Wednesday, March 28, 2012


Yesterday marked the 40th anniversary of my “born-again” conversion to Christ, an event that truly did “save” my life in many ways. It took place in what was then my living room, but the house, itself, one that my father had originally built and that particular spot indeed the very place where I’d caught him alone one afternoon and questioned him as to whether he thought such a thing as “God” even existed. His answer left me puzzled. His death a few months later only made me angry at whomsoever or whatsoever deity that had taken him from me. Twelve years down the road, I came full circle, nothing making sense, my inability to explain myself, let alone a deity, leading me to a mental abyss and I jumped. Christ caught me…. I sat in my car for an hour last night, out in the parking lot waiting on my granddaughter to accomplish volleyball practice and reading a bit of Thomas Merton. In a chapter on “unbelief”, the author separated individuals into three classes of people without faith, two of which were professing members of the Church. As a Trappist monk, he spoke unto Catholicism; but it wasn’t all that hard for this Pentecostal veteran to identify with his words. My conversation Monday evening with that young father of three who grew up within our congregation, in fact, was centered on that very theme. After one’s confession comes the journey. One day each of us must step into eternity for himself and the difference will be whether we have created Him or He has created us. Determining that, however, is a personal matter. As for me, that same point of contact encountered four decades ago remains open unto me, providing assurance and alignment as I go. In Him I trust. All else is subject to suspicion……

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