Introduction

This will be my opening statement in a discussion primarily written for my family and close friends, with whom, to this point, I have not shared much in the way of my spiritual beliefs. This discussion is also open to anyone else who wishes to contribute or share an interest.

In over seventy years of life, I would not need my thumbs to count the number of meaningful, detailed conversations I’ve had with anyone about God or the meaning of life in general. This excludes my wife, who, after thirty years of marriage, can recite chapter and verse of the Gospel According to Dave on a variety of subjects.

It’s not that I haven’t associated with spiritual people; I simply became a master at changing the subject and quietly exiting any conversation that might lead to the disclosure that I knew nothing worth repeating—or worse, that what I did believe might be an outright insult or in direct conflict with the beliefs of others.

I found my belief system in much the same way Jed Clampett discovered oil. I was as much a theologian or biblical scholar as Jed was an accredited geologist.

Faith found me, but not all at once, and not in a way that immediately made sense. It began as instinctive curiosity, followed by a life-changing revelation, only to nearly vanish again when I realized I could not fully explain or reconcile what I had experienced. There were missing pieces—holes in my reasoning and conclusions I could not square.

Without clarity in my own mind, I couldn’t risk influencing the faith of those I care for. Whether that was the right decision or not, for many years the result was the same: mum’s the word.

Eventually, I was able to piece together enough intellectually sound principles to form the foundation of what I now call my belief system. Even then, I remained reluctant to discuss it. I have long believed that I do not have the right to create doubt in other people’s faith. A recent event caused me to reconsider that position, and I will share it later in this discussion.

Much of what I believe aligns with many established faiths. Some of it does not. I intend to reveal both—not to persuade, but to provide my validation for what I have come to believe.

Before moving into specifics, I will first describe the journey and influences that shaped these conclusions. That journey itself was not incidental; it was an essential part of the discovery process and of the faith that emerged from it.

The Journey

Growing up, I didn’t realize we were poor. I heard stories later about having oatmeal for supper quite often, but I have no memory of it. I do remember my mom choosing the neck and back of the chicken at dinner, though at the time it never occurred to me why.

Religion or the meaning of life seldom came up, and when it did, it was rarely in any philosophical context. If asked, my parents would confirm they were Baptist. Occasionally, my dad would jokingly refer to himself as a backsliding Baptist, usually after a few drinks.

To be clear, I was blessed with a loving family who instilled a firm sense of right and wrong. I was in no manner abused or neglected. We may not have worn the fanciest clothes or ridden the shiniest bicycles, but I have no memory of going without.

We were taught respectful “Yes Ma’am” and “No Sir,” and we always asked to be excused from the dinner table. We would have never—never—taken our supper on a lap tray in front of the television. That was a tradition I later regrettably destroyed as an adult and parent.

I have no memory of attending church with my parents. I do recall my brother and me being dropped off at a church a few times and picked up after services. This was a genuine attempt by my parents to expose us to experiences they themselves hadn’t had much exposure to. I understood my role clearly: keep quiet, behave, and pay attention.

Speaking only for myself, I had no idea what these people were saying or doing. I tried to blend in—bowing when others bowed, standing when others stood, pretending to sing from the hymn book when they sang. I’m sure we begged our way out of future visits.

One early memory stands out. I remember watching families drive up to the neighborhood church in fancy cars, nicely dressed, smiling, shaking hands as they made their way inside. They would file out later, still smiling, slapping backs, no doubt heading home or to a restaurant for dinner. The impression left on me was one of envy.

I married, served a stint in the Marine Corps, and raised three children without any further brush with God or the meaning of life—at least not directly. My passion was business. I studied business leaders and politicians and noticed that many attended church. There seemed to be a pattern: successful people often had a strong connection to faith. I began to suspect there was something real happening there.

At the same time, I was struck with a quiet fear—that I might have missed my chance to learn as a child and would never be able to catch up.

I picked up a Bible and began reading. Very quickly, my fears were confirmed. It felt like reading a foreign language; nothing made sense. I didn’t know what to do about that then, but the question never fully left me.

Meeting God

One afternoon in my mid-twenties, I was home alone watching television. A preacher stood before me delivering a message that felt directed straight at me. I don’t remember who the evangelist was or the exact words he used, but the message was unmistakable: God loves me unconditionally and sent His only son to die so that I could live.

He said I didn’t need a church or a pastor. I only needed a quiet, private place to ask for God’s forgiveness and accept Him as Lord and Savior.

I don’t recall the words I said, if any. I confessed. Forgiveness was given. The spiritual cleansing was complete and absolute. It was over in an instant.

I found myself curled up, crying like a baby. No language has words for the peace I felt in that moment. Clearly saved, baptized, and born again. Forty-five years later, it remains just as moving.

I remember thinking, if it is this simple, why isn’t there some sort of quick-start guide to what must be the most important gift known to humanity? Suddenly, I also noticed what must be billions of dollars in resources, in real estate alone, invested in spreading this good news. I couldn’t help but think, with these resources, each gift could come with a full belly.

This was the first of many revelations for me, and my first true encounter with what I believed at the time to be God. That experience has replayed itself in my mind ever since. Not all at once, but over time, much of my belief system began there.

Journey Recap

The story of my journey is neither uncommon nor remarkable. Variations of it play out every day and often go unmentioned.

The following is very important.

My journey belongs in this discussion only to highlight the need to clear our biases.

What we are taught—or what we come to believe early—creates filters that can blind us to future enlightenment. I came to religion with only one bias: the observation that many successful people seemed connected to faith. Beyond a desire to see what I might be missing, I had little exposure and few opinions.

