Unwavering Belief

 

It is easy to pray, and it’s easy to think that God might actually hear us; but it is quite another thing to have a belief strong enough to move the needle that measures His responses.

I pray for huge things—and I actually see the tiny, nearly impossible-to-detect, bouncing of that needle.
This, however, is an okay sign. If it were a Harvard study, the slight changes would still point to some unknown persuasion. If I were to pray for sick people and only see a 0.00005% increase in the overall health of mankind, I’m sure there would be someone, somewhere, who is really glad I prayed.

Why would the measurable proof be so incredibly small? Because I can barely believe it myself.

One year, I put a calendar on the wall and promised I would make $100,000 that year. The problem? I wrote the confirming statement of belief above the January calendar. For that month, I was tracking my $100,000 precisely. But when I turned the page to February, I forgot my belief—and just like that, I stopped tracking my goal. For the next eleven months, nothing ever looked like January.

Belief has got to be consistent.
“For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.” —James 1:6 (KJV)

It may be that belief has to become your workout routine.

I remember jumping over a tire machine when I was about 18. Mid-air, I looked down and realized that if I landed where I should land, I’d injure myself on a prying bar lying across a tire. Somehow, in that instant, I believed hard enough to land farther than expected. I felt myself traveling beyond a reasonable distance—and I was spared.

In that desperate moment, my belief rose to meet the challenge. It may have saved me. Or at least, prevented serious injury.

For that reason alone, I believe belief is flexible—amendable, even.

It’s always interesting to find someone’s limits. “I’ll never make the kind of money you make,” they’ll say. But if you ask them why, their answers rarely align with what you’ve come to understand about earning what you earn. You can look at them and imagine, “Of course you could do it.”

But then someone might ask you why you’re not making more—and you’ll answer similarly. And someone earning far more than you would say, “You could do it.”

In many cases, our social class is predetermined by our belief that we belong in one class or another.

I read the story of Ronia Tamar Goldberg and her belief that she should be famous. She was so convinced of it that she rebranded herself as Angelyne and had her image posted on billboards all over Hollywood.

Being first portrayed as famous opened the very doors that would, in fact, make her famous.

Angelyne became famous for being famous.

There have been movies and documentaries made about her.
This actually isn’t that unusual.

“One of the techniques I’ve always used is what I call ‘guilt by association,’” said Shep Gordon.
“If you take somebody really famous and put them next to someone else, that other person melts off the fame.”

He used this idea—and his friendship with Alice Cooper—to convince Alice, Mickey Dolenz, and John Lennon to attend Anne Murray’s show at the Troubadour. He says he literally got down on his knees and begged the stars to gather around Anne for a photo.

The technique worked. That single image helped turn Anne Murray into the household name Shep had envisioned.

“That photo got more mileage than any other photo in my entire career.” —Anne Murray

Belief only works when it can turn the unbelievable into the believable.

In other words, you’ve got to stick with it. There’s a drawing spring attached to anyone trying to move into a new class. Without a lot of effort and persistence, that spring pulls you right back to where you were.

But it’s not just tenacity—or every contestant on American Idol would be famous by now. It takes what I call elastic tenacity.

You can’t just grit your teeth and push forward. Hermey the Elf was tenacious enough to bring his books to work, but his big break didn’t come until he developed the elasticity to keep going, even with no hope in sight.

Your original form is success.
It’s the societal spring that pulls you away from that form.
It’s actually unnatural for you to fail.

But in many cases, society wants you to fail. It’s the only way most people feel they can keep up with you. I know—because not only am I the doubting school president, I am also a devout student of doubt.

You’ve got to have what I call Knew Faith—the kind of faith where, when someone asks about your landing, you say, “I just knew it.”

And often, the clearest examples of Knew Faith come in moments of failure.
“I knew it,” they’ll say.

Some karate techniques require this level of faith. If you don’t already know that you can chop a concrete block in half, don’t try—you’ll break your hand. I’d really discourage anyone from attempting something like that if they have even a sliver of doubt.

Over the weekend, I needed a physical touch. I was in pain, and I took it to God differently than I usually do. I prayed not with desperation, but with confidence—reminding myself that God is intimately connected to this experience. That He knows this pain, too. And more than that—He’s in control of it.

In that moment, I remembered something: sometimes, God's greatest pleasure is seeing Himself reflected in me—even when He seems to step back, inviting me to remember what He already knows.

“Put me in remembrance: let us plead together.” —Isaiah 43:26 (KJV)

Is that not a strange thing for God to say?
It’s as if He’s asking, “Remind me again—who are you? And who am I?”

I did.
And the pain lifted.

It may be fair to say that we are artificial intelligence of a kind.

We’ve reached a point where science can’t confidently say whether consciousness is a byproduct of the brain—or if the brain is more like an antenna, helping us receive, use, and transmit data.

So how does this thought fit in with everything else?

Maybe I’m not as independent as I suppose. Maybe I’m more of a remembrance-transistor—controlling the flow of information I’ve gathered. My entire experience might just be what this one machine—this body—decides to do with its environment. I am always forgetting that I am programmable software, and that the world outside me is infinitely available.

“Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.” —Deuteronomy 31:6

“… I am with you always, even unto the end of the world…” —Matthew 28:20 (KJV)

If these promises are true, I’m not just a machine. I am a device—absorbing, changing, and signaling consciousness; forming and informing its opinion of me.

I am a prayer without an end.