God I believe that you exist. That you are out there filling galaxies of space and right beside me even now, watching as I type. I also know that I cannot prove that you are. I know that I will never be able to conclusively and irretrievably demonstrate with facts, logic or objective scientific equations that you live and are a rewarder of “them that diligently seek you”.
I am certain that you made creation, that despite the despicable cruelty and devastation that permeates the earth, your love for humanity persists and endures, thousands (or millions – whichever the scientists prefer) of years strong. I am reassured that your Son, who is also you, the God that never dies, died all the same, after coming in flail human flesh to save me.
Although I will not stop looking for the truth, or a theory that explains everything about you yet deep inside I feel that it is not in this life yet perhaps in the one to come that I will make laudable progress in comprehending the infiniteness of your divine personality.
God I only have dots. By combining my experiences, some reasoning, and uncanny prophecies littered through the Bible, I have multiple tiny pointers that link back to you – the one that writes the Future. But there are also vast gaps and a universe of questions that I cannot begin to answer, else I could totally dissect, elaborate on and present you for everyone to see.
I am also not unaware that it is mainly when I confront the scariest and most horrendous or frightening situations that my faith in you grows deepest and my confidence, unassailable. I suspect that skeptical atheists or scornful psychologists will have something to say on this. They might say that you are a figment of my imagination, a coping mechanism, or only a concept I rely on when I am broken; a form of self-hypnosis that I conduct on myself. They will suggest that years of attending church have brainwashed me and infused my subconscious with the delusion of you.
Are you merely a part of my mind, God? They think you are. But you have never failed me. And after I call on you, the specific highly improbable sequences of events that I need if I am to survive tend to spontaneously happen. In other words, miracles happen when I pray. Can my mind do that too? Is it madder to think that my own brain by itself can make miracles purely through self-deception or that a benevolent Entity separately exists, listens and intervenes?
My prayers are not always answered, to the letter but I typically find that I have more strength than before I asked you for help, and eventually things entirely out of my control change inexplicably to give me the chance for escape that I need.
I’m here again God. I need another intervention and I am absolutely terrified of what will happen if you don’t answer me.
But you will help me, won’t you? I have nowhere else to go to, no one else to ask, no other chance for rescue.
God, will you let me mocked by everyone that says I am foolish to trust or believe in you?
I eagerly look forward to your response.