what i know about the wind
Kathy Luo
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arguing parents, and a boy. Looking back, I would
not call any of these prayers particularly eloquent
or worshipful. They were awkward, confused, and
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also awkward, confused, and misguided. Nonetheless, that was the simple way my faith began. A few
months later, I was baptized, never happier to be
dunked in a tub of water in my life.
When I emerged from the water, there was music,
applause, and a sense of certainty. What was there
left to fear? My grades had improved, summer was
about to begin, and I had literally just been welcomed into the family of God. His word was my
shield, His promises were my peace. I couldn’t imagQVMM^MZNMMTQVOTQSM\PI\_I[QV[]ٻKQMV\*]\IN\MZ
changing out of my dripping robe and ascending
the stage for an endless series of group photos, I felt
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The wind blows.
When I was sixteen, I learned that our enemies fall
into two categories: the seen and unseen. The seen,
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against. I could look to God for strength. I could
pray for peace, for wisdom, and for calm amidst
turbulent thoughts. But how was I to pray for the
unseen? How was I supposed to pray about nothing?
The only name I can give it is apathy. It came over
me silently and unassumingly, in a way not many
26 Fall 2016
miserable things do. Only its symptoms proved its
existence: a lack of emotion, a lack of passion, a
lack of desire to do anything. It wasn’t only happiness, excitement, or anticipation-- I even had trouble remembering how to feel sad or angry. Each day
began to blend into the next in a predictable, listless
blur. All the while, I was a “Christian.”
As time passed, I realized that I had not thought
about God for days, then weeks, then months. I used
to believe that I lived for Him. Now, I barely lived at
all. I wanted that to startle me. I wanted alarms to
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even fear, to shake me from my haze. But even then,
it was all mechanical. I wanted because I knew it
was the correct way to feel, not because I remembered what it felt like to want anything.
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beside my bed like a bad conscience. It went untouched and undesired, covered by textbooks, pens,
and empty bowls I didn’t have the energy to wash.
The wind blows.
Occasionally, doubts and questions ran through my
head. Could God dare to love one who had once
prayed to him earnestly, and now questioned His
will, His plan, His existence?
I searched for the fervor I felt at the beginning of
my faith, the fearless belief that made me say “Yes,
I do,” in a warm, still tub of water. But my attempts
were weak, and the enemy was strong. Day after
day, I stumbled out of bed with goosebumps, trembled in the shower, and waited for the school bus in
a dark, bitter cold.
The only good thing about apathy is that it is cyclical-- as much as it seems inescapable, it also ends as
mysteriously as it comes. If I had to name a particular moment in which I started feeling better, I think
I was sitting in church one Sunday, eating a donut
from the welcome table, and looking forward to
grabbing another. This would not be anything