My story (part 1)
I found a notepad while packing today that contained an attempt to put to words a story that I’ve hardly even spoken of to anyone. The story cuts off abruptly in my notes; what is written so far, I’ve reproduced here. I’ll finish it soon.
When I was around fifteen, I “found God.” I don’t remember the date, can’t even pin down the year, but then, chronos time never meant much to me. “Chronos,” as described to me not long after the night in question by a retreat leader, is earthly time- the time associated with clocks, schedules, etc. “Kairos” (another Greek word) connotes “God’s time” in several senses, from “the appointed time” of Biblical events to the way an eternal being, outside the heady flow of chronos, views time. This kairos view of time, to me, brings to light a way that the ubiquitous art of storytelling is in the Image of God- our tales, like His, turn on opportune times rather than the turning of the Earth.
As for finding God, it wasn’t as dramatic as it sounds. The casual observer, or my sister (who was probably asleep in the bunk above mine), would have noticed nothing much. If I had been crying, I might have stopped, and shortly thereafter, I fell asleep. But you, gentle reader, deserve a bit more understanding of it than our hypothetical observer. As I mentioned, I was in bed and probably crying. This was usual for me in the middle of the night. I had been agnosticating for something like a year and had concurrently been suffering what I can only call depression. (Hindsight not being as 20-20 as the saying suggests, I cannot diagnose my high-school self based on college coursework.) Another night of necessary but nonexistent sleep was being spent in tortuous twines of thought about the seemingly necessary but nonexistent God and wishes for death. Finally, my mind cried out “Are You there?” to the horribly silent One and my…