The image flashed for only a second. I had closed my eyes to prepare for prayer and the image jumped out from the black.
A thumbnail Jesus.
A small, square picture of Jesus. My eyes were closed but the image was as clear as if I was staring at a picture on my phone. I opened my eyes and said, “Woah.” I closed my eyes and tried to duplicate the image, any image just as clear, but I couldn’t. I still can’t.
When it comes to this sort of thing one has a tendency to analyze. The week previous I had prayed. Lingering doubts that He could hear me. How could He? The logical part of your brain says the whole scenario is absurd. I’ve always struggled with the idea that God can hear prayers. Listen to our thoughts. None of it makes any sense. Forget about the all knowing, all powerful being behind the curtain that made us and the universe. That I can get behind. But the all knowing, all powerful being listening to my thoughts? Waiting patiently like Alexa for His name to be spoken to answer your prayers. Ludicrous.
“God. Set a timer for seven minutes.”
This is where things get tricky. The universe is complicated and I understand about 1% of it. Dark matter, fundamental forces, black holes, time dilation. Insert adults talking in a Peanuts cartoon. Just because I don’t understand something doesn’t mean it isn’t real though. I failed grade ten math three times, but Applied Mathematics and Diophantine Equations are apparently a thing. The human brain can’t fathom how large the universe is. Even the smartest minds on the planet don’t have the capacity to grasp how complex and massive the universe really is, and how incredibly small we are in comparison.
So the picture appeared and the first thing that came to mind was it was an answer to my question. Can you hear me? When it comes to these sorts of things there’s never a definitive response. Always something to keep you guessing, testing your faith. Was it Jesus, or my mind? I have never seen an imagine that clear while my eyes were closed. At the time I wasn’t trying to picture Him. It just happened.
“Yes, I can hear you.”
I recall another time, back in my younger days when I worked at a car dealership washing cars. You have a lot of time to think when you wash cars all day. While I cleaned and waxed I pondered the question: How can we know the bible is accurate? About an hour later I got called to drive a customer home and on the way we got to talking. Turns out she was in school taking a bible study course that teaches how the events in the bible are real.
“Yes, I can hear you.”
As long as I can remember I have believed in God. When I was a kid I would say, “Well, if He is real, I don’t want to mess with Him.” I consider myself a Christian, just not a very good one. What has two thumbs and sins a whole bunch? This guy. I don’t feel comfortable talking about my faith and a little embarrassed, I’m ashamed to say. Throughout the years I’ve bounced back and forth between heathen and Christian. I haven’t been to church in quite some time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe. It’s a hard one to swallow, there’s no doubt about it. If I wasn’t pushed into it by my parents I often wonder if I would still believe.
As a child I went through the whole catholic rigamarole. Sunday morning Mass. Catechism. Confirmation. Confession. Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Concerts. Bake Sales. My mother cleaned the church every Friday and sometimes I would go with her and run around the Church and hide between the pews. I can still smell that fresh new Church smell. They all smell the same. Must be the bibles and wood.
As I got older I let go of the Catholic faith. I couldn’t see God there. Occasionally I attended different churches when I was being a good boy. For a short time I went to a Baptist church. They had live music. It was more about the message. Less stage directions. A stronger sense of community, but I always felt like an outsider, that maybe I shouldn’t be there because I often tipped the scales a little too far in the wrong direction. They had no idea I was a first class sinner. Also, I don’t like crowds and opening up to people. I’d rather be home writing in the basement in my poop corner where the cat goes to the bathroom.
I’ve had other strange things happen in my life but always something that could go either way. Years back I had been praying to my Grandmother that had passed hoping she could hear me. A week later I was having a incredibly vivid dream. Nothing I had ever experienced. I woke to a crash, and when I opened my eyes a woman’s face smiled and then dissolved and disappeared. I screamed. I was a thirty year old man and I was screaming. I got up and found the ironing board had fallen over. The analyzing began. The woman didn’t look familiar. I was having a vivid dream. When I woke up suddenly did I bring her out with me? Was it my Grandmother? Was it God? I never had a dream so vivid since.
When I was a wee lad my family used to cook French fries in a pot of grease. You would heat up the grease, toss in some fries and then move away before the sizzle tore your face off. On this particular day I forgot about the grease left on the stove heating. I came out and the pot was screaming fire. Panicked, I picked up the pot and headed for the door. Before I opened the door something made me go back. I set the pot down on the stove and decided the best course of action would be to throw a bunch of water on the fire. Water puts out fire, right?
Kabooooom!
The pot exploded and I dove behind the fridge. When I peaked out from around the corner the fire had gone out, the curtains across the kitchen were burned and the ceiling and cupboards were as black as night. When my sister came home she found me up on a chair crying, trying to clean the mess before my parents got home. My hand was badly burned and I still carry the scar as a reminder. My parents didn’t care about the damage as long as I was ok. Someone noticed that the attic door was slid open. No one had touched it, so how did it open? Why did the fire go out? What stopped me from going outside with the burning pot? This is where faith comes in. Did God help me or was it just a string of coincidences?
In my early twenties I briefly lived in Whistler BC. I decided it wasn’t my scene so I moved back home. My last days in Whistler I was staying in a hostel and praying I would make it home ok. It was close to Christmas so I said if I got home I’d go to Midnight Mass with my father. The trip went great and I stuck to my end of the bargain. I remember it being packed and we had to sit in a side room and listen to the sermon. Years later I would find out that night my Father saw his deceased parents standing side by side at Church. He never said anything at the time and it was my Mother who eventually told me. I have never known my father to be a liar, especially with something like this.
One thing’s for sure, parts of life are complicated and cannot be explained. I eventually passed grade 10 math. I put my pride aside and took a course that was on my level. I still have nightmares I’m in high school and need one math credit to graduate. Pride is a real bastard. It will mess with your head. I wouldn’t accept I wasn’t able to understand something. I didn’t want to look foolish taking a course at a lower level so I continued to fail until I finally gave in.
No doubt about it, I’m a big sinner, but I think most of us are, even the ones pretending not to be. I still believe in something I don’t fully understand. I often talk to my imaginary friend hoping He’s real. I can’t imagine going through life without having Him there to listen to all my petty bullshit. Sometimes He answers, or maybe not, but it’s still comforting believing He has. Even if He isn’t real it’s made my life better believing. Jesus talks of love and kindness and putting others before yourself. I have to admit the whole loving your enemies is a hard one to swallow, harder than the Riemann Hypothesis. It’s a math problem. Look it up. These days the only math I understand is Thunderdome math. Two men enter, one man leaves. I don’t know what the Riemann Hypothesis is, but there’s a $1 million dollar reward for a correct solution. Give it a try, because you never know what you might find in something you don’t understand.
Hail you!