A youthful conversion.

The inability to fall asleep has it’s benefits, though seeing as I’m supposed to be leaving for Seattle at 3am, its downfalls will be certainly felt.

However, I’m in a writing sort of mood, and it can’t be helped!

If any of you are actually reading this, know that I am a little surprised. This blog (what a stupid word) isn’t focused or organized or targeted AT ALL. It’s just me people. Anyways.

Lately I’ve been chatting it up with atheists and evolutionists on Google hangouts, and it’s been an interesting time. I won’t lie – I feel much more comfortable with them than I do with most Christians. And by comfort I don’t mean closeness as much as comfort. Maybe I’ll explain this in another post.

And now, to the meat of this article, my conversion.

I find it difficult to point to a precise moment in time. “Conversion” is a super-charged term as it is, and my 2nd grade encounter with God was another thing compared to my kindergarten one. All I remember in kindergarten was my dad telling me (emphatically) that I needed to ask Jesus to come into my heart, and I told him I was worried that Jesus would get too bloody in there.

Sigh… It’s hard not to be excessively proud of my childhood sensibilities. No, really.

If you’re still with me, grade of the second order is approaching.

We were a troublesome clan, weren’t we? All 50 of us, versus the more common range of 25-30 children per grade. It was a public school
In rural Kansas, and I was being taught that evolution was law. I was also going through a time of wondering whether or not this whole Christ thing was a giant scheme. And yes, at the time I did equate evolutionary theory to athiesm. (I still kind of do… Kind of)

At night, I allowed my 9-year-old brain to go into blackness of infinity. Letting it fall into the deeps. I had no instruction in karma or reincarnation. No thoughts of spirits. All I imagined was… Nothing. And it was terrifying.

I began pondering my parents – why were they believers? Why did the people at my church care and have fellowship under God? My nebulous thoughts on the matter translated their presence in my life as light. It was good, but it didn’t necessarily illuminate anything. It was pleasant to look at.

I talked to dad about these things once or twice during that time. We are very alike, and he had always told my sister and I about how he had once heard an audible voice from Heaven tell him to take off his jacket and give it to the two men who were about to rob him (he did, and the two men, befuddled, took the jacket and turned away). I thought dad could help, but he seemed to misunderstand my “doubts”. He thought I was saying I might be doubting my salvation aka whether or not God accepted me. I don’t think I had the heart to tell him I was doubting Gods existence.

There came a time in which I was upstairs, in my room, away from others. I was weighing the church versus the school, and I realized they both weighed the same. My scale, the scale of my younger self, found it equally probable that God was farce and that God was real. Then a thought occurred: Test God.

I knew the Bible was claimed to be His words, and if my Bible was truly a portal to Him, then why not test? If He didn’t speak, He wasn’t. It was all puff. If He did speak, He was. I decided to flip to a random page in my Bible, and read the first words I saw.

I simply turned to a passage that mentioned being saved from a miry pit, and that was it.

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