Searching for God . . . and Finding Him
On the same night, two stories of a search for God. Two different endings. . .
I spent a long time tonight talking with a man who was at Justice Sunday as part of a documentary he is working on chronicling his “search for God.” He kept returning to the theme of “tolerance” — or actually the “intolerance” of insisting that the only way to salvation is through Jesus Christ. We had a lengthy, somewhat tortured, fairly theological discussion, straying pretty far afield from judicial politics.
I surprised myself by tearing up a little right at the end when he looked at me directly and said, “Well, how do you know that God exists?” And I started trying to formulate an answer that could adequately convey my own experience of how truly, and personally, real God makes Himself when you do trust Him. . . but the problem is that you really can’t fully express it. The answer only makes sense this side of the Leap of Faith.
I know God exists because He makes Himself real to me. And that is profoundly humbling. I believe God speaks to each individual person in a way that makes sense particularly and uniquely to them.
My interviewer finally walked away, probably as much of a skeptic as he was when we began, convinced that he can define truth for himself. Without bowing to the Truth.
But tonight, Beth Woodfin told me of another skeptic who did have the courage to make the Leap. . . and found the answer she longed for. I wrote just on Saturday about fellow blogger (and Cotillion babe) Denita Two Dragon’s beautiful post about praying with her son and her own quest for God. But later that very day, Denita put up another eloquent post about coming to faith:
And so it was that a few minutes to midnight on the night of August 7th, I converted to Christianity. I did so in a disheveled studio while IMing a good friend, with my hair unwashed and wearing a tattered muu-muu. And somehow, I got the strong feeling that the God to whom I have officially sworn my allegiance wouldn’t have cared if I came to Him freshly showered and in a fancy dress, or reeking of sewage and wearing little more than scraps. And that’s just what I like about my new-found faith. I don’t feel like I have to put on airs in order to prove myself a faithful follower.
So true, Denita. Thanks for sharing the great news.