I don’t know. I doubt my salvation very often.
The simplest, best remedy for this doubt is to love God.
I do see fruits of the Spirit in my life but for all I know they may be false fruits.
Oh? Like what, exactly?
I, much like
@Lifelong_sinner, haven’t really experienced the
emotion of love for God, or at least not much of it.
Love isn't, I believe, an emotion. At its core, love is
desire. The Psalmist draws this out:
Psalm 42:1-2
1 As the deer pants for the water brooks, So my soul pants for You, O God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; When shall I come and appear before God?
Psalm 63:1
1 O God, You are my God; I shall seek You earnestly; My soul thirsts for You, my flesh yearns for You, In a dry and weary land where there is no water.
Psalm 84:2
2 My soul longed and even yearned for the courts of the LORD; My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.
I used to practice and teach a martial art. I did so for nearly thirty years, until my spine starting falling apart. Anyway, over the years I trained, I broke teeth, dislocated fingers and toes, tore various tendons, endured bloody noses and bruises galore. The training was exhausting, painful at times, and pretty expensive. But, for many years, I invested more time, energy and money in my training than in anything else in my life.
One day, my sister remarked to me, "You're very disciplined. You've been training day after day, year after year for decades! How are you so disciplined?" I laughed and explained to her that discipline had nothing, really, to do with why I trained. Oh, there was the odd day I was feeling tired, or sick, or was missing out on an important family event to train where I required a certain amount of determination in order to do so. But always fueling that determination was the real reason I trained so hard for so long: I loved the martial art.
Do I mean when I say I loved the art that I cried tears of joy every time I thought about it? No. In fact, there hasn't been a single time thinking, or talking about, or doing the martial art where I was moved to tears or high emotion (except when I got injured). But I still loved the art. You could tell that I did, not by the depth of my emotion about it, but
by the level of investment and commitment to the martial art that I had. It wasn't weepiness that revealed my love of the art, but continuing in it despite the constantly-mounting cost of doing so, year after year. And I invested as I did because I
desired greatly to train in the martial art.
I had such desire long before I actually began to train. Many, many moons ago, as an eight-year-old, I watched David Carradine in the t.v. series "Kung Fu" and thought to myself, "I want to do that! I want to be a martial artist!" The desire never left me. I bought books about the martial arts and in my teens I built a rudimentary training area to practice kicking and punching and the kata I saw in the books I'd purchased. When I was old enough (in my early twenties), I took up martial training (though, not in a Chinese martial art). It was glorious! I couldn't get enough of training! It was so satisfying, so gratifying, a joy to do. It was also difficult, very confusing at first, and humiliating, but training was always fundamentally enjoyable, always thoroughly
fulfilling my desire to be a martial artist.
I look at my experience as a martial artist and see, among other things, an important lesson in love. Like you, I used to equate love with an emotion. Later on in my life as a Christian, I equated it with obedience to God. But as I've come to see, these are both the
by-products of love, they are prompted by love, but
they aren't love itself. Love is, at bottom,
strong desire. This was the case with my love for the martial arts. My love wasn't first and foremost an emotion, it was a strong, abiding desire; my love of martial training wasn't ever evidenced by joyful tears and intense feelings but by an unwavering investment in training. It wasn't, after all, emotions, however powerful, that would (or could) satisfy my desire for martial arts skills. No, I had to actually train, to do the things necessary to obtaining the skills of a martial artist, in order to fulfill my desire.
In English we talk of love in such an imprecise, multi-faceted, terminologically-overlapping way that it can get quite difficult to pin down what one means by "love." When I say I love chocolate, I don't mean I love it in the way I love my wife; when I say I love a sunset, I don't mean I love it like I do my siblings or parents. Sex and lust are often talked about in terms of love; addiction is sometimes described in terms of love, as well. But what the Bible means by love of God is, I believe, what the Psalmist wrote of above: a deep longing, a yearning, a thirst, for God.
Love for God, then, is a desire to know Him, to fellowship with Him, to be relationally-connected to Him. As this desire is pursued and satisfied by coming into relationship with God through Jesus Christ, it will produce emotions of joy, and gratefulness, and contentment; it will prompt happy obedience to God; it may even provoke a few tears of deep affection now and then. But before all of this, there must be the desire for God which drives us into relationship with Him and is the ground out of which all the emotions and behaviour so closely associated with loving God arise.
So, after this long-winded preamble, let me ask you: Do you want God? Do you want to know Him and to walk every day in intimate communion with Him? Do you have a thirst for God? Not, do you feel some strong emotion for Him, but, rather, do you want Him, do you have a heart's yearning to be connected to Him? So long as you do, I believe you can say that you love God.
We are made by God to be powerfully moved and shaped by our desires. Our desires are perhaps the most fundamental ordering factor of our lives. We do what we want, what we desire to do. And so, God deals with us on this level, directing us to desire Him. Why should we, though? If you were asked why someone should desire God, what would you say?