Yesterday was exactly one year  since I walked into a restaurant and sat down at a table to have a conversation I was completely unprepared for. Blindsided is probably the best word to describe it.

I was dumbfounded by the idea that I could “lean too far towards grace and not enough towards holiness.” I was shocked to learn that I’d already been removed from the church worship team until a staff member could talk to me about my {unwelcome} beliefs and questions.

After nearly two hours of conversation, I went home and bawled my eyes out on the phone to a friend I barely knew at the time. My idealized church world had crumbled. I knew that day I wouldn’t be stepping into a church building again for a while.

I’d classify this past year as the second most difficult year of my life, only outranked by the year my husband and I ended up in marriage counseling. Every Christian platitude I’ve ever believed or hoped to believe has failed me. And my faith is failing miserably.

When I asked God to teach me grace a few years ago, I had no idea what I was asking for. This past year has been the ultimate lesson in grace.

Walk away from church? There’s grace for that.

Holding on to unforgiveness? There’s grace for that.

Screaming at God with weeping and gnashing of teeth? There’s grace for that.

Need some proof to believe He’s real? There’s grace for that.

Give up on all things Christian? There’s grace for that.

Yesterday was marked by tears for so many reasons. I spent the day wrestling with God yet again. The realization that it’s been a year since I sang so many of the songs I loved settled on my shoulders like an unbearable weight. I said screamed some pretty nasty things to God.

At the point of despair and exhaustion, I crawled into bed early last night and let Selah sing in my ears for a couple of hours. As I listened, so many memories flooded me, tears spilling over yet again. I thought about the precious music minister who treated me as his own daughter and gave me much encouragement and confidence and many opportunities to sing. I thought about how when my world feels upside down, I grab for the comfort of worship songs I used to sing. I thought about how I still love the Church even though we all make a mess of it.

That’s when this realization came to me:

There’s no true holiness without scandalous grace. So I pray, God, give me as much grace as you will.

My faith is still hanging by a worn, thin thread, and I often fear it might snap at any moment. I keep thinking I can’t stand another second of this aching world. I keep begging God, Do something!

I can relate so well to Thomas these days. I need to see and touch.

One year later, all I have to show for the heartache is a desperate hold on grace and a paradoxical prayer: Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.