Thomas and Me

by Lori Wilson

As I listened to the Gospel one Sunday in April, I recognized myself. I am Thomas, at least some of the time.

I question things. How do you know? Show me. Where did you hear that? Asking for more information has never felt like a character flaw to me. It's simply how I'm wired. And I've come to believe that God made me this way on purpose.

So when I hear Jesus' response to Thomas, I don't hear rebuke so much as invitation. Come. See. Touch. Know.

I have had moments — holy, unmistakable moments — when I knew beyond any shadow of doubt that God was speaking to me.

One of those moments happened in the Alps.

I was traveling with a group of students on a music trip. We took a gondola up a mountain to take in the view and warm ourselves with hot chocolate. It was breathtaking up there — all that white silence and sky.

Then the guide asked the girls if they'd like to sled.

My immediate answer was no. We were high in the Alps. We had no supplies for that. This could go badly.

But the guide held up a handful of plastic bags and smiled. This will do the trick.

So I positioned myself at the bottom of the slope — between the girls and the edge — nervously waiting for the first one to come flying down.

And then I heard my name.

"Lori."

I turned around. There was no one there.

And then: "I love you more than this."

What I saw when I looked up was mountain after mountain, range after range, stretching further than I could comprehend. Immense. Beautiful. And I was undone.

The girls had a wonderful afternoon. I relaxed. And something settled in me that I've never fully lost.  The quiet certainty that I am seen, known, and loved by the One who made me exactly as I am.

Hearing God's voice isn't always that dramatic. More often, it's a practice — quiet, cumulative, deepened over time. We get better and better at it. We learn to look for God everywhere, to listen for God's voice in everything.

When I notice love, kindness, or patience moving through an ordinary moment, I recognize God's heart at work in the world. When I'm able to receive someone else's reaction with compassion and without judgment, when something in me softens instead of tightens, I know God is at work in me.

Doubt isn't the enemy of faith. We all doubt. What matters is what we do with it. For me, the key is to pursue the doubt rather than push it away, to bring it honestly into relationship with God and see what opens.

Thomas did exactly that. And Jesus met him there.

A Closing Prayer

God, you made me a questioner. And I'm learning to trust that. When I doubt, meet me there, the way you met Thomas. When I need to see, show me what you want me to know. And when you call my name in the unexpected places, quiet me enough to turn around and listen. You love me more than all of this. Help me live as though I believe that. Amen.

For Your Own Reflection

1. Where do you tend to meet Thomas in yourself, in your faith, your relationships, your inner life? What does your doubt usually sound like?

2. Have you had a moment when you knew, without question, that God was present with you? What was it like to be known in that way?

3. What might it mean for you to pursue a doubt rather than push it away? Is there a question you've been carrying that deserves some honest attention?