Lord I Believe – Help My Unbelief

Traveler’s Tip #330
Blue sky, birds singing outside, water trickling… Hey, CCR - Lodi isn’t such a bad place to be stuck.
 
 
Jesus said to him, “If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes.”
Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”
                                                                                                Mark 9 
 
I started a two-week tour with Randy Stonehill last night here in Lodi, California. A sweet evening. Forgot a few words, missed a chord or three, but a sweet evening with a guy determined to finish well. Anyway, there are lovely people in Lodi and they don’t seem to mind a dropped word. This morning I’m tucked away in a single-wide trailer in some groves behind a church. Moving on up the coast tomorrow.
 
I miss my family terribly.
 
But Jesus is here.
 
It’s been a lot of driving over the last few days. Northern Idaho to Cali. I’ve been thinking about faith. Jesus talked about faith the size of a mustard seed. Sounds easy but sometimes I think my fingers are too big to pick up something so small. Either that or mustard seeds can get crazy heavy.
 
At night, when the monsters come out, I worry. Not for myself, for some reason my faith is strong there. My family though, that’s another story.
 
I’m not sure why I struggle in this area. In my mind I know God is sufficient in all things. Especially love—he loves my family more than I ever can. Still, the responsibility weighs. The life of a writer on the road can be challenging. Financially, emotionally, so many ways. And I want to take care of them. Give them what they need. It can be a heavy weight. You know the one… I bet you’ve been there, too.
 
“Don’t I always come through?” Jesus says.
 
“Lord I believe. Help my unbelief!”
 
 “Have you seen miracles?”
 
“Yes. Help my unbelief!”
 
“Remember Rock Springs, Wyoming?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Remember that time in Eastern Arizona? Nebraska? That gas station in Honduras? That night by the Galilee in Israel? Was I there then? Do I need to go on? Because I can…”
 
“I wish you would…”
 
“Have you ever wanted for anything?”
 
I have to think about this one. But other than In-N-Out Burger when I’m not in the Southwest nothing comes to mind.
 
“No.”
 
“Then why do we keep having this conversation? Be still. I am God.”
 
I know He’s there. He’s proven Himself true over and over, time after time. Then why the struggle, Buck? Why do I worry about my family? I love them so much. I want to take care of them. I want the best for them. But so does He. The difference between us? He actually knows what’s best.
 
So this is me, Jesus. Confessing my shortcomings. Confessing my worry. Confessing my struggle and doubt and worry. I love You and I know You’re faithful. So I’ll put one foot in front of the other. With Your help I’ll drive on. I’ll trust You in the miles, the music, and the pen. I’ll trust that you’ll meet the needs. Of both my family and others I bump into along the road. I’d be blessed if You’d use me. I know You don’t need me when it comes right down to it, and if I’m honest I don’t have much to offer, but I’ll be your man.
 
And I suppose that’s all He’s ever wanted.
 
How about you? Do you struggle with doubt? Does that mustard seed grow bigger than the mountain it’s supposed to move? Are you the dad in Mark chapter 9 (help my unbelief…)? Welcome to the herd. Believe me, you’re not alone. We’re a curious bunch of ordinary radicals. Set apart yet human. Holy but still arm wrestling with the old man, muscles shaking.
 
I’m asking Him for faith, travelers. I’m committing—again—everything and everyone that’s dear to me into His hands. Maybe you are, too.  
 
Anyway, thanks for talking it through with me. I feel better.
 
We’re in this together. And to quote old, unflappable Hank Sr. – We’ll never get out of this world alive…  Might as well roll down the windows and enjoy the ride.
 
Take care of them please, Jesus. I need you so desperately.
 
Lord, I believe… I just believe.
 
Fair winds,
Buck

1 comment

  • Jennifer O'Connor

    Jennifer O'Connor Newport Beach, CA

    How do you do it? Sheesh! So inspiring! Can I write like you when I grow up?

    How do you do it? Sheesh! So inspiring! Can I write like you when I grow up?

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