🏛️Library of Alexandria🏛️

For the first 25 years of my life, I was an atheist—not out of defiance, but out of genuine misunderstanding. I heard the words: God, Heaven, Soul, Prayer—but they were just that—words. Nouns without meaning. Who is “God”? A man in the sky? A force? A metaphor? A word people used to explain what they didn’t understand?

To me, it was unclear. It wasn’t until later I would learn that the answer could be “all of the above”… or something far beyond that. That’s why people say “God is beyond our comprehension”—not because understanding is impossible, but because humans tend to reject what isn’t immediately visible or tangible.

I used to love watching The Atheist Experience on YouTube. Matt Dillahunty, in particular, fascinated me. His arguments were razor-sharp, his logic sound, and his frustration with vague, unfalsifiable claims about God felt justified. I saw myself in that skepticism. His signature question—“Why doesn’t God reveal Himself to me?”—felt like the ultimate mic drop.

But now that I’ve come to know God, the frustration I feel is not at those who doubt—but at how difficult it is to explain what must be walked to be understood. The path doesn’t start with belief; it starts with truth. Real truth. Gut-wrenching honesty with yourself. Not the surface-level moralizing or indoctrinated traditions—but truth that cracks your ego wide open.

You cannot receive what your heart is locked against. And many people—whether from trauma, pride, pain, or disappointment—lock their hearts tight. I know I did.

I realize now that God doesn’t “withhold” Himself from people like Matt. Rather, He invites—always invites—but never forces. Why would He send angels or perform fireworks for someone who isn’t asking from a place of humility, but of challenge? That’s not a relationship; that’s an ultimatum. God is not our enemy, but when we treat Him as such, we block the very thing we claim we want: connection.

Then there were people like James Randi—another skeptic I admired. But Randi never shouted, “There is no God!” He simply said, “I haven’t seen evidence yet.” And that’s fair. He was honest. In hindsight, I believe Randi embodied many of the values of God—truth-seeking, honesty, a love for beauty and wonder—without ever claiming a relationship with God. Like someone who lives out the wisdom of a father they’ve never met. That, too, is a form of faith—faith in truth, wherever it leads.

What finally changed me wasn’t a single moment, but a culmination. Pain cracked my worldview. I would cry out, “Why, God? Why?” not realizing that the question itself was part of the answer. Every trial, every doubt, every failed prayer was a lesson. God wasn’t ignoring me. He was guiding me—through people, moments, signs, and silences. Refining me, not punishing me.

Eventually, I did see something. Something that went beyond explanation. An apparition. Not a hallucination. Not a fantasy. A moment of real spiritual sight. I wasn’t “seeing things that weren’t there.” I was being shown something real, something tailored for me—a kind of holy breadcrumb meant to reward patience and fuel faith. It wasn’t proof for others. It was a private miracle.

And still—I wasn’t looking for ghosts. I wasn’t on a spiritual scavenger hunt. I was living, stumbling, hurting, wondering. That was enough. God met me where I was, because I let Him.

Now I understand: faith is not blindness. It is seeing through the fog. The fog of ego, pride, fear, and control. I was blind for 25 years—not because God hid from me, but because I thought I knew better. The irony is, all the while, He was revealing Himself—just not in the ways I expected.

So to those still searching, doubting, or dismissing: I see you. I was you. And when the time is right, when your heart dares to unlock, He will show you that you were never alone—not for a second.