In hindsight, that lack of bias helped me more than anything else.

It was time to begin my search.

Knowledge Search

After my first encounter with God, I found myself long on faith and short on knowledge.

I immediately dug in, spending every spare minute studying the Bible and anything else I could find. At first, it seemed to be going well. But slowly and steadily, the opposite happened. The more I read and listened to sermons, the more uncertain I became. Before long, I was back to reading what felt like a foreign language, and my faith was going, going—gone.

And yet, despite the turmoil in my understanding of God and the meaning of life, all the unanswered questions in the world could not dull the sense of peace I had experienced that one afternoon. That peace never left me, even when my understanding of it did.

Although I abandoned the all-out pursuit of answers, an occasional thought or small nugget of insight would reignite my curiosity. I would add it to the collection of ideas I had already gathered and begin arranging and rearranging them, hoping they would eventually settle into something coherent.

Decades passed.

I experienced successes and made serious mistakes while raising children, earning money, and living squarely in the here and now. The ebb and flow between joy and pain leaves its mark on all of us. If we are fortunate, we gain the wisdom to learn from both.

During those years, I discovered certain pieces that clearly mattered. I knew they belonged, yet the final piece that would bind them into a symmetrical whole remained elusive.

These were not puzzle pieces that, once assembled, would reveal a single, magnificent image. Instead, they were the foundational tenets of a belief system—principles against which the most complex questions of life could be tested.

A grand idea? Almost certainly. Naïve? Quite possibly. Likely both.

Another important realization during this time was how I personally process information. Learning something new has always been a hands-on process for me. I have to relate new information directly to something I already know.

To understand addition, I would place two oranges on the table and then add two more to grasp that two plus two equals four. By taking away two oranges, I learned subtraction. Explaining how I eventually mastered multiplication and division would be outside the scope of this discussion. It is enough to say that I had to learn most things for myself.

“Don’t touch that!” should have been sufficient warning to prevent many painful lessons, but I had to touch it anyway.

Important Note

The conflict between knowledge and faith became my second major revelation.

I feel compelled to go into some detail here, not to dwell on confusion, but to explain the obstacles I faced. In hindsight, had this process been easier, I might never have discovered some of the ways of thinking that later proved valuable—not only in matters of faith, but in life more broadly.

Knowledge, Faith, and the BS Filter

During my search, I found conflict everywhere—conflict between knowledge and faith, and even more conflict between knowledge and knowledge itself.

I will begin with the simpler of the two.

I discovered a direct conflict between knowledge and faith. They do not play well together. They cannot seem to occupy the same space.

• With absolute knowledge, no faith is required.
• Faith appears to exist only in the absence of knowledge.

This realization unsettled me. Faith had brought me peace, yet the pursuit of knowledge seemed to erode it. I was forced to confront the uncomfortable possibility that certainty and belief might be, in some ways, opposing forces.

The conflict between knowledge and knowledge proved even more troubling. In matters of faith, there is no shortage of information to support any biases you may have.  Convincing arguments for opposing viewpoints can sometimes be found on the same page, often written with equal confidence.

That led me to question the definition of knowledge itself. What do we truly know?

When I separated what I thought I knew from what I could honestly say I knew, there wasn’t much left in the latter category. I’m reminded of the generations of people who once knew, with absolute certainty, that the Earth was flat.

The answers I was searching for began to come from unexpected sources, and not always from the most trusted ones. As an amateur in all things spiritual, I had made assumptions based on the only voices available to me at the time— that certain things or sources should never be questioned.

It escaped my notice that scholars and historians have debated this topic for centuries.

The direct words attributed to Jesus were not written down until decades after they were spoken. The printing presses of that era were human scribes, hand-copying each manuscript. Over centuries, language translations, editorial decisions, and disputes over authorship accumulated. Church leaders debated for generations before settling on the twenty-seven books included in the New Testament—a decision not finalized until nearly four hundred years after Jesus’s death. Then, it was decreed that all other documents, teachings, or even their mentions, should be burned at the stake and never considered. (!!!)

The symbol above, “(!!!),” indicates a pause, allowing time to reread the preceding section or recover from its impact. I may need to use this symbol a few times.

I pause here intentionally.

I am not sharing this to denounce Scripture. Rather, this realization forced me to acknowledge that faith has always required discernment, not blind certainty.

It is my belief that a Spirit resides within each of us. When we examine information with an open heart, we do not assess its validity alone. This inner spirit is always present.

I believe most people recognize this voice, even if they do not name it.

Ask yourself:

1. Do you sometimes sense this inner nudge?
2. Does it tend to guide you toward what feels right?
3. Do you experience guilt or remorse when you knowingly act against it?

If so, you have validated the spirit within.

I came to believe that I am free—indeed obligated—to challenge everything, provided I do so with both an open mind and an open heart. This is the process I used to gather what I call my “nuggets”: studying, arranging, reconsidering, and rearranging them repeatedly.

When faced with new information, the conflict between our intellect and our heart serves as a BS filter— unBelievable Stuff filter.

Sometimes we are asked to believe things that do not pass this BS filter. Our heart may want to accept them, but our intellect refuses to cooperate. This internal conflict creates doubt, and doubt is often treated as a failure rather than an honest signal.

Many people spend a lifetime believing what they believe because of how they were taught or because it feels safer to conform. We have a deep desire to belong. Yet beneath the surface, conflict can persist.

I came to believe that just because something is written in a textbook or spoken by a teacher does not make it true. In the same way, just because something is written in Scripture or proclaimed by a spiritual leader does not automatically make it so.

(!!!)

