{For a long time, I’ve had plans to write a weekly post on faith and what it looks like today. I even set up the category on my site here: Faith on Fridays. I hoped to begin at Advent last year, and then again earlier this year. For a variety of reasons, that didn’t happen. But this morning, I woke up and knew today was the day. 

I am an author, and my site is about that. But I am also a woman of great faith, and not allowing myself to express that in some form is not being true to myself. I don’t force my beliefs on anyone else, and I don’t ask that my readers agree with me. You don’t have to read this weekly post. But I have to write it. I hope you’ll stick with me through it, and perhaps comment and start a dialogue, no matter your background and your own beliefs.}

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Last night, I was just about to go to sleep, skimming through social media for one last check before bed. I saw the first posts about a shooting in Dallas. This time, it wasn’t police shooting an unarmed black man; it was police who were being shot during a protest. I stayed up, watching CNN until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I went to sleep, they were saying ten had been shot and two were dead. When I woke up this Friday morning, the numbers had changed; twelve shot, five dead.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

Earlier in the week, I had been sickened and frustrated and angry about the two black men who were shot by police officers–one in Baton Rouge, one in Minnesota. I was horrified. This is America. On Monday we celebrated the anniversary of our freedom, of our proclamation that ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. All men. All women. Black, white, and every other color in between or beyond. Regardless of sexual identity, gender affiliation, religion, lack of religion and cultural background. All men are created equal. We have defended that peculiar notion for over two hundred years, we have bled for it and our soldiers have died for it. Yet we do not live it out. Not by a long shot.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

My faith is rooted deep, from seeds planted in my childhood, carefully cultivated by so many men and women and books who helped shape what I believe and in Whom I believe. I follow Jesus, who tells us that He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. I try my best to make my everyday choices reflect that belief. I know that He is still in charge. I know that He is the ultimate victor. I know who wins this war.

But it’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

Several thousand years ago, on a Friday in Jerusalem, a man of peace, a man of love, Son of God, son of man, of His own free will, gave up His life for me and for you (whether you believe it or accept it or not) in a shameful, horrific death on the cross. He’d been the hope of a generation, beloved of His many followers, and within hours, he was dead, laid in a borrowed tomb.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

If that were the end of the story, then what I believe would be futile. If that were the end of the story, then we could look around our nation and our world and have no reason for hope. If that were the end of the story, we should just give up.

But it’s not the end, because on Sunday, that tomb broke open and Jesus rose again, defeating death.

In the face of pain and horror and devastating loss, communities pull together. We support each other. We love despite differences. We embrace strangers. We march for peace. We hold our legislators accountable for making and enforcing laws that will make our nation safer and stronger, a country where ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL and are treated equitably and with dignity.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays. But we hold on. We believe for a better day and a better way. We walk in His way, offering compassion and grace and love.

This isn’t the end. Love bats last, and there is not a single doubt in my mind about Who wins.

Keep the faith, even on Fridays.