The road from atheism, to hope, to peace

I grew up Catholic, but felt little in the way of a relationship with God. I prayed to Him frequently, especially when I was feeling uncertain, afraid, anxious, or sad. I wanted to believe He heard me, and He cared about my feelings, but I seldom felt Him. I went on faith, and faith alone, but felt His presence seldom to never.

As I grew older, I fell away even from the practice of trying to talk to God, and from disuse, my sense of faith fell into atheism bordering on nihilism.

In 2000, I worked as a cook with two other people at a large brokerage firm. We cooked for and served the senior executives in the company. Being such a small group of 3, we were very close, and became very good friends.

One morning, my co-worker Lon, who was prone to bringing up highly philosophical topics, asked me if I ever thought about what it would be like to die.

He was only 42. I was surprised by the question. I asked what made him think of it? He said he'd had it on his mind a lot lately, had been thinking about his own death.

Lon was a non-practicing Jew; he'd not followed his faith much after leaving his childhood home.

The day in question was Yom Kippur, observed by Jews from sundown onward. This holiday calls Jews to repent for their sins, and to make amends. In the Jewish faith, one does not "confess his sins," as Christians do. One can only make something right through direct reparations--going to the individual whom you have wounded and attempting to repair it directly with them. This is what one does to observe Yom Kippur.

Lon said that for the first time since he was a child, he intended to go home and do formal observance of Yom Kippur. He left work energized and filled with purpose.

The following morning, I arrived at work at 7am. No sooner had I entered the kitchen when the phone rang. It was Lolly, Lon's wife.

Her voice was calm and even. She said her piece quickly. The evening before, Lon was reading to their younger son, as he put him to bed. He was in the middle of a passage when he lifted his hand to his chest, gasped, said "Oh my God," and then, promptly, he died.

We hung up the phone and my head was ringing. I struggled to digest what I had just heard. My mind reached back and recalled Lon's words of the day before. His talking of death; his resolution to observe Yom Kippur, and to make amends.

My mind refused to take in the truth: Lon is dead. I couldn't understand it. He was only 42. I felt my head spinning. No tears came; it was too early to cry. I didn't yet believe it had really happened.

Just then, Tony entered the kitchen. I loved Tony. He was the company's mailman, and he wandered from floor to floor, delivering mail to executives. He was in his mid-60s, and had a direct, quiet manner. He was kind to everyone.

Tony had been visiting his home in the Phillipines for well over a month, and we had all sorely missed him in his absence. That morning was his first day back at work.

Tony greeted me, apparently failing to notice my shocked appearance, then asked me, "What was Lon doing here so early this morning?"

I recoiled. What had Tony just said? I asked him to repeat himself. He did. I asked him to explain himself.

"I saw Lon here very early this morning--I had just gotten out onto the floor to begin my rounds. I saw him from way down the hall--but he wasn't wearing your usual uniform. He had on the formal whites you only wear on special occasions. He wore the white slacks, white jacket, and had a white cloth draped across his arm. He waved at me from across the hall, then came into this kitchen. What was he doing here so early? Did he leave already?"

I just stared at Tony, my mind reeling, trying to fit what he was telling me, into what I had just learned from speaking to Lolly.

"Was Lon here early for the Japanese businessmen?" Tony asked, trying to make sense of what he had seen. We occasionally hosted Japanese visitors, accommodating their jet lag by serving meals at odd hours.

Then I looked at Tony and drew up my strength. I told him Lon was dead.

Tony recoiled in horror, shaking his head. He denied this immediately, saying "It's not possible, I just saw Lon this morning. He waved at me. He looked healthy."

I can't begin to describe how these events impacted me. On the one hand, I had just suffered the loss of a very dear friend.

On the other, another friend of mine is telling me he has seen our friend, though after the time of his death. How can this be possible?

A stirring began within me, one which began to awaken a long-quiet voice, deep within.

Over the next one-year period, I "felt" Lon with me throughout each day. I began seeing signs, in the form of my own birthday.