The moral of a story may ring true, while the facts of the story may not be true at all. You must admit that the reverse could also hold true: the facts of a story may be true, while the conclusions derived from them may not be.

This realization made one thing clear. I would have to learn—and unlearn—many things before I could align my intellect with my heart.

Do Facts Matter?

We seldom have definitive answers to questions based purely on facts; otherwise, they wouldn’t be much of a question. When faced with difficult issues, I often respond by asking two simpler ones:

1. What level of faith do I have in this answer?
2. Does it matter?

Consider the question: What will be the day and time of my death?

It takes only a moment to admit that I do not know. More importantly, it does not matter. What would matter is the state of my spirit at that moment—and that was not part of the question.

Many faith-based questions seek a moral answer. Does it conflict with your belief system? It may sound odd, but a lot of questions I encounter have no relevance to my belief system at all. It is easy to get hung up on things that are not relevant to my faith. In those cases, a quick “It doesn’t matter” allows me to move to the next question.

For example: Did we evolve from monkeys or Adam and Eve?
My answer is simple: I cannot know, and it does not matter. This is a question of history, not morality.

Another example: Can I stop paying my taxes for religious reasons?
Legally, you might want to consult an attorney—or have bail money handy. Morally, based on my belief system, doing so would place an unfair burden on others. That makes it a no.

I offer this important disclaimer.

Regardless of how convinced I may be in what I know or believe, my heart must remain open to future enlightenment. I must be willing to examine and reexamine my positions when new or opposing views are presented. I must welcome challenge, respect differing perspectives, and change course when warranted.

Changing one’s position in light of new understanding is not weakness of character. It is evidence of integrity.

If I were honest, I should place the following disclaimer on every page:

I reserve the right to be wrong.

 

Humble Servant

This leads me to my next major revelation.

Thirty-five years ago, I was given a cassette tape by a motivational speaker. I was listening and following along when, all of a sudden—bam—the message cut straight through me. It felt almost like a second baptism. The message itself was simple, but its impact on my life was anything but.

Years later, it became a key validation in what eventually formed my belief system. I now understand why that message struck me so deeply. I don’t believe I was listening to that tape alone. I believe it was inspired by God and delivered to my heart through the voice of Earl Nightingale.

In simple terms, his message was this:
Your rewards in life will match the quality and quantity of your service to others.

If that wasn’t clear enough, he added an important qualifier:
You must serve first, and then be served.

Over the years, I adapted this idea into my own shorthand—phrases I repeated often in business and in life.

The first was a metaphor:

You cannot stand in front of a fireplace and demand, “Give me heat, and then I will build a fire.”

There are many things that must be done correctly to get warmth from a fireplace. Chopping wood would be a good place to start. People I worked with over the years knew exactly what I meant when I said, “It’s time to chop some wood.”

The second was even simpler:

The most rewarding profession in the world is that of a humble servant.

For a long time, I did not see the spiritual connection in this idea. What I did see was how well it worked in business. If I could help create a culture where our primary focus was the success of those around us—customers, employees, suppliers, even the postman—success would eventually catch up to us.

We had to serve first to be served.

It felt almost like magic dust. If I could make enough happy faces appear around me, before long I would have the happiest face in the room.

Serving others, however, is not merely a business strategy or a kind gesture.

Think about your own life. Do you not feel a deep sense of fulfillment when you do something meaningful for someone else? That feeling is universal. It is real, and it is undeniable. And it is not only those who receive help who walk away richer.

If you recognize that same sense of satisfaction when serving others, you have already validated Earl Nightingale’s insight for yourself.

How this “magic dust” fits into my belief system—and why it matters far beyond business—will become clear in the chapters that follow.

Natural Order

Throughout this discussion, I will often refer to finding peace, harmony, or other terms that describe a state of complete fulfillment. True spiritual fulfillment—and the feelings associated with it—are, in many ways, indescribable.

At some point, it occurred to me that the desire for fulfillment, and the sensation of being fulfilled, might not be unique to humans at all. It may be shared, in some form, by every particle in the universe. My friends who understand physics far better than I do may wince at this analogy, but I will press on.

This was my fourth major revelation. It was not merely something I learned; it was something I felt and repeatedly validated. I believe it plays a central role in my understanding of the meaning of life. This could easily become a discussion of its own, but for now, I will try to condense it.

I will borrow the term Natural Order and expand its meaning so we can attempt to describe it. In its simplest form, Natural Order is an advanced state of being: at peace, fulfilled, at rest, in harmony, in its proper place, and in perfect alignment.

It seems to me that everything in the universe is either in its Natural Order or seeking it. When an outside force disrupts that order, the instinct to restore it is almost unstoppable. Objects, people, and living systems react with whatever capacity they possess to correct the disturbance and return to balance.

Consider a guitar string. At rest, it remains motionless until a force is applied—a pluck. That force stretches the string and pulls it in one direction. The string then uses all available means—tension, gravity, air resistance—to counter the disturbance and return to rest. Often it overcorrects, pulling past its original position. This oscillation continues, resonating back and forth with diminishing force until the string finally settles again to its Natural Order. It seems fitting that in musical notation, the symbol for Natural Order is called a rest.

My knowledge of physics is limited and largely observational, but a rubber ball dropped onto a concrete floor would suffer the same fate. It strikes the ground, rebounds, overcorrects, and continues bouncing with decreasing energy until it finally comes to rest in its Natural Order.

This instinctive drive toward balance appears throughout life. Most of our behavior is driven by the desire to resolve conflict and return to a state of alignment. Hunger creates discomfort; eating resolves it—unless we overreact, creating new conflicts in the process. Overreaction, it turns out, is the norm.

