supernatural. They seek it. They don’t critically analyze what
others have said about God or waste precious time
thoughtfully considering what they believe about God. Their
gut reaction, their immediate response—if they are truly at the
end of their resources—is to call upon God’s name and ask
Him for help. They may shout at the top of their lungs, as if to
reach the sky: “God, help me. Help us. God... please. Please,
God, talk to me. Do something!”
Expectant people hear God speak—whether they are fully
devoted followers of His or strangers to His name.
I know. That is how my first encounter with God unfolded.
After a series of the most self-destructive events imaginable,
I—a young woman whose party life abruptly turned into
something much more dangerous—heard God speak.
At the time, I wasn’t in a position of favor or even friendship
with God. I didn’t acknowledge His existence. I certainly didn’t
love Him, worship Him, or follow Him. No, I was running from
God, even though I had heard much about Him during my
childhood. And if He was real, I had nothing but shame to offer
Him.
Then on my most despairing day, in a suicidal moment, I
racked my brain, riffling through any possible reasons for
living or just one idea that could keep me alive for one more
day. But the most consuming thought in my head was the
suggestion to end my life. I kept pushing it away as a last
resort, hoping to find some way—any other way—to escape
my self-inflicted pain. I became more and more afraid that I was
looking for an impossible solution.
I was desperate, to be sure—but not for religion.