One Good Phrase: Katie Noah Gibson (With all kinds of doubts)

I first bonded with Katie Noah Gibson over our similar lives, both West Texas girls who found ourselves on the East coast, navigating the giant cultural gap between the two. I think her words today were just for me. And I think they might be just for you too.


For a lifelong reader, I came late to the work of Madeleine L’Engle.

I didn’t have a taste for fantasy as a child, so I never read A Wrinkle in Time or any of its sequels. For years, I didn’t know that Madeleine had written other books, that in fact her oeuvre ranged from adult fiction to memoir to poetry. But when my friend Teresa sold off a few of her books at the end of one semester in college, I picked up an old paperback copy of Walking on Water, Madeleine’s book of reflections on faith and art. And for nearly two years after that, I could be found with one of her books – The Small Rain, A Circle of Quiet, the entire Time Quintet – in my hand.

I love all Madeleine’s work in different ways, but A Circle of Quiet gave me a phrase that continues to resonate, striking a deep gong in my soul.

She recounts:

A winter ago I had an after-school seminar for high-school students and in one of the early sessions Una, a brilliant fifteen-year-old, a born writer who came to Harlem from Panama five years ago, and only then discovered the conflict between races, asked me, “Mrs. Franklin, do you really and truly believe in God with no doubts at all?”

“Oh, Una, I really and truly believe in God with all kinds of doubts.”

But I base my life on this belief.

That quiet anecdote, slipped in between Madeleine’s musings on ontology (the why of being) and a digression on the punctuation of A Wrinkle in Time, has changed the way I view faith, and the way I view life.

I discovered Madeleine more than a year after my friend Cheryl was killed in a one-car accident, which happened three months after we had both spent a semester in Oxford with thirty-odd other students from our university. Our horizons of faith and experience had been stretched by our time abroad, and coming back to West Texas felt like a regression, a cruel narrowing. But we had reunited for the fall of our junior year, incandescent in our joy at being together again – until a late-night phone call sent us reeling, and caused some of us, including me, to wonder if this faith thing made any sense at all.

I kept going to church, though for long months all I could do there was sink into a seat and cry. I kept praying, journaling, asking God why, even though I knew I’d never get a satisfactory answer to that question. But an anger burned in my chest, fierce and hot and defensive, and when anyone tried to wrap faith into a neat package, present a three-point sermon or share clichés such as “Everything happens for a reason” and “God knows best,” I blew up.

I couldn’t – and I still cannot – abide the idea that this was intended by God, that there was anything right or good about Cheryl’s parents losing their daughter and all of us losing our friend. Seven months after Cheryl’s death, when another one-car accident left my six-year-old cousin dead and her mother seriously injured, I railed against God even more fiercely. In my quieter moments, I wondered bleakly if I would have to choose between accepting these deaths as a part of “God’s plan” (whatever that entailed) or walking away from belief altogether. Were those my only choices: unquestioning, slavish trust or cold, lonely atheism? I didn’t want to walk away from the faith of my childhood, but I didn’t see how it could stand up to these tragedies.

By the time I read A Circle of Quiet, my soul had quieted somewhat: a year’s distance had helped mitigate the pain. I had joined a new Bible class where questions and frustration were not only acceptable but encouraged, and become part of a Sunday night small group where uncertainties about God lived alongside deep love for him and for one another. I had begun listening to people I knew who admitted to having doubts about God, among them our minister, Mike, who liked to say that faith, in its messiness and beauty, is more of an art than a science.

Madeleine’s phrase captures perfectly for me the contradictions inherent in a life of faith. I really and truly – still – believe in God, long after the personal griefs and the larger disasters of that year and the years since then. I believe, as Madeleine says a few pages later, because that’s the only way I can live. The second part of the sentence is just as vital as the first: with all kinds of doubts. I still have, and I expect I will always have, so many questions.

But like Madeleine, and like so many others before me, I base my life on this belief. I am learning to accept the messy parts of faith, the doubts and questions that don’t fit neatly into any sermon or creed. I have come to believe, too, in a faith bigger and wilder than I once imagined, a landscape that encompasses many climates and elevations. There is room here for those who believe and those who doubt, and those of us who juggle both at the same time.

“I really and truly believe in God with all kinds of doubts,” Madeleine told Una. And from a distance of forty years and several hundred miles, I say: Me, too, Madeleine. Me, too.


Katie Noah Gibson is a writer, editor, knitter, and compulsive tea-drinker based in Boston. Born in Texas, she’s a lifelong Anglophile but loves to travel just about anywhere. She blogs at  and  regularly. Sure, little time was left for homework-writer.com/ university assignments, not saying that mostly I had no inclination to do them, especially tough java homework

  • Well said, Katie. I’ve come to think that a world where doubts were not possible and all questions were answered would actually be pretty dreadfully boring. 🙂

  • Kim Waggoner

    I love this phrase! Thank you for introducing me to it. I think it’ll stay with me for a long time.

  • Beautiful.

  • Felicity White

    Just right, Katie. Your phrase seems to be a nice antidote to some of the other phrases you mention that simply don’t hold up to a real-life application. I often tell myself that it wouldn’t be faith at all if there wasn’t some element of the unseen and mysterious in place to fight. If it all made sense we’d just call it common sense. 🙂 Faith is more complex and wonderful than that.

  • Serenity Bohon

    Beautiful, Katie. And so very helpful. I’ll think of this all those times when I realize I don’t know for *sure* about this faith, but I so want it to be true.

  • Jeannie

    Thank you for this: Madeleine L’Engle said many wise things but I think this is one of the wisest (and most honest and freeing!).

  • Beautiful reflections. Thank you for sharing them.

  • pastordt

    Perfection. Thank you for this reminder about that book – it sometimes gets lost in the shadow of “Walking on Water,” but it was one of my faves. Time to unearth it and read it again, I think.

  • Angela

    Katie, I am am a west texas girl as well. Enjoyed this post and plan to purchase A Circle of Quiet. I went to your blog and LOVE your book recommendation lists. Thank you!

  • Amen. In a recent interview I was asked “why Jesus” and I said I find myself like Peter, “Where else would I go?” Doubts? yes. But assurances too.

  • Well I left my comment twice already but it’s disappeared :). Doubts yes! But being met too, yes!

  • Kara Rodriguez

    Katie, this is beautiful. When Cheryl was killed, I too struggled through a time of great heaviness and doubt in my heart that were new to me. It was a profound, faith-shaping experience that I think our group dealt with both together and individually. One thing my social work studies have taught me is that there are times when it is necessary to be comfortable with the gray areas in our paradigm. Life is messy and complicated and wonderful and harsh, but I believe that God is love. I am inspired by your words and proud to call you a friend. I hope we get to see each other the next time you’re in Texas! 🙂

  • Don

    Thank you for this. Your own story just fills out that statement “I really, truly believe in God with all kinds of doubts. I base my life on this belief.” This past February I was so struggling within myself; the Bible says that if we do not forgive, the Father will not forgive us…and I just couldn’t do it, couldn’t forgive. Until, ultimately, I came to question my own relationship with God. He was still God, still good, still just, holy, righteous and loving, but I didn’t see any of that in me. Then, in the midst of my own doubts and fears, I came to see something in me; even then, I still believed that Jesus is THE Savior, the Son of God, there was just no other way for me to make sense of this world, especially with all the suffering and anguish there is in it. And it was only a little while longer before forgiveness began to get easier for me. I don’t know how long it is since that terrible year with that depth of anguish, but this story shows me that you are healing from it. I pray for continued healing and grace for you.