Once I recognized this pattern, I no longer felt the need to explain my behavior—or the behavior of others—as the result of some evil force compelling us to act against our will. In the Creator’s wisdom, the universe itself appears to be wired with instincts designed to move everything toward balance—toward its Natural Order.

We are constantly bombarded by forces competing for our attention.

Our physical side has clear needs:

1. Natural resources — food, water, shelter, money, 401k.
2. Social acceptance — the desire to belong and be relevant.
3. Procreation — the drive to reproduce, find a soulmate, and continue lineage.

Our spiritual side has needs as well:

• Spiritual fulfillment — the search for meaning, a higher power, and purpose.

Much of our mortal life is spent trying to keep these forces in their proper balance.

Relationship Connection

This concept applies even to relationships.

A conflict may begin between two people. Each reacts, often overreacts, and volleys the conflict back. This exchange can continue indefinitely, and sadly, some conflicts never resolve within a lifetime.

Now consider a familiar scenario. One person pauses, takes a breath, and sincerely says, “I’m so sorry. This was my fault. Please forgive me.” After a moment, the response is often instinctive and predictable: “No, no—it was me.” The exchange may volley again, but this time toward resolution, often ending in a handshake or a hug as both parties return to Natural Order.

Some people become adept at what might be called Natural Order combat, using its predictability to their advantage. If I say to a stranger, “I must be one of the dumbest people alive,” they will almost certainly rush to my defense. If I say the same thing to someone who knows me well, they may simply reply, “Agreed.”

The same principle applies in reverse. Claiming to be the smartest person in the room would trigger a quick rebuttal as they point to a mountain of evidence to the contrary. Their argument would be pretty easy to prove.

Spiritual Connection

The need for spiritual fulfillment is just as real.

The first connection returns us to the idea of the Humble Servant. Serving others is not merely an act of kindness. It brings a deep and unmistakable sense of peace and self-worth. This fulfillment is strong evidence, to me, of the Creator’s design.

The second connection is historical. As far back as we can trace, humanity has sought a higher power. People have worshiped countless forms—nature, idols, the sun itself—in search of protection, meaning, or eternal life.

When people believed their god would protect them, it brought peace. Rituals, sacrifices, and acts of devotion were methods of restoring balance—of returning to Natural Order.

In those cases, faith was the magic dust, not knowledge.

Now consider this carefully.

If the same actions that fulfill our spiritual needs also contribute to the betterment of the world, then we see the genius of the Creator’s plan: a world continually guided back toward its Natural Order.

This may be the most important point in this discussion.

Serving others fulfills our spiritual needs and improves the world around us—an ingenious design for maintaining balance and harmony.

 

God, Creation, and Covenant

At this point in the discussion, we have established several foundational ideas:

• The importance of clearing our biases and preconceptions to make future enlightenment possible.
• The need to engage both intellect and heart when sorting through knowledge, accepting that this may require as much unlearning as learning.
• The power and fulfillment found in being a Humble Servant.
• The idea that the universe—including ourselves—is not random chaos, but a system continually seeking balance and alignment through its Natural Order.

What follows is how these ideas come together to form my belief system. Along the way, I will introduce a few additional realizations that help complete the picture.

God Exists

God exists. That was my first realization, as described earlier.

Is this the same God worshiped by Abraham, Muhammad, or Jesus? I cannot know.
Does He reign over us from heaven? I cannot know that either.

What I do believe is that a Spirit resides within me—one that has been present since the beginning, witnessing every thought, action, and intention. Some of those moments must have been difficult to witness. When I am attuned to this presence, I sense gentle guidance. When I ignore it, I experience guilt and regret. This inner compass has existed both before and after my conscious faith.

Is this Spirit God?
Is this the Creator of the universe?

No one can know for certain. But in my heart, I believe it is so. I believe this presence is responsible for the ingenious world we inhabit.

I do not believe God reigns from a distant throne demanding praise or obedience. I experience Him more as a loving parent—present, patient, and invested.

For a long time, I struggled to understand how one God could personally engage with billions of people. Eventually, it occurred to me that in His wisdom, God does not divide His attention—He multiplies His presence. An exact iteration of God must live within each of us.

God is not like a shepherd with a billion sheep.
He is a shepherd with one.

I believe many people live their entire lives without fully connecting with this Spirit within them, even those raised in religious environments. Rituals may persist long after the connection that inspired them has faded.

Living with God, for me, is deeply personal and private—much like living with a best friend. There have been times I disappointed Him, moments when I had to face Him with my hat in my hand and offer an honest apology. And like any good parent, He was always ready to make things right again.

I do not fear God.
I fear myself.

I often refer to God as he or him, but this is habit, not certainty. God may just as well be she or her. I cannot know whether the love of a father is greater or lesser than that of a mother.

Creation

I believe I was created by God—equal to, but not greater than, any of God’s children. I believe we were created with two distinct, interconnected sides:

1. A physical side—the body or flesh
2. A spiritual side—the soul or heart

Flesh Side

Our flesh side was created in the image of our forefathers. Through generations, we inherit physical traits, tendencies, and talents. We contribute to our lineage through procreation and to the world through work and creativity.

In God’s wisdom, our strength lies not in sameness, but in uniqueness. When combined with the uniqueness of others, we form something greater than any individual alone.

We were created to work together for the betterment of the world—much like small fish that move in unison to appear larger and more formidable to predators.

Consider a hospital where great work treating and caring for people takes place every day. Think of the diverse skills and creativity that went into making it all possible.

