Seventeenth-century French mathematician and scientist Blaise Pascal...

Seventeenth-century French mathematician and scientist Blaise Pascal asked the question nearly 350 years ago. And it jumps off the page with as much power today as when he first penned it: “When I consider the brief span of my life absorbed into the eternity which comes before and after [it] . . . I take fright. Who put me here? By whose command and act were this time and place allotted to me?”

The first time I recall contemplating my own mortality, I was 6--and lay daydreaming on a lazy afternoon. For some inexplicable reason, I realized at that precise moment that my life was but a breath. And it was clear to me that I was not the center of the universe. Amazingly, the cosmos had existed before me, and would continue long after my demise.

It was a profound moment for a 6-year-old, and produced a deep ache within my spirit. Much too infrequently since have I allowed myself to ponder at any depth the transcendental. We live in an age that anesthetizes us to spirituality, daily assaulting us with inane, insignificant discourse.

At the age of 8, my parents began taking me to church. I fell in love with the story of a redeemer-God who’d sent his son, Jesus, to die for the sins of fallen humanity. I remained active in church until I was 14 or 15. It was then that I came to the conclusion that Gospel stories were for children. It was time for me to put away childish things.

I set Christ aside for nearly 20 years. For a brief period, I considered myself an atheist. There was no God, I thundered. In quieter moments, however, I judged that opinion to be rather harsh. Perhaps there was a God--it was just that I didn’t know him, nor did I particularly wish to. I lived and toiled in the squishy realm of agnosticism.

At age 31 or 32, I began experiencing an extended and intense period of restlessness. The achievements of life, marriage and career no longer filled what was becoming a yawning chasm in my soul. The line from the Peggy Lee song haunted me: “Is that all there is?” Some people talk of experiencing a “dark night of the soul.” I experienced an “empty existence of the spirit.” I was hollow inside.

Two professional colleagues whom I greatly admired began sharing Christianity with me. Over a period of many months I contemplated what they had to say. I listened because they were my friends, and their lives exuded integrity and authenticity. And, most importantly, they had a remarkable peace about them. That, above all else, was what I craved: Peace!

They told me of Jesus Christ, and I recalled the stories of my childhood. But they took those stories light years beyond what I had remembered. To them, they weren’t Sunday school fables. Jesus was alive . . . now!

A winter’s night in 1978 I had a dream. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in our den while reading. I dreamed that God was present and expressing his love for me in ways I can’t fully describe. I felt that I knew his person and character far more intimately at that moment than I knew anything else in life--including myself!

And then, God told me in this dream that he was about to reveal his “face” to me. I assumed that I was to look upon him in some physical way, but, quite abruptly, I awoke to the 2 a.m. stillness of our den. What a disappointment! Something of the encounter lingered, however. There was an energy in that darkened room that I can’t describe. As I lay on the couch, I felt an electrical impulse begin at the top of my head and surge through my body to the bottom of my feet, and move back up again. I was a human tuning fork. I slid from the couch and onto my knees.

For the next hour I prayed, asking forgiveness for being a self-centered fool. I wondered, in the presence of God, just how he could possibly keep track of me--let alone love me--out of the multiplied millions of people living on the planet. This creator of a billion galaxies let me know clearly that this was not a problem. He overwhelmed me with assurances.

When the prayer was over, and I sat emotionally spent on the couch, I had one final request. “God,” I said in a croaking whisper, “if I’ve truly encountered you this evening, and this hasn’t been some vestige of my undigested evening meal, please give me a sign of confirmation.” Immediately, the lamp hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room began to sway. It moved slowly from side to side, a distance of perhaps 12 inches, for several minutes.

I was stunned.

The morning news reported that Southern California had been gently rocked by an earthquake just after 3 a.m. Shaking had occurred throughout the Southland--including in my den. Was the earthquake meant for me? Probably not. But the confluence of my prayer and a natural geologic occurrence seemed more than coincidence. For me, it was an intensely personal affirmation from the Creator.

I accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior in 1978. My faith in God has since transformed and sustained me, and now defines who I am. The year 1978 rises like the Andes Mountains, dividing the continent of my life. On this side of the Andes, I’ve been discouraged, to be sure, many times over--but I’ve never again felt empty. And the peace that I so desperately hungered for has become my sacred keepsake.

Though Pascal’s intellect far surpasses my own humble ability to reason, I would respond to his musings in this way: My purpose is found in Jesus Christ. The truth has set me free.