Product Description

Faith is the most fundamentally important aspect of following Christ. Yet there are times in every believer's life when the inevitable question arises in the heart and works its way to the soul: If I really believe, why do I have these doubts? The question may have been planted by tragedy or trial. It may have been ignited by rejection or heartbreak. It may even be as simple as an intellectual burr that can't be shaken. If you or someone you know is asking this question, this book will bring help and hope to every heart in search of a deeper faith.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #208441 in Books
• Published on: 2000-04-01
• Released on: 2008-10-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 208 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9781582291178
• Condition: USED - VERY GOOD
• Notes:
• Click here to view our Condition Guide and Shipping Prices

About the Author
Lynn Anderson has been in the ministry for over thirty-five years and currently serves as president of Hope Network, a ministry dedicated to coaching, mentoring, and equipping spiritual leaders for the twenty-first century. He received his doctorate from Abilene Christian University in 1990.

Anderson's lifelong career of ministry has involved speaking nationwide to thousands of audiences and authoring eight books -- including The Shepherd's Song; Navigating the Winds of Change; Heaven Came Down; They Smell like Sheep, Volume 1; and If I Really Believe, Why Do I Have These Doubts?

He and his wife, Carolyn, live in Dallas. They are the parents of four grown children and the grandparents of eight wonderful grandchildren.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Prologue

I Believe But...

    His name is forgotten. Let's call him Ketar, which in Hebrew means to solve a problem or to resolve doubt...

    Ketar's fingers twitched and trembled, but his arm lay warm and gentle around the wet shoulders of his sullen son. Years of fear and frustration choked his voice. With the side of his thumb, Ketar brushed tears from the corners of his eyes.

    The terror had struck again. Once more his boy had been dragged from near drowning. The young man's soaked clothing clung to his shivering body but did not cover the burn scars networking his back.

    "Sometimes the demon throws him into the water, sometimes into the fire," Ketar anguished as he stood in front of the carpenter's son. "If you can do anything..."

    "If I can?" Jesus responded. "All things are possible to those who believe."

    "Believe? I do."

    But in reality, what little faith Ketar possessed didn't seem to connect with his life. How does one believe? He had often prayed for the boy, but nothing changed. Had he really expected it would? His long days and dark nights seemed all the same. He was running out of hope.

    His son was not the only one who desperately needed help. Ketar needed it himself! He could find no clear prism for separating the dark demonic forces from the light of heaven.

    "I do believe," he murmured, "but..."

Could there be hope? Maybe the carpenter's son could restore balance to his world and still the voices of its demons.

    "I do believe, but...help me. Help me overcome my unbelief...

my unbelief...

my unbelief..."

    Although Ketar's words fell only softly, twenty centuries ago, their echo has not died! Some believers still wrestle with doubts today.

    And help -- real help -- is still available! 

Chapter 1

When Faith Goes Flat

    A friend of mine in Houston opened his mail, and out tumbled this troubling letter:

Dear -- ,

    Something has been bothering me of late, which I think merits mentioning to you. I've lost God. I can no longer find Him in my life. This is no case of sophomoric atheism, but rather a matter-of-fact statement -- in the same way, for example, that I might say, "I misplaced my car keys."

    I'm not denying God's existence at all. But for me, He simply is not real.

    This fact became apparent to me the other night when I tried to pray. About three sentences into it, I realized I wasn't really feeling what I was saying, and probably God wasn't hearing me, anyway. The very act of prayer suddenly became tragically absurd. So I shut up, took two aspirin, and went to sleep.

    But the issue has been haunting me off and on ever since. I know one response for this kind of statement is to say God exists in people and we should look for Him there. Well, I'll buy that. But what has become of the transcendent Deity? To whom do I pray? Where's that personal Lord and Savior of yore? If you've any thoughts on this subject, I'd like to hear them.

    This letter grabbed my attention because, in many ways, I readily identify with it's writer. I also identify -- deeply -- with Ketar, our worried friend who begged Jesus for help with his faltering faith. In fact, one reason I am writing this book is that I do believe but still need help for my unbelief.

    You may have doubts too. They may take the form of powerful, painful questions about God's love or God's power or even God's existence. Or they may emerge as vague, unexpressed feelings of dissatisfaction and disappointment -- a nagging sense that your once-vital and fully rounded faith has gone flat as an old tire.

    Your doubts may be huge boulders that block the road to Christian commitment. Or they may be little rocks in your shoe, bothersome little distractions that sap some of your spiritual energy and keep you from finding full, wholehearted joy in your Christian walk. Either way, I suspect your doubts are what prodded you to open this book. Maybe you resonate with the old Gordon Lightfoot song: "I don't know where we went wrong, but the feeling's gone and I just can't get itback." Somewhere in your mind and heart lurk questions such as these:

• Is God really out there?

• If so, does He really care about me?

• Does anything really change when I pray and study the Bible?

• Why don't I feel as I used to feel about my faith?

• If I really believe, why do I have all these nagging doubts?

    And that's the second reason I am writing -- to connect with your doubts.

