As it turns out, God had not forsaken His Son, and neither did He forsake me. In the morning after I'd read 1 Kings, I got the green light from my doctors to start taking the anti-anxiety medications, which got me back on my feet. 

While this medication kicked in, I became more outgoing. I got outside more, my mood was much lighter, and I began to feel normal again; a much healthier, happier version of my former self. And, my faith in God had been fully restored. After years of atheism and hardship, my stubborn knees had bowed at the feet of Christ.

I finally accepted His free gift of salvation. I was finally back home. 

But, a small part of me worried that I was just riding on joy. And, as soon as things got hard, I'd renounce my faith. I even expressed these worries in my prayers, hoping for an answer. Although, I didn't want to have to go through anything terrible again to get my answer. But, God had different plans. 

Covid-19 hadn't been added to my vocabulary until late February; a few weeks after I started my anti-anxiety medication. And, it didn't become a serious thing to me until a weekend in early March. 

I was at Clarke's when the rumors of a nationwide lockdown began to circulate. Being all the way out in Elizabeth, Colorado, I thought I was safe from the panic-buying. Man, was I wrong! People from as far as northwest Denver flooded into the rural community to stock up on supplies. Everything from toilet paper to canned goods was wiped clean off the shelves at pretty much every store in the nation. Thankfully, Cystic Fibrosis made me a bit of a doomsday prepper long before it was cool. I already had all the N95s, toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and cleaning supplies I could ask for. Knowing how sought after those commodities were, I ended up storing most of what I had in a hidden storage compartment in my Xterra, worrying people might get desperate enough to break into my truck for the roll of toilet paper I kept in the backseat for CF-related digestive emergencies. The rest I stored in my basement storage room when I got home from Clarke's. 

My anxiety began to rise again, especially as the virus started to ravage the United States, and various Cystic Fibrosis sites began to email me near-daily warnings about the dangers covid posed to people like me, and how we could avoid getting it. Yet, my faith in God did not waver. I did not let my anger or bitterness turn me hostile towards God. If anything, I only got closer to God, even though an unfortunate majority of the Christians I knew weren't following the science, and instead were actively rebelling against the scientists' pleas to wear masks and physically distance from loved ones. All for incredibly selfish reasons. 

I had lots and lots of questions again. But, instead of questioning the love and power of God, I began to question why so many so-called "Christians" were so selfish. Why were they refusing to do what they could to protect themselves and others? Why were they claiming they were inspired by their faith in God to rebel against covid restrictions? Did they even believe in the same God that I did? 

So began a brand new chapter in my faith (and life). Instead of wrestling with the perfection of a Creator of a fallen world, I began to wrestle with the selfishness and stupidity of those who claimed to be Christians, and especially of those I once thought were some of the brightest, most selfless people in my life. I also prayed daily and nightly for those I knew and loved, regardless if they were doing what they could to stay safe during a pandemic. In fact, I prayed more for the covid deniers than I prayed for those I knew were taking the pandemic seriously, because the anti-maskers needed the most prayers.