Stumbling Toward God?

One of my professors is constantly saying that we need to look at what the equation/problem/circuit/etc. is “telling us.” He says this two or three times per class. I struggle to stay awake in that class.

However, to apply the same principle, I find myself asking, “What is this astonishing coincidence ‘telling us’?” How does this happen? How does this happen more than once? I don’t need this right now.

Perhaps though, the only message to be had is that this sort of thing happens all the time, and it is pointless to look for meaning in wild coincidences.

That was quite a ride… can we do it again?

I have heard it said that you can not logically reason anyone into believing in God. I am further convinced that you can not logically reason anyone out of believing in God. You simply can not logically prove that God does or does not exist. Lots of people seem to think otherwise, and a great many have tried. God simply defies rational explanation, because God transcends “reality” as we understand it. Ultimately, I think it comes down to whether or not someone is willing to accept that there could be something outside of rational explanations- and that, I believe, is not a debate that takes place in the head.

I am the most ignorant of men;
I do not have a man’s understanding.
I have not learned wisdom, nor have I knowledge of the Holy One.
Who has gone up to Heaven and come down?
Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands?
Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is his name, and the name of his son?
Tell me if you know!
–Prov 30:2-4

There is a song that I often hear on Christian radio with the line, “Out of all the voices calling out to me, I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth.” I hate that song. First of all, the style of it does nothing for me, but hey, you can’t win them all. The real issue is that every time I hear it, I just can’t help thinking, “For God’s sake man! We’d all listen to the truth if we bloody knew which voice it was!”

I began composing this post in my head one night over a month ago, as I lay in bed. I had come to a point where I simply no longer felt like I had any particularly compelling reason to pretend that I was a mature Christian. I have constantly imagined my friends and family watching me, wondering how long I was going to keep up this “Christian” thing. “He’s a smart guy… surely he’ll come to his senses?” I had to show them, with my web page, with my life, I had to prove something… and there can be trouble when I set out to prove something.

I think I have a reasonably decent understanding of Christianity, for the time I’ve spent on it. I can tell you the gist of what the Bible says, more or less. I can tell you what Christians believe. Do I believe it? Eh, who knows?

Like I said, I was tired of pretending. Who am I kidding, to think anyone actually comes to this page looking for truth anyway? So, I was ready to throw in the towel. I keep hearing that you have to be broken before God can use you. I always felt it took a far bolder person than I to pray for that. But I was tired of this crap. If I needed to be broken, so be it. Let’s get this over with.

I was awoken early the next morning by a phone call, and the day after, I was on a plane to Geneva. I really don’t know what I believe anymore, but there is not an atheist in the world who can convince me that there ain’t something going on here that isn’t explained in any physics book.

It was dark when I awoke. Gradually, I began to step through a series of realizations:
1) The phone was ringing.
2) At this hour, it could only be my father.
3) I already knew what he had to say.
4) I had better answer it.

With that, I slid from the couch and reluctantly started my way across the room. I was only half way when the answering machine kicked in, but my sister was already there. We would come to get him, she said. Of course we would. The others should be told… surely they must have heard the phone? We crept down the hall together and stood in front of the door for a moment. I knocked, she spoke. The words were few, I don’t remember.

After putting on my jacket, I stepped onto the balcony and gazed out over the sleeping city. I chanced to look down and imagined, for an instant, the horrible sensation it must be to fall those nine floors to the terrace below. Then my grandmother was there, barefoot in her nightgown. That concerned me, for it was barely above freezing outside. It seemed like I had to almost push her back indoors. Anyway, it was time to go.

We drove to the hospital, my sister and I, where my dad had been camped for the last week. The three of us packed up the clothes, the food, the books and papers, the flowers and cards…

There was something else in that room, something that looked very much like my mother. But I knew that it was not my mother, for she had already gone.

Do you ever catch yourself just waiting for things to get back to normal? Only when you stop to think about it, you can’t quite pin down exactly which point in your life was “normal”, and even if you could, there’s no reversing the series of events since then.

Sometimes I wonder about time. Why does it only go in the one direction? Why must we walk through life backwards, only seeing where we’ve already been? Yet even so, I am constantly asking, “How did I get here?” or “Didn’t I used to…”

It must have been three months. No. It’s been nine. That’s something, I guess. Today I finished with my first College Year at Cal Poly. I must say, it was not all that I ever expected it would be.

There’s a lot of unfinished ideas that I have wanted to write about for awhile, but the longer I wait, the harder it gets. Time keeps going, bringing many changes in its wake. Especially now, even if I said the very words I wanted to say before, they would be coming from a completely different place. The ideas I was hoping to get down now seem to range from foolishly insignificant to wildly inappropriate.

Hence the silence.

She was at the Hopitaux Universitaires de Geneve. So all the hospital stuff said HUG. She must have liked that.

Kathryn Z. Weed
Dec. 5 1945 – May 22, 2005

Aujourd’hui, Maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas.
-Albert Camus

why try at all when everything’s out of reach
at times i feel just like a stranger on the beach
they’re looking for shelter from the pain
i’m so sheltered, i can’t see the rain
– Less is More, “Wasting”

The call came around 1:00 am. From my father, he was there.

The rest of us had fallen into routine. Get up. Shower. Eat breakfast. Go to the hospital. Wait. I found it surprisingly easy not to think about exactly what we were waiting for. But occasionally I would remember. When this is all over, my grandmother, my sister, my father, myself, we all go home to empty houses – some of us for the first time.

I needed a number off my old phone today. Of course, since I haven’t used it in half a year, the battery is rather dead. But I plugged it in, and I’m hoping it will turn on eventually. Right now the screen just reads, “Will power on automatically.”

I sure wish I had a setting for Willpower on.