“But what no one has the right to do is let others suppose that faith is something inferior or that it is an easy matter, when in fact it is the greatest and most difficult of all.” – Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

Let me confess, there is nothing easy about this.

This. This life. This calling. This preparation. This move.

This faith that He who is good, but not safe is calling me to continually traverse. Multifarious in its expression, it seems to serve as a unifying theme of this section of my life. I get a choice between fear and faith, or maybe more accurately, I am given the opportunity to resign fear and wait for faith; and this is an opportunity given almost daily right now.

As much as I wish I were more readily excited to the adventure ahead, I live in the weight of the present reality far too often. It’s a flaw, because it’s an orientation toward the finite without much glance toward the infinite promise. It’s me feeling the weight of $1,500/month left to raise, wondering where my next partners will come from. It’s me mourning the goodbyes that are occurring, realizing that my friends will have kids that are toddlers before I see them again. It’s me learning more and more intimately the ways in which I am completely inadequate to be the person that God has called me to be.

These fears are so skilled in their taunting, casting visions of failure and loneliness powerful enough to leave a guy in tears. They ask me to despair in all the change occurring, using just enough truth that the ground of my inner world becomes confusing to navigate.

Fear. It’s there. I will not deny it. It faces me every morning, every noon, and every night. I cannot ignore it. I will not ignore it. For I am convinced that it is only in the face of fear that one can have faith. And let me tell you, it takes an awful lot of energy to look at fear in the face and choose faith again and again. It takes an awful lot of hope to wait in the midst of the fear for the answer to come.

This is a huge reason that I love Advent. This season of waiting, of hoping. This season of crying out, “O Come, O Come, Immanuel.” He came once… surely He’ll come again. Advent teaches me to wait. It teaches me to give myself over to the hope of Messiah. It teaches me the movements of faith.

“Faith… in fact is the greatest and most difficult of all.” I know this to be true, because the fear is great. So one can despair, or one can have faith. And so I’m learning again to resign myself over in love to the Great One, leaning into a trust in His faithfulness. I’m offering myself again and again in faith, small as it may be.