With a new year already upon us, I’ve finally decided to bite the bullet and go through with something that’s been on my mind for quite some time now – namely, start a blog!

A year ago, I wrote and shared a story about God’s faithfulness in my life over the past few years. I recounted, in broad strokes, the contours of my recent crisis of faith – not in painstaking detail, but in enough depth to give a sense of the struggle. I tried to explain the ways God had met me in that season, how He both sustained me and surprised me, and the life-changing truths that surfaced along the way. That post was both personal and tentative – personal in that it told a story close to my heart, yet tentative in that I wasn’t sure how it would be received or if it was even wise to share it. To my surprise, the responses that followed were warm and encouraging. Many people expressed how much they connected with it, how deeply it resonated, or how it had stirred something in their own spiritual walk. Others said they wished I would keep writing, and offer more of what had been left between the lines. It struck me how often we assume our private wrestlings are ours alone, when in reality they echo in the lives of others. And so, in hearing their responses, I began to see that shared struggle can be its own quiet form of community.

The irony in all of this is that writing has never been something I’ve enjoyed. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I dread it. Even when I was working on my book – a project that sometimes felt like a marathon I’d never finish – there were moments when I questioned why I ever even started. The discipline of writing can feel like wrestling with a stubborn, uncooperative shadow: you know it’s there, you can see its outline, but it won’t quite let you capture it. Yet, despite my reluctance, I ended up writing and publishing a book. To my own disbelief, I somehow managed to take something abstract and internal and give it a form others could hold in their hands. So when people responded positively to the story I shared, I was both surprised and humbled. At the same time, however, I also felt convicted – uncomfortably aware that my reluctance to continue writing was no longer just about my personal aversion to the task. It started to feel more and more as if I was resisting what felt like a nudge from God, a calling I wasn’t sure I wanted to accept.

Over time, the encouragement from others began to sound less like polite affirmation and more like a quiet, persistent whisper from God Himself. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, but it was steady. It was as though He was saying, “You have been given something to say, and the ability to say it. Don’t hide it away.” Honestly, I didn’t want to hear that. And I knew the cost of accepting that – the vulnerability of opening myself up to misunderstanding, the risk of criticism or rejection, the challenge of stepping into conversations I couldn’t easily step back from. But there was also a cost to silence: a slow erosion of courage, a creeping sense of neglecting something sacred, and an awareness that the things I most feared might also be the things most worth sharing. I found myself caught between those two costs, weighing them over and over, until the weight of not speaking began to feel heavier than the fear of speaking out.

So, after much thought, prayer, and the occasional bout of procrastination, I’ve decided to take the next step and keep writing. I want to use this space to go beyond what I shared before – to revisit those same themes but with greater depth, telling the fuller story behind my struggle and how I came through it. My plan is to unfold that story in a series of blog posts, exploring both the intellectual and personal dimensions of my journey. My hope is that, for those wrestling with their own faith, there might be something here worth holding onto. And yet, I know my story won’t resonate with everyone. Some may nod in recognition, others may shake their heads in disbelief, and still others may quietly move on. Yet I’ve learned that all of those reactions are not only possible but acceptable.

But, to be honest, this acceptance hasn’t really come all that naturally. I am, by temperament, a people-pleaser. I avoid conflict, sidestep confrontation, and work hard to keep the peace. The idea of putting something into the world that could provoke strong disagreement used to paralyze me, and sometimes still does. But over time, I’ve realized that faith stories are not meant to fit everyone like a tailored suit. They are more like weathered coats – worn by one, offered to another, and fitting best those whose journey has taken them through similar storms. Accepting that truth has been freeing, even if it came slowly. So, whatever the responses – whether of praise, indifference, or concern – I’m learning to hold it loosely. My aim is not to stir controversy, nor is it to seek approval. It is simply to share my own faith story with honesty and transparency, trusting that it may be helpful to some, even if not to all.

