A Glimpse of the Divine

In this story, I want to share something deeply personal—an experience from my adolescence that forever shaped my understanding of God and my journey of faith.

I was twelve years old. Like many at that age, I had more questions than answers. Is God real? Does He know who I am? Does He hear my prayers? I wasn’t raised in a deeply religious household, and what I knew about God came in fragments—from relatives, friends, or a few pages of the Bible.

One quiet summer afternoon in 1960, I found myself alone at home, lying on my bed, simply thinking. Not praying. Not meditating. Just letting my thoughts wander through the questions that so often filled my mind: What is eternity? What is God really like?

And then—it happened.

I felt weightless. As though I had left my body. I was surrounded by warmth, peace, and silence. But more than that, I felt something—or rather, someone. It was the presence of God. Not in a voice or vision, but in a deep, indescribable awareness. I was enveloped in light, comfort, and the most complete love I’ve ever known. I felt I was being held in God’s hands and He was communicating to me that He would always be with me and answers to my many questions would come in time.

It was like resting in the presence of your parents and experiencing love and reassurance. Only this was something greater, purer. It was the love of a Divine Parent—unconditional, undeniable.

But it didn’t last. Within minutes, I felt myself return—back into my body, back into my room. I longed to go back. A few days later, I had a brief second experience. After that, no matter how hard I tried, I could never recreate it.

For decades, I kept the story to myself. I feared people might think I was imagining things. But years later, at a church retreat, I shared it—and two others told me they had the same experience in their youth. They, too, had felt the overwhelming presence of God—just once, maybe twice. And like me, they had spent their lives wondering why.

Later, in divinity school, I discovered the writings of Saint Augustine. He, too, had experienced two brief moments of closeness to God and struggled with the same longing to return. His words echoed mine across the centuries.

Friends, I now believe those moments weren’t meant to last—they were meant to awaken something in me and others. A hunger. A calling. A deeper faith.

We may not all have such mystical encounters. But we all receive the invitation to know God—fully and forever—through Jesus Christ. That early glimpse of the Divine led me to a lifetime of seeking, serving, and believing.

And I now understand what I felt at twelve was a gift—a glimpse of God’s love, pointing me toward the grace that is available to us all.

May you also hear His call.