It’s been a while since I’ve written anything….so this can be long….well…anyway…..I guess I was just busy trying this unique new stuff called living, or perhaps I was simply running out of things worth saying. But somewhere between the noise of living and the silence of being alone, I met someone.

Well, met wouldn’t be the right word.

He’s been there all along.

I just took my time getting to know Him.

And strangely enough, the more I got to know Him, the less I felt the need to understand everything.

You see, I’ve always found the idea of God fascinating. A being beyond time, beyond space, and matter, beyond human comprehension. The Creator of galaxies, the architect of existence, the reason there is something rather than nothing.

Philosophers have spent centuries trying to prove His existence….theologians have spent lifetimes attempting to explain His nature…men have fought wars over His name, built monuments in His honor, and written books about what He wants from us.

And here I am, with perhaps the most embarrassingly simple thing to say about Him.

He’s my Dad!

Also, that’s not merely because religion taught me to address Him as Father, but because that’s who He has become to me.

I sometimes imagine Him standing beside my bed as I sleep. Not as a mighty king inspecting His creation, nor as a judge reviewing the day’s mistakes.

Just a Father….watching His child sleep.

Perhaps he smiles at how terribly I’ve handled certain things that day, he knows the worries I’ve carried into my dreams. Perhaps He remembers the moments I thought I was alone, when He was standing right beside me.

And then, in the quiet of the night, I imagine Him leaning over, kissing my forehead, and whispering,

“I’m here….Go to sleep.”

And somehow, that’s enough.

Because the older I grow, the more I realize that the greatest comfort isn’t knowing that nothing bad will ever happen to me. It’s knowing that whatever happens, I will never have to face it alone.

I have lived enough of my life to know that I haven’t walked a single mile alone.

Looking back at everything I’ve been through, the good, the terrible, the things I prayed for, and the things I desperately prayed would never happen, I see Him.

Not necessarily in the way things turned out, but in the fact that I was never abandoned while they were happening.

He walked beside me….sometimes, I imagine, He held my hand. And on days when I had neither the strength nor the wisdom to understand where I was going, I believe He held me.

It’s strange how knowing someone can change the way you see everything else. The world hasn’t suddenly become kinder. Life hasn’t become easier. I haven’t discovered some secret formula to escape suffering.

But I see things differently now. I look at tomorrow with a peculiar kind of confidence. Not because I know what it holds, but because I know Who holds it.

And I believe He has plans for me. Plans so much greater than anything I’ve dared to dream for myself. Greater, perhaps, than anything anyone has ever expected of me.

As I sit here writing this, I don’t know what those plans are. I don’t know where He intends to take me, what He will ask of me, or how much of what I presently desire will eventually matter.

But I know my Father.

And I’ve begun to understand that trusting Him isn’t about being certain of the destination. It’s about being certain of the One walking beside you.

Now, before anyone mistakes this for the testimony of a particularly holy man, allow me to disappoint you.

I’m still flawed.

Still impatient…still foolish…..still capable of making the same mistakes I promised myself, and Him, that I wouldn’t make again.

I’m still a sinner.

And perhaps that’s what makes this relationship so extraordinary to me.

Because when I think about myself, I often think of the prodigal son. (Click to read the Story/Parable)

A boy who had a home but wandered away. Who had a father but chose the world. Who mistook freedom for distance, only to discover that not everything that promises freedom knows how to love you.

And when he finally returned, rehearsing his apology, carrying his shame, and hoping to be accepted as nothing more than a servant, his father ran towards him.

I’ve always found that part of the story rather fascinating.

THE FATHER RAN!!!!!!

He didn’t stand at the doorway demanding an explanation. He didn’t wait for the boy to finish listing his failures. He didn’t ask him to prove that he’d changed.

He RAN!

Perhaps that’s what love looks like when it has nothing left to prove.

And perhaps that’s why I love my God the way I do.

Because I have wandered….I have disappointed Him….I’ve made choices I knew weren’t right. I’ve sometimes treated His patience as though it were permission.

Yet I have never had to wonder whether I could come home.

My Father doesn’t call my sins virtues. He doesn’t pretend that my mistakes don’t matter. He loves me enough to call me away from the things that destroy me.

But He doesn’t stop calling me His son.

And that’s something I still struggle to comprehend.

The Creator of the universe, who owes me absolutely nothing, chooses to love me.

Not the polished version of me that the world gets to see.

Me….that little boy behind the smile….the man with the doubts, the contradictions, the pride, the fears, and the prayers he sometimes struggles to put into words….

He knows all of it.

And still, He calls me His child.

The greatest miracle in my life isn’t something spectacular that God has done for me.

Perhaps it’s that after everything He knows about me, He still wants me close to Him.

And I want to be close to Him, too.

Not merely because I need His blessings….not because I’m frightened of what life might look like without His protection.

But because I love Him.

Because He’s my Father.

And somewhere along this rather confusing journey of being human, I’ve discovered something extraordinary….

I AM His son.

I don’t believe in a God who exists merely to fulfil my wishes and most definitely don’t think He’s some celestial businessman with whom I negotiate good behavior in exchange for blessings.

He’s my Father.

And fathers don’t stop being fathers when their children disappoint them.

And also, He’s my friend.

The kind I can speak to without rehearsing my words…the kind who has heard my most ridiculous questions, my angry complaints, my desperate prayers, and sometimes, my complete silence.

I don’t always understand His decisions. There are days I question Him. Days I wonder why He remains silent when I desperately want an answer.

But I think friendship with God was never meant to be the absence of questions…perhaps it is the freedom to ask them without fearing that He will walk away.

And He’s my protector.

Not because I believe I’m immune to suffering, but because I’ve begun to understand that protection doesn’t always mean preventing the storm.

Sometimes, it means holding your hand while you walk through it.

There is something wonderfully absurd about all this, isn’t there?

A tiny human being, living on a small planet in an unimaginably vast universe, believing that the Creator of it all knows him personally.

Not just his name.

But his fears, his dreams, his terrible decisions, his little victories. The thoughts he never says aloud and loves him anyway.

Some will call that foolishness and others will call it faith.

I call Him Father.

And for once, the philosopher in me has no interest in winning an argument.

Because I’m not writing this to prove that God exists.

I’m writing this because He already exists in my life.

And if you ever wonder what kind of relationship I have with my Creator, don’t imagine me constantly kneeling before a distant throne, trembling at the thought of approaching Him.

Sometimes I do kneel….

Sometimes I cry….

Sometimes I laugh while talking to Him….(that explains my humor sense, If you will…hehehe)

And sometimes, I simply fall asleep…(hence the name…..Sleepy….)

Knowing my Father is there.

Watching over me.

Perhaps smiling….

Perhaps kissing my forehead.

And whispering the same thing He has been telling me all along.

“I’m here, son.”

And I believe Him.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him, he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.“ – Luke 15:20

– Sleepy Socrates