Just yesterday, I was in answering employment questions for a church role—something I’ve done plenty of times. They asked me a question I’ve heard before:“What are your beliefs about how the church practices _________?” (Fill in the blank with what challenges you.)
Easy enough, right? Only… this time, I didn’t answer the way I used to.
Because I’ve changed. A lot. And maybe you have too.
I used to be so sure. So certain about how church should be. So convinced I had the “right” way to do faith. So determined to defend the boundaries and protect the truth.
But now? Now I live with more questions than answers. Now I care a whole lot less about being right, and a whole lot more about being real. Now, instead of gripping tight to control, I’m learning how to live open-handed.
If You’re Deconstructing… You’re Not Alone
Maybe you’re in a season where church feels more like a minefield than a sanctuary. Maybe you’re deconstructing—or wondering if that’s even the right word. Maybe faith feels like something you’re unraveling, not out of rebellion, but because you need it to be honest. You need it to be true. You need it to be yours.
I get that. I’ve been there. Some days, I am there.
When I answered that interview question, I didn’t give a doctrinal rundown. I said this:
“I think everything we do as churches should be about creating doorways for people to experience the love of God. Not hurdles to jump over.”
Because here’s what I’m realizing: Jesus didn’t come to make it harder to get to God. He came to tear the barriers down. He didn’t hand out rulebooks—He told stories. He didn’t shame doubters—He welcomed them to the table.
And yet so many of us grew up in churches that did the opposite. We were handed spiritual checklists, moral scorecards, and systems that made us feel like outsiders in the very place we were supposed to belong.
Open Hands, Open Hearts
Letting go of old beliefs is scary. It feels like free-falling. But sometimes, falling is the only way we learn how to trust.
I used to think God needed my certainty. That faith was measured by how well I could explain it, defend it, prove it. But now, I’m convinced faith isn’t about certainty—it’s about trust.
And trust doesn’t mean I’ve got it all figured out.It just means I believe God is still holding me—even when I’ve let go of everything else.
That’s what open-handed faith looks like. It’s not careless. It’s courageous.
It’s saying:I don’t need to have all the answers to be held by the One who does. I don’t need to know the map if I trust the Guide. I don’t need to rebuild everything right away—some things need time to sit in the rubble before they can be rebuilt with honesty.
What If We Built Doorways?
So let me ask you this: What if faith isn’t about getting back to where you were? What if it’s about discovering something deeper, something truer?
What if the questions you’re asking are sacred, not sinful? What if the tension you feel is where transformation begins?
I don’t believe Jesus is threatened by your doubts. I think He meets you in them. I don’t think God is waiting for you to “get it together.” I think He’s walking with you right now, even if all you’re doing is limping forward.
So maybe you don’t need to rebuild your faith with bricks of certainty. Maybe you rebuild with compassion. Maybe you rebuild with questions. Maybe you rebuild with the kind of love that makes people feel safe again.
Because if what we’re building isn’t making space for people to breathe, to wrestle, to hope again—then maybe it’s not what Jesus had in mind to begin with.
So here’s to fewer fences. Here’s to more welcome mats. Here’s to open doors, open hearts, and the sacred journey of becoming.
If you’re in the thick of doubt and deconstruction, you’re not broken.You’re brave.
And you’re not alone.
––💬 If this resonates, I’d love to hear your story. We don’t have to agree on everything to walk this road together. Doubt doesn’t disqualify you—sometimes it’s the doorway to a deeper kind of faith.