As I sit, gazing up at the stars, I see nothing but the lights far above—no law and order, no truth nor beauty, nothing that looked at me back.

I live my life of death as if I was the most alive I will ever be.  My life is death, and I suffer through it. I look inside myself and brought my uncomfortable question into focus. Was my lack of faith the reason?

As I sit, gazing up at the stars once more, I see the stars above, and I catch a glimpse, of something looking back at me.

Slowly, quietly, something shifts inside me too, I hear more. The more I hear, the more I am forced to review my assumptions. About the world I thought so ugly. About the god that I thought I hated.  My life of death was killing me.

As I sit, gazing up at the stars, I see the stars for what they are, I see the beauty they had been made with. And I see the world for what it is. I see a man calling my name.  A father calling his son.

If not God, then what? What would be calling to me now? The joy I feel, the faith I have, it’s like a weight has been lifted.  I lived my life of death and died.  But that death was what brought me life.