I have been a Christian for 25 years and prayed many prayers (I’ll skip over the disclaimer about how I’m a “real Christian” and not the kind from your propaganda-poisoned mind. If that's you, the stereotypes you believe and the judgments you impose have already caused you to stop reading this). I believe God communicates with everyone, through different means, on a regular basis. My thoughts are often directly involved it the process of communicating with God, as is common with many people who are led by the Holy Spirit, but this was different. Never has God spoken directly to me in my own tongue. It was not an audible voice and really was no different from the sound of my own thoughts, except that the words did not originate from me- I am not crazy; I know the difference. Although, up until that night, I didn’t know that I would know the difference between my thoughts and God speaking words directly to me, because it had never happened before. If there is any question in your mind whether God has spoken to you in this way or not, he hasn’t, because it is undeniable.
I was angry one night before bed. The day had not gone well. Things were not adding up. Life itself seemed trivial, and all I wanted to do was complain and go to sleep. I have been aware of God’s existence since I was a young boy. I do not have specific times I pray or meditate, except at church. I typically talk to him on a regular basis throughout the day- he can seem quite annoying by the way. My stream of multidirectional thoughts ran deep in the recesses of my mind. The exact path I followed is untraceable. Like an overtired two-year-old, I angrily rattled off many different questions in my mind as I turned off the kitchen light and made my way into my bedroom.
“Why would you even bother to create our realm, our universe, our planet, and us? If you have always existed and are all-knowing, why would you suddenly decide to create mankind? Were you bored? Why create life?” I had just shoved my head onto my pillow and covered myself with blankets when my mind abruptly quieted and God spoke three words to me: Because it’s beautiful. I was deeply humbled (beyond anything I can explain) and began to cry softly, not only because of the answer, but also because I was even given an answer. Let’s be clear: God does not have to explain anything to me. But for some reason he did, which only adds more to the list of things I don’t understand. I don’t think I am special or more deserving. On the contrary, I do not feel worthy of this experience. This may not seem like a big deal to some people, especially to people who don’t believe, but I’ve never cared too much about what other people think.
It’s the same deal as everything else: take it or leave it.
