was too fat, too stupid, and would never amount to anything, never mind a singer.

They asked me to agree and to urge her to create a more realistic dream.

I defied them.

I looked at her (with them looking on) and said the same thing I’ll say to you now. “The people in this room trying to destroy your heart will not change. There are a lot of reasons for that. But because they won’t change, you have to become a person who can create dreams no one else can destroy.”

She looked at me with a flicker of hope left in her eyes. “They’re probably right. I probably won’t be a famous singer.”

I shrugged. “Very few people become famous singers, that’s true. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to use your love of music to bless the world or that music can’t be a part of your dream for your life. Do you know any singer who grew up in poverty and abuse that held onto their dreams?”

She brightened and nodded.

“You study her, and other people like her. When your family is making fun of you, in your head, tell yourself one of their stories, and remember that some people survive what you’re facing and they do it by deciding they know who they are better than anyone around them. In this world, there are believers who aim to build, to create, to contribute and disbelievers who aim to mock, to doubt, and to destroy. Which person are you?”

She smiled and said, “I’m a believer.”

The last I heard, she was in her school chorus and had a solo for the Christmas concert.

There’s nothing easy about believing – especially this year. It’s always been hard to wait for God’s promises to reach their fruition.

But in the fullness of time, they come.

Hold on, believer.

Live your story out loud. Defy the skeptics, the doubters, the soul-crushers. We have a good Father and we are no fools for investing our hope in Him.

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Now I'm a Believer. Holding onto faith in a world of soul-crushing skeptics https://t.co/YDDX34bkCx #Christmas2020 #amwriting

— Lori Roeleveld (@lorisroeleveld) December 5, 2020