Consider the skill and hard work of the dirt and concrete workers who created a solid foundation, or the metal workers and carpenters who constructed the structure. Think of the oil workers who delivered oil to refineries, which in turn produced the plastics found in almost everything we see. Engineers and biologists—the list goes on, ultimately leading to the medical professionals who utilize all of these contributions to save and improve lives.

All these individuals, each with their unique talents, contribute to the betterment of our world. They were created equally, and none should be considered greater than the others.

Spirit Side

The Spirit side is the real me—the spark that defines who I am.

I believe this side was created in the exact image of God and inherits many of God’s capacities: self-awareness, moral reasoning, free will, the ability to plan for the future, and a persistent quest for Natural Order.

These abilities are not merely enhanced versions of what other life forms possess; they belong to an entirely different class. Moral and ethical reasoning represent a profound leap.

I remember the moment I connected God’s love for me with the love I have for my own children. For a fleeting second I thought, Maybe I am God. I quickly realized I was not—but I do believe I inherited those capacities directly from Him. I am, in that sense, a chip off the old block.

God’s Superpower

Among the abilities we inherit, I believe we share God’s greatest strength.

God’s true power is not in moving mountains, but in seeing redeemable good in every one of His children and offering unconditional love. This is the same love I feel for my own children.

I came to believe that the only thing God truly asks of us is to treat others as we would want to be treated—to serve, forgive, and respect others as we hope to be served, forgiven, and respected.

When we serve others, we serve God. That is why service brings such deep spiritual fulfillment.

Consider this carefully:

How many commandments would be required, to create a world in perfect harmony, if everyone treated others exactly as they wished to be treated themselves?

Covenant

I submit that we need only one commandment—one law by which to live.

We were created free: free to act, free to think, and free to believe, so long as our actions do not infringe upon the same freedoms afforded to others.

We need only one covenant—a solemn commitment to others and to ourselves.

That covenant is to:

• Accept others as they are, imperfections included
• Forgive the shortcomings of others as we would ask forgiveness ourselves
• Offer unconditional love

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is our covenant with God and with one another.

Often overlooked is the need to make this same covenant with ourselves.

• You must accept yourself—not as compared to others, not as you wish you were, but as you are in this moment.
• You must forgive yourself as you would forgive a close friend.
• You must love yourself as you are.
• You cannot give to others what you do not possess; respect for others begins with respect for yourself.

This covenant is simple enough for a child to understand. In God’s wisdom, living by it would bring the world into harmony.

We must commit to keeping this covenant not only in practice, but in appearance as well.

 

 

 

Free Will

This leads to another important realization—one that took me a long time to understand.

The concept of free will came with loose ends that were difficult to reconcile. Once I finally squared them, they revealed some uncomfortable truths, along with a major insight that helped confirm my understanding of life’s meaning.

In His wisdom, God created a universe governed by consistent laws—laws humanity is only beginning to understand. Within that universe, humanity was given free will. This gift allows creativity, innovation, and progress to emerge over generations for the betterment of God’s people.

Free will produces extraordinary outcomes.
It also produces terrible ones.

• Terrible things happen to good people.
• Good fortune sometimes falls into the laps of bad people.

Equally tragic is how our interpretation of these outcomes can lead to confusion, the loss of faith, or even the rejection of God’s existence altogether.

Consider two examples.

Example One:
A shooter enters a church during prayer and kills twenty people, most of them children. Almost immediately, people ask, “If God is real, how could He let this happen?”

Example Two:
A boy on a bicycle veers into an icy pond. Hypothermic and drowning, he is rescued at the last moment by a neighbor who happened to be passing by. Locals call it a miracle from God.

We’ll return to these shortly.

The Gift and the Risk

Free will is a remarkable gift and an essential part of God’s design. Pause for a moment and consider where humanity stands today. Innovations in agriculture, medicine, engineering, and information technology have transformed our world.

With the resources and knowledge currently available, without any magic dust, humanity could feed, house, and care for every one of God’s children on this planet. That is difficult to deny.

Now consider the time of Moses. Or the time of Jesus. Could the same be said then? I don’t believe so.

Look at how far humanity has progressed in the last two thousand years. Consider what the next two thousand— or even twenty years might bring.

These achievements were accomplished by the hands of Man, made possible by the wisdom of God.

Like any good parent, I believe God would feel pride in what His children have accomplished.

Yet this same freedom carries risk. We possess the power to care for the entire world—and the power to destroy it. Both statements are true. The question is not whether we can do either, but which path we will choose.

Intervention and Course Correction

I cannot claim to understand God’s full intent or methods. Still, it seems possible that humanity can drift far from the course God intended.

Perhaps there are moments when intervention becomes necessary—course corrections rather than constant control. Moses may have arrived at such a moment, bringing commandments meant to restore alignment. Over time, however, layers of hierarchy formed, elevating a few and burdening the many, expanding ten simple commandments into over six hundred.

Then came Jesus.

My understanding of his primary message is that all of us fall short—including, perhaps especially, those who claimed spiritual authority over others. His second message was that faith, not rituals or deeds, is the path to God.

History suggests this message was not well received by those whose relevance depended on hierarchy. The cross bears witness to that.

Fast-forward to today. Two thousand years later, a familiar pattern has emerged. A simple message has accumulated layers of structure, authority, and ritual. There are now hundreds of Christian denominations alone. It is reasonable to ask whether we have wandered off course again and in need of another intervention.

Before returning to our earlier examples, let me summarize this point:

God created humanity with free will. In that sense, God is responsible for everything. But I also believe God does not routinely intervene on our behalf, for our friends, or against our enemies. (!!!)

Reconsidering the Examples

The church shooting:
The God I know would grieve deeply—for the victims, for their families, for the shooter, and for those who cannot see that Man, not God, was responsible.

