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I used to believe God controlled everything.

Not just the big things. Everything.

Every. Little. Detail.

Nothing happened by chance. Nothing caught God by surprise. Every event, good or bad, was part of his eternal decree. Even when life seemed chaotic, I believed there was an order behind it. God was working out his purpose in miniscule detail.

That b

The psalms have been my refuge for years when I couldn’t understand life. I’ve memorized quite a few of them and they’re an important part of my prayer life. I love the psalms because they are raw and unfiltered. The psalmists leave everything on the table: pain, anger, frustration, confusion, awe, worship, joy, hope. It’s all there. So, no matter

“I viscerally understood Christian spaces were not safe places to ask pesky questions or voice nagging doubts.”1

When I read those words in Zach Lambert’s book, Better Ways to Read the Bible, it was as if he had put into print the thing I never dared say out loud. I lived that experience for years.

I was in ministry, and I was one of the silent

Monday, July 27th will mark five and a half years since I suffered a heart attack that led to cardiac arrest. It nearly killed me. That day will be my five-and-a-half year reminder of the brevity of life.

Five and a half years ago I nearly left this life.

I got no warnings, had no symptoms. Zilch.

I just went to bed one night and woke up in the

Several years ago through some friends’ gracious gift, Laurel and I got to take a dream trip to Hawaii (Kaua’i). Most of the time, we just chilled; but we did do a little sightseeing. One of our favorite side trips was to the Kiluea Lighthouse.

There were quite a few interesting things to see there, but one little boy found something so captivating

This is part of a series. You can read the previous posts in chronological order at my website: James Pence – A Deconstruction Observed

Deconstruction isn’t just a difficult road.

It’s a journey I didn’t choose to a place I didn’t want to go.

It’s like walking through a dark forest but with landmines

You have to watch where, when, and how you step.

That

This is the first of several reflections on why I believe.

It was going to be a post on why I still believe after coming to the edge of atheism. However, the more I explored the topic the more I realized I needed to go all the way back—to why I believed in the first place.

Why do I believe?

It’s complicated.

I began thinking about this question after

I’m going to be doing a lot of recording in my home studio in the coming months, mostly because I’m trying to break in as a voiceover artist. So, I decided that as part of my practice routine I’d record some of the psalms that I’ve found especially meaningful in my deconstruction journey.

Eventually, these will be for paid subscribers, but since

Why I Call Deconstruction a Dark Forest

Navigating the dark forest of deconstruction is like walking in a dense fog through territory you thought you knew but that now seems totally unfamiliar.

A while back I was offered a role in a local production of Fiddler on the Roof. It was January and rehearsals were three or four evenings a week so I did a

I didn’t wake up one day and say, “I think I’ll reexamine everything I’ve believed since I was a child and toss out things I don’t agree with anymore.”

For me, deconstruction was something like the story of the little Dutch boy who saved his village by putting his finger in the hole of a leaky dike. As the story goes he stayed there all night,

Need to Catch Up? No problem. Here are links to the previous posts in Michelle’s Story:
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Our daughter, Michelle, was dying.

That much we knew.

What we didn’t know was how soon it would happen, how long we would have her.

It wouldn’t be long. A matter of days, more likely of hours.

The uncertainty was killing

What caused me to examine and dismantle my fortress of certainty and deconstruct my faith? You might call it a sea change in my thinking. If you’re not familiar with the term, a sea change is usually defined as a marked change or transformation. How did it happen? I’m not entirely sure, but here’s my best guess.

Even though I’m a writer, I’ve never

I have described deconstruction as a journey through a dark forest. There are other metaphors, but that is still the best description I can think of.

For me, the dark forest of deconstruction is comparable to Tolkien’s forest of Mirkwood (from The Hobbit). Mirkwood was a dark and dangerous place, where the trees were so tall you couldn’t see the

The posts in this series recount my journey through the dark forest of faith deconstruction and reconstruction, a process that’s covered the last fifteen or so years of my life. It is not my intent to disparage anyone’s beliefs; I am merely describing how the following beliefs worked in my life.

I didn’t choose to go through a faith deconstruction,

What is deconstruction? I can describe what it feels like better than I can explain what it is.

Deconstruction feels like walking alone through a pitch-black forest.

It’s the unsettling feeling you get when the ground you’re walking on becomes unstable, ready to collapse under you.

It’s a deep-seated, gnawing fear that there’s nothing out there.

It’s b

Need to Catch Up? No problem. Here are links to the previous posts in Michelle’s Story:
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Michelle was home. Our NICU was set up. Laurel, her parents, and I were providing round-the-clock care for our baby.

It almost felt normal.

But I knew it wasn’t.

I was grateful that we were able to bring our baby home from the

Need to Catch Up? No problem. Here are links to the previous posts in Michelle’s Story:
| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

We went to the hospital on June 1st, expecting to bring a baby into the world who would live only a few hours after she was delivered—assuming she made it out of the delivery room at all.

Now, just a little more than two days later, we

Need to Catch Up? No problem. Here are links to the previous posts in Michelle’s Story:
| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Never underestimate the power of a simple act of kindness.

Laurel and I had gone into the hospital on Monday, June 1st, 1987 to deliver a child we knew wouldn’t survive. We’d been told that she was unlikely to even make it out of the delivery

Need to Catch Up? No problem. Here’s a link to the previous post:
| Part 1 |

“The death of a child is probably the most deeply tragic thing that can happen to a human being.” — Dostoevsky

We wanted Michelle’s life to have meaning. Ironically, that’s probably why we were able to bring her home.

The doctors originally told us that our daughter wouldn’t

For twenty weeks, we knew our baby was going to die.

I stood in the pulpit and smiled.

Inside, I was barely holding it together.

I’ve been trying to write about my reconstruction but for various reasons keep stalling out. I’ve tried framing it chronologically as a narrative (the Stranger on the road), but that hasn’t felt right. So, I decided to