Embracing the Mystery

My mother sees her father, long passed, in cardinals perched outside her kitchen window. My father likes sharing his conversations with God with me. They question my faith because I don’t speak often about God, having long stopped attending church. I am dating their ideological opposite: a liberal atheist. My friend, also a devout atheist, half-jokes I will become one, too. After all, my relationship with God is nebulous, best captured in recollections of sunsets and moments of personal redemption, like persevering through a bad day.

My relationship with God, however, must be nebulous because of the mystery of the unknown. I do not seek evidence like a scientist or quote scripture like a fundamentalist because my sense of God is a force I’ve felt yes, in nature, in the raw, slow, healing of a broken heart, in the fire of new love, in the restoration of peace after a period of darkness… even in the darkness itself. Though I’ve read books authored by mystics, priests, and Buddhists, I cannot well articulate my sense of something greater than myself, something alive in the world and yet outside it. Like love, I just know it exists.

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