: vomiting on the roller coaster of life

I often wonder if I'm the only one whose relationship with God looks like a roller coaster. Not one of those metal ones, either, but a wooden, rickety, up-and-down roller coaster. There are days I wake up and sense His Spirit even nearer than the molecules of dust stuck in the crevices of my nasal cavity. Other days I look to the sky and think He is further away than the stars I have to squint in order to see. Every bad day argues with the validity of every good day, and I'm stuck somewhere in between trying to keep my head from knocking on the sides of the safety harness.

There is a peace in knowing I won't fall out of my seat, and a joy in the adventure of it all, but I wish there was a predictable portion of the ride.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus said, "The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit" (John 3:8). There is an aspect of God's character that is spontaneous and wild and unpredictable. While he is unchanging, he is ever-moving and constantly active. This is the kind of Kingdom we walk into when we are born of the Spirit. 

Still, I look at other people's lives and it seems like they are only headed up: always happy, always having fun, always full of faith. Meanwhile, I'm over here holding on for dear life: hair flying over my face, screaming like a baby, vision skewed, and vomit creeping through my esophagus. 

It's probably a way the Enemy tries to make me feel isolated, by making me believe I'm the only one with ups and downs and questions and struggles. I'm trying to be more open about doubts I have when I have them, though, because I'm sure other people have felt the same way. Right?

Have you ever felt like this?
Only me?
Everyone else is a faith giant?
Thought so.