As I mentioned in the last blog, my husband and I are writing a book about the life and works of an extraordinary, complicated and devout man, my father. His name was Dr. John R. Schmidt, and he’s known in medical and missionary circles as the physician who changed how leprosy is treated on the planet today, as well as other achievements.

The story of my father’s life has sparked a number of questions that I believe are universal, having to do with faith, medicine, money, power, war and family, to name a few. I will explore some of these issues in my first series of blog posts in 2019.

This one’s about faith.

My father grew up in a small Mennonite farm community in south-central Kansas, and he spent most of his adult life as a medical missionary in Paraguay, South America. He was a fervent Christian. His faith in God was unshakable and unwavering.

Throughout his entire life, Dad professed an unreserved belief in the Bible, which he knew to be God’s Word. He had full and total confidence in God and in His power to guide and support him no matter what came his way in life.

In short, he was a man of deep faith.

I find it particularly interesting that for my dad, faith never had anything to do with hope. His faith was based on an unquestioning belief that, no matter how the facts added up, eventually God’s will always prevailed. It had nothing to do with hope for something better in the future. Rather, his faith entailed the belief that something manifesting God’s will already existed in the present moment and forever, no matter what.

As a former linguist, I’m interested in what the etymological roots of words can tell us. The word ‘faith’ stems from the Latin fidere, which means ‘to trust’ the truth or veracity of something or someone in the absence of logical proof.

Hope is different. The word ‘hope’ stems from the Old English hopian, which is the anticipation that in the face of uncertainty, things might turn out well in the future.

Hope is more of a logical understanding of time and space in the face of uncertainty.

My dad’s faith didn’t recognize uncertainty. For him, there was a plan devised by a higher power to make all things work out in the proper way. It was an absolute certainty.

Someone once told me that a person of faith has passed the tests of graduate school. And that hope is a mere stepping-stone in elementary school.

If that is so, then I came close to passing the tests when I was a child (see my Billy Graham blog). And I must admit that I rather envy that kind of certainty. But despite knowing that there is a higher (even divine) power in the universe, I’m still hanging out in elementary school.

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