I know what it feels like to sit in a church pew, wearing a polite smile, while quietly wondering if my faith can bear the weight of my questions. I know what it’s like to open a Bible to familiar passages only to find they feel foreign, as though written in a language I once knew but no longer understand. And I know the particular loneliness that comes from having nowhere safe to voice those questions – the kind of doubts that echo endlessly in your mind because you fear speaking them aloud might change everything. For some, these words may sound familiar. For others, they may be hard to imagine. My hope is that, whether this experience mirrors your own or stands at a distance from it, you’ll find something worth reflecting on here. While much of what I share will be most relevant to those who identify, or have once identified, as Christian, I hope there’s something in it that can speak to anyone willing to listen.

In many religious settings, certainty is prized – the ability to say with confidence, “I know this to be true.” For a long time, I thought that was the goal, too. But I can’t make that claim anymore. I don’t have it all figured out, and I don’t expect I ever will. I haven’t solved the mysteries of faith, and I’m not convinced that’s the point. And so I come to this as one traveler speaking to another, aware that I could be wrong about many things I now hold to be true. I’m learning to love what I believe without gripping it so tightly that I can’t let it go if truth asks me to. And that shift hasn’t been easy, but I no longer see it as weakness. For me, it’s an act of trust, a way of acknowledging that God is bigger than my understanding, and that my grasp on Him doesn’t depend on my ability to never change my mind.

Because of that, I’m not writing from a place of having been “wrong” and now being “right.” I’m not here to declare victory over past beliefs, nor to present myself as having ascended to a higher plane of insight. Rather, I’m writing from a place of having found new meaning in what I now see as true, meaning that has reshaped my understanding of God, Scripture, and the life of faith. My words come from humility and compassion, especially for those who may be standing in places I once stood. Yet I also want to remain sensitive to those who still believe as I once did, not to undermine or belittle them, but to honor the sincerity of their faith while offering another perspective.

That said, given that my struggles were primarily centered on matters of belief – the things I thought, assumed, and was taught to hold as unshakable truth – much of what I’ll be sharing will inevitably lean toward the intellectual and theological. But I don’t want this space to feel like a dry academic exercise. My goal isn’t to produce a dissertation. I want this to be something that blends ideas and experiences, intellect and story, in a way that’s both thoughtful and accessible – a theological memoir of sorts. If my book leaned heavily on argument and analysis, this blog will lean more toward conversation. If my book was an attempt to build a reasoned case for faith without belief, these posts will be my way of opening the windows, letting in the air, and talking about the lived reality beneath those ideas.

While my journey has touched on many areas where my thinking has shifted, two areas stand out above the rest. The nature of the Bible, and the nature of faith. These two, more than any others, have shaped the course of my struggle and the direction of my growth. They are the ground where my deepest questions have been asked and my most significant shifts have occurred. For that reason, they’ll form the primary focus of what I share here. I want to unpack each, explore why they became such turning points, and how they continue to shape my understanding today.

Before diving deeply into either, though, I want to offer a broad sketch of the terrain. Because it’s all too easy to miss the forest for the trees, and I think it’s important to see the wider landscape before zooming in on the details. So, in the next few posts, I plan to take a wide-angle view – looking at where I’ve been and where I am now, not in detail, but with enough context to make sense of the journey ahead. Some may agree with certain parts, others may disagree, and some things might be surprising to all. And, of course, there will be much I can’t cover in one sitting.

Lastly, I don’t expect this story to unfold neatly. Faith rarely does. It’s not a straight road from point A to point B, but more like following a river from its source to the sea – full of bends and unexpected forks. There will be places where the water runs clear and swift, and others where it slows and turns murky. There will be stretches that feel familiar and stretches that feel foreign. My hope is that you’ll be willing to journey with me for at least part of the way, even if our paths eventually diverge. And if, in the process, something in my story helps you make sense of your own, that will be enough. I’m not setting out to change hearts or minds, as much as I would celebrate if that happened. My goal is to bring clarity to how my faith has changed and to offer a framework others might use to explore their own.

So, to those who have read my earlier work, thank you for your encouragement. To those who have urged me to keep writing despite my hesitation, thank you for your persistence. And to those who choose to walk with me through what’s to come, thank you for your trust. Your presence here means more than you know. May what follows provide a window into my journey so far – and, perhaps more importantly, may it invite you deeper into your own journey too.

Until then, thanks again for reading and – as I’ll end with each time – stay curious, seek truth, and love well.