The rescued child:
While it is honorable to thank God, I believe God Himself would be most honored if the credit were given to one of His children. Nothing shines brighter than a proud parent watching a child act with courage and compassion.

Free will makes sense when viewed within God’s design. Believing that God controls every action in the world can unintentionally undermine faith or even the existence of God.

Prayer and Relationship

I respect those who see prayer differently. For me, prayer is a private, ongoing conversation with the Spirit within. It has no formal beginning and does not end with “Amen.”

I do not believe I deserve the blessings I already have. I would never ask for more from a God who has given me the greatest gift of all: the freedom to be imperfect, paired with unconditional love.

As Jesus often said, many righteous people pray in public to draw attention to themselves. They want to be relevant, but when they do, they lose relevance in the eyes of God. However, I do not believe that this applies to most people who pray outwardly. Only God knows their heart.

Sometimes I use the word prayer to mean a solemn hope—hoping for rain, healing, or peace—without expecting intervention. Other than major, world-altering moments, I do not believe God answers individual prayers through direct action.

Faith, Community, and Civic Life

When we gather—around a meal, in fellowship, or in conversation—it honors God. Shared time is blessed time.

My vision of a church is less sermon and more discussion: round tables where people wrestle with real issues together, learning through shared perspective rather than passive listening.

Faith does not absolve us of responsibility in civic life. In democratic societies, government actions reflect collective choices. We must stay informed, participate, and speak thoughtfully. We may not change every mind—but if we each changed one mind it would make a big difference.

Discussion Recap

At this point in the journey, we’ve established:

1. The need to clear biases
2. The importance of engaging both intellect and heart
3. The fulfillment found in humble service
4. The Creator’s design for a world seeking Natural Order
5. The belief that God asks only that we treat others as we wish to be treated
6. The role of free will in shaping both our progress and our failures

 

Mortality

I have never had a near-death experience myself. However, in the 1980s my father suffered a severe heart attack, and for a time we came very close to losing him. He survived and went on to live many more years.

Later, he told me about what he experienced during his heart surgery. He was visibly shaken as he described it. I could see the fear on his face—the kind of fear that lingers long after the danger has passed. The story, and the way he told it, left a deep impression on me. Looking back, I now recognize it as one of my major revelations.

My dad wasn’t a religious man, at least not outwardly. He often joked about being a “backslider.” Yet his story revealed something important: he believed deeply enough to fear that he might be in trouble with God. What he described felt like his worst imagined version of hell.

At the time, I regret that I lacked the clarity in my own faith to be of much help to him.

Reflections on Near-Death Experiences

Years later, I spent time reading about other near-death experiences. Many described extraordinary reunions, overwhelming beauty, and a profound sense of peace—so deep that people struggled to find words for it.

I also noticed a pattern, those who believed they were at peace with God tended to report peaceful and affirming experiences. Those who believed they were not often described fear, confusion, or distress.

Being at peace with God did not seem to mean being perfect. It appeared to mean being honest, reconciled, and unburdened. God, after all, knows our hearts.

When thinking about heaven, hell, or eternal life, I kept returning to two things: my father’s experience and the emotional residue described by others who had come close to death.

What Changed Afterward

There’s an old saying: “It’s not what you say; it’s what you do.”

I often wondered whether studies of near-death experiences might be more revealing if they focused less on verifying the claims themselves and more on what happened afterward. Many people who reported these experiences showed lasting changes in behavior—greater compassion, reduced fear, and a deeper sense of purpose.

It might have been more illuminating to interview the people closest to them—their families, friends, and coworkers—rather than debating the mechanics of the experience itself.

From these reflections, a belief began to take shape.

Mortality and Eternal Life

I do not believe I come with an expiration date.

I believe that at death, the spirit separates from the flesh and continues in the state in which it is prepared. By prepared, I do not mean perfect, righteous, or without fault. I mean a spirit at peace—unburdened, honest, and reconciled with God.

I believe both the prepared and the unprepared continue beyond physical life, but the nature of that existence may differ.

For those who are prepared, I imagine a continuation filled with the beauty, meaning, and connection they hoped for—along with wonders only God could conceive, including reunion with those held dear.

For the unprepared, I do not envision punishment administered by God. I believe God would grieve deeply for any soul that leaves this world burdened by fear, guilt, or unresolved conflict—souls that may encounter the very existence they feared.

Does the spirit truly continue in another dimension? Or does the brain, in its final moments, create an experience so intense it feels eternal before fading away?

I cannot know.

What I do know is this: I am at peace with it either way.

Morality

Morality is the act of judging our actions—or proposed actions—against a belief system.

For my belief system, this does not require many words.

I believe we were created free.

We are free to think and act in any manner that does not infringe upon our neighbors’ equal right to do the same.

If this sounds simple, it is. And if it sounds demanding, it should be.

This principle would result in a very small law book. It aligns perfectly with the Covenant I believe we share with God and with one another. Free will is not an accident; it is a central feature of God’s ingenious plan.

Responsibility Within Freedom

Freedom does not eliminate responsibility—it creates it.

The morality of any action can be evaluated by considering its impact on all individuals within its orbit. This includes not only those directly affected, but also those indirectly influenced, now and in the future.

Because of this, morality is rarely simple in practice, even when the rule itself is simple.

Analyzing every possible action in advance is impractical and beyond the scope of this discussion. However, what matters is not having a rule for every situation, but cultivating the habit of honest reflection:

• Who might this affect?
• Does it restrict another’s freedom?
• Does it impose a burden I would not accept myself?
• Does it move the world closer to harmony—or further from it?

