The story of my conversion appeared in our local paper this past weekend. It was adapted from a previous post. Merry Christmas!
At Christmastime we celebrate the incarnation, when God became human in the person of Jesus. I cannot think of the incarnation without remembering the day I met Jesus.
My freshman year at CWU, I became troubled by questions: “Why do I exist?” “What is real?” One night, I stayed up philosophizing with a friend. My distress was reaching critical mass. I spent that night and the next day awake, wrestling with my lack of answers. I didn’t eat. Around dinnertime, I decided to eat, though I wasn’t hungry. About half way to the dining hall I sat down on the steps of a small amphitheater and started to cry.
Moments later, a little girl approached, walking a bike. A thought went through my head: God could speak through her. “That’s pretty unlikely,” I argued back. But I stayed open. She said, “I’ll talk to you if you want me to.” I shrugged, “Sure.” “I’ve seen you here before,” she continued. “About eight days a week.” That was curious since I’d never seen her. I kept listening.
In searching for truth, I became attracted to Buddhism. I was raised Catholic and dismissed it as a family superstition. But as the little girl talked, everything pointed to Christianity being true.