I Believe

Driving my daughter to school the other day, my mind drifted to circumstances over which I have no control. Anxiety set in, and I began to fret as I traveled the winding road, ignoring the picture of Jesus I keep on my dash. Instead, I worried — “I wonder about…” “I wonder if…” “I wonder whether…”

But my wondering was interrupted by Pandora. Though the radio had been turned on since we’d pulled out of the driveway, it had taken a few minutes for the music to begin playing. But the timing of Andrew Peterson’s song “Good Confession” was no accident, its message breaking through my anxious thoughts.

I believe 

He is the Christ 

Son of the Living God

And I believe 

He is the Christ

Son of the Living God…

I believe. Well, at least I say I do — but do I? Do I believe He has a purpose and a plan (Jer. 29:11)? Do I believe I’m loved and precious in His sight (Is. 43:4)? Do I believe He is the Christ, Son of the Living God (Matt. 16:16)? If I do, then why these anxious thoughts (Phil. 4:6, 7)?

Here’s my good confession: I don’t always believe. Or at least I forget sometimes what I believe — allowing the eyes of my flesh to wander which, in turn, causes me to wonder. I attempt to catch a glimpse of tomorrow rather than resting within the boundaries of today, and unknowns from a day’s distance almost always look ominous. Dark clouds move in, and I find I’m no longer believing by faith but wondering, with fretful feelings.

It’s only as I listen for His still small voice that I’m reminded what I believe. Sometimes He’s discovered in a song, Jesus’ voice sounding much like Andrew Peterson — an exhortation to keep my eyes on Him, the One who dwells in today and holds tomorrow in His hands. Only then do I rest secure.

And so I sing — 

So when my body’s weak and the day is long

When I feel my faith is all but gone

I’ll remember when I sing this song

That I believe…

He is the Christ

Son of the Living God

Oh, my Lord, my Savior

Oh, my Lord, my Savior.

And my heart finds peace that passes all understanding.