I am always amazed at the folks who seem to find their religious identity in a rigid and certain belief that is unchanging. Where does such a way of believing come from in this world? It seems to me faith is precisely not having that kind of certainty, but depending on something or someone we only hope to be dependable. As one of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner puts it colorfully: "doubt is the ants in the pants of faith." Here is a little poem full of ants. (The picture is a walking iris flower opening in faith to a spring morning.)

Faithful Despair

Unglued jumble
Hesitating skip
And stumble
Falsely humble
Heartbeat out of tempo
Half-formed questions
Answers scorned.
This is where faith is born
To grow
The swallow turned to gulp
That does not satisfy
Or comfort
But draws us
Out
Empty
Lost
To God.