    In the years since I first summoned the courage to speak honestly and openly about my faith struggles, all sorts of people have come out of the woodwork -- many of them conscientious, churchgoing people -- and told me, "I feel that way too." They seem relieved that someone like me -- a minister, a former missionary, someone who has followed a Christian vocation all his life -- still finds faith a struggle at times. And they seem encouraged that, despite my ongoing doubts, I haven't given up on the faith journey.

    So let me begin by relating a little of my own story -- the story of one who has struggled with doubt since early childhood. It may not be just like your story, but I hope it will give you permission to go back through your own experience and think honestly about how your doubts feel to you.

Confessions of a Rock Kicker

    The white rubber toes of my black canvas sneakers carried fresh grass stains and scuffs from kicking rocks. The snow was finally gone, new green spread softly across the rolling Canadian prairies, and crocuses bloomed on the hillsides. For most twelve-year-old country boys, the two-mile walk home from school on a warm spring afternoon would have been a sheer delight -- but not for me. While my lowered eyes watched the toes of my sneakers and the rock I was kicking down the road, my restless mind tumbled and wrestled through a labyrinth of brooding thoughts.

    "Why have I never seen God?" I mused. "I talk to Him, but He never talks to me. All last year I begged Him for a bicycle, but I never got one. Is there really any reason to believe in God? Or do people just pretend there is a God in order to frighten each other into being good? If there really is a God, He sure seems far away.

    "But then...everyone loves my dad, and he believes in God. Could he be wrong?"

    My father actually homesteaded land in Canada, and he farmed over half of his life. Six grades measured his formal schooling, but not his learning. Until his death at age eighty-five, he read voraciously. He had the soul of a poet -- and a winsome, authentic faith that led people to respect and trust him.

    Dad seemed to see the Almighty everywhere.

    After supper, on many frosty winter evenings, Dad and I pulled on our parkas, mittens, and overshoes and trudged to the barn to finish a few chores. I recall how one night, as the hard, dry snow scrunched under our boots and the soft light of the lantern spilled across the whiteness, Dad stopped and pointed to the bright particles glistening at the rim of our pool of light. "Look how rich we are," he reminded me. "God has scattered diamonds on our path."

    Late one spring, as two storm fronts met over our farm at sunset, the sky displayed an awesome extravaganza of color and motion. Dad took off his cap and stood transfixed as if in worship with the swirling colors reflected in his eyes. Then he pulled me close and talked quietly of the power and majesty of God.

    During the long, bitter Saskatchewan winters, our house was heated by an ornate, glass-windowed, coal-devouring heater. A brief moment of one long-ago winter night still stands vividly in my memory. Deep in the night, I heard movement nearby and sleepily opened one eye. The glow from the heater, the only light in the room, danced across Dad's rounded shoulders and his tousled head. In his longhandles, with the funny rump-line, Dad was kneeling by my bed in prayer.

    My father possessed the purest heart and most steadfast faith of any man I ever knew. I loved him and respected him deeply. But somehow, I couldn't seem to feel the things I sensed he felt. As I kicked rocks down the road, I would think, "Daddy would be so disappointed in me if he knew that I don't really for sure believe in God. Will I ever believe for sure? Or will I always wonder?"

    But the fabric of my doubt was not cut with a clean edge. Interspersed between periods of kicking rocks were times when God seemed intensely real.

    The year I turned thirteen, I rode horseback five miles to school each day. Sometimes this meant riding alone through stormy weather and arriving home after dusk. God became a frightened boy's comfort then. More than once, I now recall, faith dispelled anxiety and loneliness. To the jerky rhythm of my plodding black mare, through swirling snow and gathering darkness, my child's voice, half whispering, half singing, often mingled with the prairie wind:

He leadeth me! O blessed tho't!

O words with heav'nly comfort fraught!

Whate'er I do, where'er I be,

Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.

    In those moments, God seemed not only real but near and personal, lifting my spirits and warming my lonely places. I savored those feelings, sometimes for days. Years later I would long for their return. For in the years that followed, I continued to kick the rocks of doubt ahead of me. My doubting c...

Customer Reviews

Excellent Book
This is an excellent book for anyone having doubt about their faith. My doubt started after my second son was born and I went through post-partum depression again. I've never doubted God and had a radical conversion so I was really confused why all of a sudden I was attacked with doubt. Anyway, the author does a fantastic job at defining what faith is and what faith is not. Also does a great job discussing the different "faces" of doubt (depression, personality, etc).

For what it's worth . . . this is a book that will stay on my bookshelf. Way to go Lynn Anderson. I would also recommend God in the Dark for anyone seeking answers to their doubt.

Excellent Option for Small Group Study
I lead a women's small group through this book and each chapter had a new insight that touched us deeply. This book is a perfect blend of personal stories and sound theology. The study quide questions at the back of the book helped me prepare for the discussion each week. I highly recommend it-- not just for people going through times of extreme doubt, but for any thinking Christian.

It's okay
This is not a bad book. The author seems sincere enough. He (yes, Lynn is a 'he') made an honest attempt to answer his question. I almost finished reading it; so that's pretty good.