Walking down the busy city streets, I saw those numbers -- on license plates, on taxi cabs, on announcements. Standing in line at the bank, I overheard people recite those numbers as they gave their account information . . . doing the billing, I saw those numbers on requisition slips. Everywhere I looked and everything I did, I saw the same numbers everywhere all the time -- the numbers of my birthday.

Lon had celebrated his 42nd birthday just before his death, and I had brought in a cake I baked for him. He was so very deeply moved, and said even his own wife never remembered his birthday. He had promised to bring in a cake when it was my birthday.

He died before that day came. So when I started seeing my birthday everywhere, I thought it was Lon's way of saying "Happy Birthday," since he was now unable.

But the "birthday message" continued well past my own birthday . . . on through the whole year.

Finally it was September 11, 2001 -- almost one full year since Lon's death.

I had turned on the television, randomly, just after the first plane had struck the World Trade Center, Tower I. I watched in horror and stupefaction, experiencing a similar mind-numbing disbelief as I had experienced after Lolly's phone call.

As I watched, as the morning rolled on, as the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th planes all struck down, I noticed a peculiar thing: each of the planes' Flight Numbers, in order, spelled out my birthdate. Number for number. The whole thing.

I was stunned.

I spent the next weeks trying to make sense of this. Ideas whirled in my head.

Does one have access to the future? I wondered. At the time of death, is all available to be seen and known? Past, present and future? Had Lon gained access to the knowledge that Sept. 11th would occur--had he attempted to "show me" that he had access to this knowledge, by "sending me signs" of my birthday prior to the date, so that once I saw the Flight Numbers matched my birthday, I would know Lon survived death?

Lon and I had spoken for hours on philosophical topics, particularly religious ones. Lon had not believed in God, had not practiced any religious beliefs, and had not believed in life after death. Also, he knew that I did not hold any such beliefs, either.

Did Lon want me to know that life after death was possible, that he in fact continued to exist after the time of his death?

Furthermore, as Lon and I frequently got into heated debates over world politics, I could assume he would have found the events of Sept. 11th fertile grounds for discussion. We would have thoroughly exhausted every avenue of explanation for those events; we would have spoken of them endlessly, were he still around to do so.

Was this his way of sharing those events with me, of "engaging in that discussion," since his death made him unable?

10 years have passed since Lon died, and I look back upon that time with tremendous gratitude. Lon was able to bring me to a new state of faith, peace, and love -- though the road I walked in the 10 subsequent years was not an easy one. But slowly, in my own way, I began to grow in spirit.

Today, I "feel" and "know" God. I don't just believe in Him. I think this is an important difference.

When I was being raised Catholic, attending mass twice per week, and attending Catholic school from kindergarten through eighth grade, I was left to go on faith. The mass was long, monotonous, and boring. The priests and nuns never seemed to me to be particularly moved by the Holy Spirit.

Now that I have grown, moved away from the Church, and lived through these experiences -- I have come to know God. I have developed an independent relationship with Him.

I felt God in the moments following Lon's death . . .in the year that followed . . . in the morning of Sept. 11th, tragic though those events may have been . . .I felt God as I began turning my eyes toward Him, looking up at Him in wonder, in love, in gratitude . . I felt God as I began to ask the question, "Did you allow Lon to contact me?"

I may never know how what I describe here was "possible" . . I may never know the true meaning of these events . . .

But Lon did successfully, and I believe permanently, end my atheism, in dying. He reached out to me from the Great Beyond . . and he allowed me to know that though I may miss him in his human form . . . exist, does he still.

Finding God around me as I go about my day, I am so grateful for the path I have traveled in my life. I have moved to an area of my native state that i never dreamed existed--an area filled with great cliffs and mini-mountains, with great untouched forests and landmasses unmarred by man . . I travel to these areas and I explore them, and I find God in every rock, in every leaf. I am filled with wonder as I think about these untouched areas of the earth, and how the Native Americans who once lived there walked on the same narrow paths I now travel.

I never did find God in dogma, in theology. I have only and ever found God in the moment, in nature, in kind words, in smiles, in a puppy wagging his tail, in my dear friend.

Thank you to each person who shares himself here on this site.

May each of you find and know God in your daily life . . and experience a true knowing that leads you ever-deeper into that glorious relationship.

Peace!