Authentic Faith

I was raised in a Christian home, my mother and father came to a place of faith as young adults, but the aloneness in the room that night paralleled the solitary place I was at in my quest to find out what I believed. The burden of proof for my own faith rest in me. Sure, I had been taught Bible stories growing up and went to church with my family. Most people thought I was a good person, but there was unrest, uneasiness and an uncertainty welling up in my anxious soul that night.

The circumstances had brought me to a place where I had to answer these questions for myself and the luxury of a long life to search them out was far from a guarantee at this point. The urgency of the moment forced me to a decision.

I thought that if the next morning I died during surgery and in all ended in black nothingness than life is truly a cruel joke and the cards just happened by chance to be stacked against me. This depressing thought of hopelessness saddened and angered me. I began reason within my own mind. If it angered me, why I am angry? Because there was this deep, internal compass within me that told me there was meaning and purpose and that life is a gift. For it to end early was wrong, unnatural and tragic. But if life is a gift then a gift from who? My own questions had revealed to me that I did in fact believe in God. I could not be angry with or have questions for someone who did not exist.