The following guest post was contributed by Cornerstone teacher and professor of English, Dr. Debbie Williams.

I’ve spent my life forced to rethink my perceptions of God.

At 6 when I was mistakenly diagnosed as having cystic fibrosis, along with my younger sister and brother. Two of my younger siblings were already dead. I should die soon. I was oriented towards God as if he were another parent with whom I would soon live. Sometimes that sounded fun. Sometimes, I was pretty aggravated about having to leave the farm I loved living on and Flicka, my pony I had received on my birthday. From that point on, as I wrestled with being the well child in a family of illness, I also wrestled with what I thought about God—God as doctor, God as uninvolved observer, and finally God as non-existent.

At 23, when confronted in graduate school, with being a Christian, I realized that I didn’t know any more who God was or why I believed. Why couldn’t God be part of another religion? What if God didn’t exist at all.

My husband’s faith and my mother’s faith helped me see that doubt doesn’t mean atheist. Besides, too many of Jesus’ teachings went against human nature. There had to be something to Christianity. I would learn, however, that God would refuse to be limited by this new understanding I thought I had of His nature. It wasn’t long before I had reason to question again: at 31, I left Purdue ABD (all but dissertation completed on a doctorate) and went with my husband and 2 daughters to work with the Kailua-Kona church on Hawaii. During that time, my father had his second major stroke, and my brother began having seizures associated with complications from his cystic fibrosis. So far away from family, feeling so helpless, I resumed what had been almost a life-long anger with God. I had sacrificed for Him. What had he done for my family?

More than 20 years have passed. My brother who should have died at birth is still alive, still medically fragile. My father has lived through 7 major strokes, 3 rounds of cancer, and a stay on the hospice wing. He now has dementia and cannot always understand what is happening, but illness has been part of our family fabric for so long that he assumes that family absence means family illness. I miss him.

Layered onto this is my older daughter’s 9 year struggle with adoption issues for which she sought the “promise of invincibility” initially offered by Meth, rather than promises of God. Her story is hers to share. She is willing for me to share the part that impacts me: witnessing wretchedness of addiction, discovering a new way to process information in learning the differences between jail and prison, experiencing the unspeakable grief of not knowing the fate of a runaway.

What do I think of God? At this point, I only know 2 things.

I know that God is the giver of good things. He’s not the Great Giver of what I want, of what I think those I love must have. He’s not the “dispenser of the American Dream” if I’m just spiritual enough, righteous enough, and prayerful enough. My problem is that I am not always wise or mature enough to know or appreciate what God regards as “good.” I haven’t put enough of my “treasure” in heaven, moving it out of my personal areas of idolatry—family, health, peace (non-conflict), physical comfort. When God gives me a clear morning with the promise of new mercies, with knowledge of the physical locations of those I love (with no one in jail or the hospital), I often have to recall myself to His Presence to appreciate the level of blessing I’m receiving. It has taken many years and the teachings of my mother, combined with reminders of my good friend, Nancy, to see the blessings in the opportunity to go to work when I’ve been up all night washing vomit-filled laundry at my mother’s house or speaking with police about not knowing the whereabouts of my daughter in her drug dealings. It has taken my brother’s wrecked body to help me see the Lord’s blessings in the physically imperfect, in “dappled things” (Hopkins, “Pied Beauty”). Even so, many days, I simply have to intellectually accept that He is working out good for me whether I can appreciate or even recognize His efforts. However, I also have to remember that my goal in receiving those good things isn’t for what I want, but for better serving the Kingdom.

I also know that God is love. God is not fickle in his affection as I can be and have been. His Love is a deliberate in choice and focus. It hopefully perseveres, even when the cause or person seems to have given up. I have changed how I envision God and find myself humbled, frustrated, and at times angered by my limited perceptions and ignorance. I hear many voices claiming to be speaking in God’s name. However, because I know that God is love, I know I can find Him and behave like him

• when I forgive and pray for my enemies and those who would persecute me,
• when I serve those who need, whether or not I think their need is genuine,
• when I discipline myself to apologize for discord that I’ve caused or participated in, especially when the thought of doing so makes me angry.
• when I am open to learning from others whom I secretly think have nothing to teach me.
• when I live in the moment of his Peace upon being so traumatized by loss of control of life events.
• when I accept doubt as a crucial part of deepening my faith.

Words—processing and generating them–usually come easily for me. Yet I cannot always discipline myself to read what He would say to me through my tears of despair or anger. Nor can I frame as simple a prayer as “help me” from my stubborn brokenness. I can be flexible. I can act. In other words, I can, as poet and priest Gerard Manly Hopkins would say, “Give alms.” I must act because I don’t have enough faith, I’m not confident enough in what I understand of God to simply ask for “my Father’s eyes,” as in the Amy Grant song. My understanding of God requires me to be more basic. With grace, I must act, must move forward step by step.

American poet James Dickey described the culmination of a captive soldier’s efforts in his poem, “The Performance,” as “having done all things in this life that he could.” That, for me, will be how I show my understanding of God, when in spite of material blessings and because of soul-wrenchings, I have done all things in this life that I could, all things for His Kingdom.