I'm currently reading Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott. My friend Amy recommended this book to me when it first came out, along with Bird by Bird, and I had every intention of reading them. And I am - it just took me 6 yeard to get around to it. Interestingly enough, I am now just about the age Amy was when she recommended them. Hmm. Must be a mid-30s, searching for a deeper spiritual life thing.

Anyhow, I picked this book up because it was referenced in another book that my pastor loaned me. When I saw it, I was reminded of that long ago promise to read it, and I reserved it at the library. It came in yesterday, and when I picked it up I couldn't put it down. Lamott just has a way of expressing herself that is simultaneously poetic and straight-forward. And admire how she is comfortable enough in who she is to lay her life out for all to read about. It takes guts to be that vulnerable.

I've been thinking about my own topsy-turvy journey of faith lately. There was never truly a time in my life when I didn't belive that God existed. Sure, there have been plenty of times that I doubted if God cared about li'l ol' me. And it's somewhat beyond my comprehension that anyone could ever think that there wasn't a power greater than themselves in the universe.

But by the same token, I'm a little jealous of those who were atheists who have come to believe. I wish I could remember that moment, that instant, where I realized the reality of God.

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that I was rocked to sleep every night of my infanthood with "Jesus Loves Me." And I'm grateful that I can remember my parents being so proud of me for being able to say the Lord's Prayer before I started kindergarten, when so many of my classmates were still learing it in first grade. And I'm more grateful than I can ever express that God has given me the gift of faith.

But sometimes I wish I knew that spark, that "a-ha" moment when I knew that God was real. I mean, I've had encounters with God (and when I say "God," in my head we're talking the Trinity) that I can recall as being more intimate than words can express. And at times in my life, my relationship with God was so close that God seemed almost physically near me.

Still, I can't help feeling like I'm missing out on something big. Is that petty and conceited of me? Perhaps.

I do have more that I want to say on this whole topic. I'm hoping to have computer access restored at home soon. Until then (or until I get to the library and have time to write)...