Moral Judgment and Humility

This approach to morality requires humility.

It requires us to accept that good intentions do not guarantee good outcomes, and that unintended consequences are still our responsibility. It also requires us to remain open to correction when new information reveals harm we did not initially see.

The rules are few, but the thinking must be deep.

Morality, as I understand it, is not about compliance—it is about alignment. When our actions respect the freedom, dignity, and well-being of others, we move closer to our Natural Order. When they do not, conflict follows, both outwardly and within ourselves.

A Living Moral Framework

This moral framework is not static. It demands ongoing awareness, empathy, and a willingness to reassess our choices.

It does not promise perfection.

It does, however, offer a path toward a world where freedom and responsibility coexist—where people are not controlled by fear of punishment, but guided by respect for one another and trust in the goodness placed within us.

 

Redemption

As a child, I remember getting caught in mischief and waiting for my dad to come home with his belt. Sometimes the waiting was worse than the punishment itself. I can barely recall the crying or the begging, but I distinctly remember the sense of peace that followed once it was over.

It always ended the same way. He would tell me that he loved me and that he believed in me.

That lesson stayed with me. In business and in life, I learned that even when discipline is necessary, we must leave people whole. We must give them a way out—and a way up. This is how I believe God treats us, His children.

What Redemption Means

When thinking about redemption, I return to these truths:

• You are not who you used to be.
• You are not who you aspire to be.
• You are who stands before God at this very moment.

This moment matters more than any other.

You can change who you are right now—before another tick comes off the clock. You can align your actions with who you profess to be, starting now. Every tick that follows will either confirm that choice or invite you to choose again.

By the grace of God, transformation does not take a lifetime. It can happen in seconds.

We do not need intermediaries.
We do not need rituals.
We only need a quiet place and an honest conversation with God.

There is no script. If we sincerely confess that we have fallen short, God already knows our heart. He sees the good in us—even when we struggle to see it ourselves.

Questions People Ask

A common question arises here: Is there any behavior or sin that is not forgivable?

I believe the answer is yes—doubt. Not doubt as honest questioning, but doubt defined as a refusal to trust in the goodness of yourself and God. Redemption requires trust. Without it, we remain closed to healing.

Another question often follows: If everything can be forgiven, what prevents people from behaving worse?

The answer is experience.

The cycle of harmful behavior is not broken by fear of punishment, but by realizing that spiritual fulfillment far outweighs temporary pleasure. Sin may offer momentary satisfaction, but it is quickly followed by guilt, regret, and shame.

God’s patience is greater than our failures. Giving up is a weakness of man—not of God.

Don’t quit.

Guilt, Regret, and Shame

This is a topic that deserves far more attention than we can give it here, but its importance cannot be overstated.

Our willingness to act—or resist an action—is largely shaped by three things:

• our perception of the benefits,
• our perception of the consequences,
• and time: when the benefit arrives versus when the cost is paid.

Change the perception, and behavior changes with it.

Acting outside our moral beliefs creates internal conflict. Guilt appears first, often followed by regret and eventually shame. Left unresolved, these conflicts can erode our emotional and spiritual well-being.

Guilt, however, is not the enemy.

The feeling of guilt is evidence of God’s presence within us. It serves as a deterrent, not a condemnation. Deterrence does not eliminate free will. And good does not mean perfect.

As powerful as guilt, regret, and shame can be, redemption is more powerful still.

The Work Begins With You

If you only remember one thing from this entire discussion, this should be it:

• You must accept yourself—not as compared to others, not as you wish you were, but as you are right now.
• You must forgive yourself as you would your closest friend.
• You must love yourself as you are, not as a future version of yourself.
• You cannot give to others what you do not have. Respect for others begins with respect for yourself.

Find your quiet place. Forgive yourself. Then turn it over to God.

Know this: it is not your deeds that honor Him, but the goodness of your heart. Trust that He will cleanse you of the burdens you carry—as you would for your own child.

Before the next second passes, you can be returned—wiser and lighter—to your Natural Order.

Good and Evil

I believe good exists and is inspired by God. Good therefore exists within people.

I do not believe the same about evil. Evil exists only in behavior. It has no power of its own beyond the harm created by actions.

People are not evil. However, defects—physical, psychological, or emotional—can distort judgment and behavior. These behaviors may pose serious threats to the well-being of others and themselves. For this reason, it may require that a person be quarantined from society until proven rehabilitated or cured.

The causes of these defects are complex and deserve their own discussion. For now, it is enough to say this: accountability and compassion are not opposites.

Good, Not Perfect

Consider this:

• God does not value perfect over good.
• God does not value great over good.

“Perfect” describes physical quality.
“Great” describes achievement.
“Good” describes character.

Even language resists comparisons like gooder or goodest.

A person may appear perfect and yet lack goodness. Another may achieve great things without being good of character.

If one child accomplished a hundred good outcomes and another only ten, could you love one more than the other?

In God’s eyes, I believe this matters most:

• Not how good you used to be,
• Not how good you hope to be,
• But how good you are right now—as you stand before Him.

And that, once again, can be changed before the clock advances another second.

 

The Big Red Dog

Not long ago, I was walking out to the mailbox. We live in the country, and the mailbox sits by the road, about a hundred yards from the house. I noticed a large dog lying in the grass near it. I wasn’t even sure she was alive until she lifted her head and looked at me. The moment our eyes met, she bolted into the woods.

All I could tell was that she was big, red, and half-starved. From the edge of the trees, she watched me. I went back to the house, filled a bowl with dog food, and returned to where I had seen her. I set the bowl down and called for her, but she wouldn’t come. I backed away, keeping her in sight. Only then did she emerge and eat.

