I heard someone say recently that when she was at the bottom of her alcohol addiction and making her way back (now 17 years sober) she refused to believe in the “God of her understanding” because that God had ticked her off in her teens and she attributed some of her downward spiral to things she believed he’d done. But she was persuaded by her mother's faithfulness and determined that while she couldn’t put faith in that God she could put faith in her mother’s faith. And that was the “God of her understanding” for quite a while until she finally found her way back to an even more personal understanding.
That story jolted me because it’s reminiscent of where I’ve been. After the divorce, I let go of most of what I’d known and attributed to the "church" world. Then gradually I believed in the fact that others I loved and respected believed. Eventually, I found something to hold on to that was mine . . . though not always easily defined. Now there are days when belief comes easy and days when it doesn’t.
Guess, that "one day at a time" stuff has a message for me, too.