The quiet settles around me tonight. Just the hum of the fridge, really. It’s funny how faith works, or doesn’t, some days. You wake up, and it’s a bedrock. Unshakeable. Then, a thought, a worry, creeps in. And suddenly, the ground feels a little less solid. Honestly, I’ve had more of those shaky days lately. Not a full collapse, never that. More like a gentle tremor. It makes me wonder. Is it supposed to feel this way? This push and pull? I always pictured faith as this steady, constant thing. But maybe it’s more like a muscle. It stretches, it tires, it needs rest. And then, slowly, it builds back stronger. Or at least, that’s the hope I cling to. That resilience. That even in the doubt, there's growth happening. A quiet kind of deepening. And for that, I am grateful. Even for the questions.