If you know me, you (hopefully) know that I am a Christian. I was raised as a Christian, I made the decision to follow Jesus for myself at 13 and I’ve been a believer since then.

However, there have been days/weeks/months/years where I have struggled to believe. Times when I have doubted the very existence of God and times when the Christian story of God coming to Earth to live, die and live again, has seemed absurd. My faith has sometimes been smothered by the evil in the world, by harm caused to others, by natural disasters… Reasons, I’m sure, why many people do not believe in God in the first place.

Many Christians go through these seasons. We may call it “the dark night of the soul” or “the wilderness”. Whilst you may see these topics in seminars at Christian conferences, we’re rarely brave enough to admit to our struggles and doubts to those closest to us. I’ve only very tentatively shared my occasional doubts with my husband, afraid of the shame, judgement or simple confusion I would receive from others.

But despite my occasional lapses in faith, to steal a catchphrase from the wonderful late Rachel Held Evans, “on the days I believe…” my relationship with God is happy and intimate. For so long, He may be silent, but then I will feel, rather than hear, His whispers in the most ordinary things.

Like after feeding Bethany or Lily in the night, when I hold them for a moment, heavy with sleep, against my chest and I’m overwhelmed by a sense of love, peace, joy, of God with me.

Or when I’m daydreaming out the window and a flock of birds, black against the baby blue sky, flies together in perfect synchronisation, and I see the order and beauty that God intended for our world.

Or when I read a great book, listen to anything by Lin Manuel Miranda, or I’m moved by a piece of art, my mind is blown by the human creativity that reflects that of our Creator.

Then there is Jesus. No matter how many times I struggle with the idea of an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God, I cannot break away from the person of Jesus.

His radical welcome of people of all kinds; his healing power; his heart for justice and righteousness; his compassion for the outcast and needy. The fire in his heart and the cool balm of his presence.

There is no one like the historical Jesus and, as I reflect on Him, I see God. That’s how I keep coming back, why I keep fighting for my faith, and sometimes it really does feel like a fight.

But, in God’s kindness, despite the times I’ve denied Him, questioned Him, cursed Him, He keeps meeting me. In my darkest places, He’s there, even if I can’t feel Him. It is never Him that moves, but me, and time and time again, He illuminates the path back to Himself.

God is so good, so kind, so extravagantly generous. But I know there will be times in the future when I doubt this, and doubt He’s even real. I wish that wasn’t the case, but I have been on this journey for a while, I know it well. There are peaks and troughs. Mountains and valleys. There is brightness and darkness. He is the only constant. He is endlessly faithful, even while I am faithless. How amazing is that?