As a young person, I remember pondering the question, “Do I believe there is a God?” The unimpeachable truth that answered back was “Yes.” I knew intuitively, instinctively that there was more to life, to the world, to myself than just what I could see with my eyes.
Since that innocent age of 14, I’ve been on a spiritual journey. I’ve heeded the spiritual questing that feels hard-wired within me and pressed toward life, curiously examining the depths and expanses of it.
I’m a spiritual being. Having accepted that truth has intensified my experience of life. It has added color, texture, and dimension to what otherwise might be a flat, inarticulate montage of things and forces. Being a spiritual being has helped me become resilient and to hope, even during hard times, times when God's presence is obscured, that I can face what is and believe that eventually I will find God in it.
I haven’t chosen to be a spiritual being. I’ve simply become who I am at my core. How can I deny that “something” that I perceive with my spirit? How can I question the slender thread of Providence that has sewn life together with such obvious grace?
I am a spiritual being. And today, as I live in my physical body, I lean down to see the marvel of a skittering spider, attune to the wren chirping on a bush nearby, trace the droplets of rain caressing a hydrangea leaf, taste the minty residue of tooth paste in my mouth, and smell the humid breath of green, living things.
I am a spiritual being, living in a physical body and world, soaking in the light that is all around me, knowing that there is more—so much more than what I detect with my five senses. Admittedly, I grieve for those who deny being a spiritual being, who never recognize the scent of God that permeates everything and gives it substance.