Later that day, I brought another bowl. I didn’t see her at first, but when I looked again, she was there. This became our routine—twice a day. She waited until I retreated before approaching the food. If I made eye contact too soon, she vanished back into the woods.

For some reason, I became obsessed with befriending this big red dog.

For weeks, we repeated this quiet exchange. Eventually, with Vienna sausages and a bit of patience, she ate from my hand. She was a beautiful animal—a Rhodesian Ridgeback, I think. She had clearly been abandoned, likely abused. I don’t know how long she had survived on her own, but she trusted no one. Any sudden movement sent her running.

After two months, she stopped sleeping in the woods and took refuge under a cover near the house. Occasionally, she would allow me to touch her, though she remained alert, always ready to retreat. She stayed close—but never too close.

It became a mutual obsession. Wherever I went on the property, she was within sight. Not beside me, but never gone. She slept under the carport, exposed to the elements. I bought her a doghouse. She refused it.

I woke several times each night to check on her. Once, I looked out just in time to see a skunk approaching where she slept. I ran outside, ignoring my wife’s warning, and barely avoided being sprayed while chasing it off.

My wife was patient with my attachment to the big red dog—though I could tell she was beginning to question my sanity.

The Storm

Then my wife went out of town, leaving just me and the big red dog. A major storm rolled in—thunderstorms, cold rain, nonstop lightning. What followed were forty-eight hours of terror for her. It turned out that the only thing she feared more than people was thunder.

Eventually, I brought her inside for the first time and made a pallet on the living room floor. She paced endlessly, shaking, unable to settle. We went outside, then back in. Nothing helped.

The storm had begun around noon. By four in the morning, it was still raging. Exhausted and soaked, during the worst of it, I finally reached out and held her. I placed my hand gently on her head—not petting, just steady pressure.

She began to melt.

Slowly at first, then completely—like an ice cube on hot concrete. She sank down and lay across my feet. An occasional boom of thunder would make her flinch a little, but that big red girl had found peace.

I’m sitting there, dripping wet, with a big, wet dog lying across my feet. I’m afraid to move or remove my hand from her head, thinking that she would come out of her trance and start it all over again.

Suddenly, it occurred to me: I had just witnessed a miracle. I witnessed this big red dog, in the face of horrifying fear, finding her savior.

No, I’m not a god. But at that moment, she surrendered and placed her unconditional trust in me.

This was one of the most moving events I have ever witnessed. It further validated my entire belief system. I now understand, in a small way, how God must feel when one of his children returns home.

My whole world, for a moment, like hers, was in its natural order.

 

 

In Summary

As this discussion draws to a close, I want to gather the core tenets that shape my belief system.

• I believe we must clear our minds and hearts of bias when examining new ideas or revisiting old ones.
• I believe that understanding requires listening to both the intellect and the voice within the heart.
• I believe the spiritual fulfillment that comes from being a Humble Servant is real, profound, and undeniable.
• I believe the universe is not a random collection of matter, but the result of ingenious creation, governed in part by a natural order that seeks harmony.
• I believe the voice within us is the Creator, who asks only that we treat others as we would want to be treated ourselves.
• I believe free will is an essential part of God’s plan, allowing diversity of thought and action to shape a better world over time.
• I believe the spirit continues beyond physical life, its journey shaped by how prepared it is at the moment of departure.
• I believe morality is measured by how our actions and intentions affect the freedom, dignity, and well-being of others.
• I believe deeply in the power of redemption: I am not who I once was, nor who I hope to become, but who stands before God right now.
• I believe goodness resides within each of us, and that evil has no inherent power beyond the harm created by behavior.

And finally, I believe this:

Even if you cannot accept a higher power or creator, living a life rooted in service to others, personal responsibility, forgiveness, and respect would still lead—without question—to a better and more humane world.

 

A Question Left Unanswered

As I write these final words, I am still unsure what I am meant to do.

My primary commitment to God is simple: to serve and to do no harm. People’s faith is sacred, and I do not believe I have the right to interfere in the beliefs of others. While I am steadfast in what I believe, I know there are elements of my understanding that fall outside many traditional doctrines. Until recently, I would never have considered sharing this discussion with anyone beyond my wife.

The experience with the Big Red Dog changed that. It compelled me—at the very least—to write these thoughts down.

Part of me feels a responsibility to share. Another part of me knows that I am only a drop of water—equal to, but no greater than, any other drop in the pond. What gives me the right to cause someone else to question their faith?

Although my belief system is centered on serving God by serving others, I recognize that some of my conclusions may conflict with established religious structures. I do not believe I require a church, a pastor, intermediaries, rituals, or strict adherence to doctrine in order to live in relationship with God.

The God I know does not need my praise or worship.

He wants me to get off my pew and help save sheep.

Perhaps that answers my question.

Final Thoughts

I hope this is only an opening statement—to an ongoing discussion about life, God, and our Natural Order.

Speaking only for myself:

I believe I was created in the exact image of God, and that this same God lives within me. From Him, I inherited the ability to see the good in others and to love them unconditionally.

I know I have fallen short of what I have been inspired to understand. Yet I also trust—deeply—that if I find a quiet place, bow my head, admit that I have fallen short of being that Humble Servant, and commit again to serving others with the same forgiveness and love I now seek, I will be received with grace.

I believe I will be cleansed—not by ritual or words—but by the warm tears of God as He welcomes me home.

And then, before another tick can come off of the clock, I will not be who I used to be, nor who I hope someday to be. I will be who stands before God at this very moment.

For this moment—and for as many moments as I choose—my world will be in its Natural Order.

Amen.