"Proof" of a Creator
Why I am not an atheist & why atheist confuse me
I grew up in the south, and was sent to Sunday School by my grandmother every Sunday when I was a kid. I was with my grandmother quite a bit because my Dad and Mom lived a nomadic life since he was a construction worker and had to follow the jobs, moving every year or so. I went to 14 schools in the 10 years I went until I was told at 15, "Mark, you aren't old enough to quit, but if you don't show up, we won't say anything." This was 1973, and I partied too much, even for that time. So I left home and went to work. It was hard work, because I had no education, but that matters only because of the lifestyle I was living. The Lifestyle matters for this narrative just to point out I was never a real "believer." If pressed, I would say something like, "Yeah, I believe in God, but I don't think he pays attention to us too much," or something like that. Belief was sort of expected, faith wasn't.
Anyway, I joined the Navy, dabbled in crime, got married, had kids, put myself through school in the Navy, got commissioned, left the Navy, got divorced, kept my kids and lost everything else. In trying to get another woman to love me, I was weak enough to get into crack cocaine because she was, and I thought I could go there with her and convince her to come back with me. I was an idiot. It wasn't her fault what I did, I was just an idiot.
I had to find someone else to take care of my sons after we had been 'just us' for 7 years or so, then I went to New Orleans so I could get away and try to get work on boats, running back to the ocean, because the ocean was always where I felt safe and strong. I convinced myself that land didn't agree with me, and if I got back to sea I would be okay. I did get back on sea going tugs, and would stay out for months at a time, while every other crewman would come back every few weeks to see their family and have a life. But when I was out I could convince myself I was okay, because you aren't buying dope in the middle of the ocean.
But then my sons came to stay in New Orleans, too, so they could be with me. By now they were 18 and 19. So I rented an apartment and we all moved in. I would come back after a couple of months, have checks stacked up from my time out, pay all the bills up, fill up the accounts that kept things going when I was gone, and in a week I would smoke up $5,000 or more. I always thought I was over it until I hit port and had that money. Then I would go back out for a couple of more months and start over.
My sons moved on after awhile, but I kept the apartment. It was good to have a place to go back to between trips and take a break. One night, I had about $600 of hard white on the table, a new stem, a few new lighters, and plenty of chore boy. I took a $20 blast, and after my ears quit ringing, I sat back and looked at my life and what it had become. Like I said before, I was never more than a casual believer that simply paid lip service to God so people would'nt judge me for a lack of belief, too. But I looked at my life, and I began to pray, "God if you are there, please end this. If the best I am going to do in this life, after putting myself through college, earning a mustang commission, raising my sons so they still love me, and everything else that has been in my life, is be a crack head alone, hiding in a city away from home, please let me die, now. I can't do this anymore."
In an instant, I knew God was in that room. He was as real as the chair I am sitting in now. What I felt wasn't fear, but it was an overwhelming hope and love. I wasn't high at all, anymore, and I stood up, threw $580 worth of hard white away, tossed my stem off the balcony into the woods, and trashed all the chore boy. Then I went to bed, and slept. You would have to know rock to know how crazy being able to sleep was after a blast not even an hour before. Over the next few weeks, I still would get the craves, but I would repeat the Pledge of Allegiance, the Lord's Prayer, or anything else I could remember over and over in my head until the craving would pass. I knew I could do it. I had hope.
Eventually I came back home, and now I work in a prison with drug addicts and convicted criminals. I still don't go to church, but I don't wonder at all about the existence of God, or if he cares. I tell my clients my story, sometimes, and when I do, I tell them I got two gifts that night in New Orleans. I was able to put my addiction behind me, and I was made aware that God was there, and that He does care about us as individuals, even if we don't go to church, or let slip a few dirty words every then and now. I go on to tell them that if I had to give back one of the gifts I received that night, I would be an addict with the knowledge of God and the feeling of security that gives me, because that was the greater of the two gifts.
What confuses me about some atheist is the animosity they feel towards a God that they claim isn't real. I don't believe in unicorns, fairies, magic crystals, or astrology, but I don't feel a need to insult, attack, and ridicule those that do. People are cool if you let them be. Why would you chose to create an enemy?
I can't read the mind of a man, so I certainly can't read the mind of God. He may be perfectly fine with waiting to see all the atheist after they pass, and just laugh, laugh, laugh, at the joke on them as lets them inside. It is not my place to say He won't. I do KNOW He is more loving than anyone on this earth can imagine, cares more than anyone here could begin too, and makes me feel good about the rest of my eternity without having to be someone other than who I am. So lighten up, folks. Let the argument resolve itself when the time comes. It doesn't mean we can't enjoy our life, now.
I felt compelled to write this because I read some comments in a forum on the subject, and the people were getting really nasty to each other. I have seen and lived a life that was really nasty, sometimes. If the things you read or that other people say can make you feel that way, stop reading it, or just accept it.