A Questioning Heart Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

I don't stand with those who doubt,
Nor shout that God is not about.
But perfect faith, a rigid line,
Is not the path I can call mine.

Too many riddles fill the air,
Unanswered questions everywhere.
What about the souls
who never heard,
The sacred, saving, gospel word?

If Jesus is the only way,
Where do they turn at close of day?
Did they then face eternal night,
Denied a chance for love and light?

If God's the maker, grand and vast,
From where did His own being cast?
Who shaped the source of all we see,
The primal, prime reality?

We humans struggle, logic weak,
Yet by this maker we are meek.
Created beings, meant to know,
Yet baffled by where He does go.

My mind, it questions, seeks to trace,
The patterns in this time and space.
To yield to powers I can't define,
Feels far beyond my thoughtful mind.

So I'll remain, as I've always been,
A skeptic, with 'some' faith within.
I look, I ponder, try to see,
With questioning, believing me.

And hold my ground, a seeker true,
Skeptical, yes, but believing through.
With open eyes and a questioning heart,
I play my own curious, thoughtful part.