My mother was Catholic, and I grew up attending Sunday services, summer church camp, and praying the rosary before bed. I remember watching people being brought to tears during worship, prayer, or song. Oh, how I envied them. That was never my experience. But I craved it. I wanted so desperately to feel the presence of God and to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that He was real. I prayed for clarity and hoped for a mystical dream or a disembodied voice in my head. But nothing ever came. 

Why couldn’t it be me?

Despite the lack of a profound spiritual encounter, I could never fully denounce the existence of God, partly because my fear wouldn’t let me, but mostly because I really did want to know God. I tried to let it go, assuming maybe it wasn’t mine to possess. I guess that’s why they say you need faith. But I struggled to believe in something I never experienced, and I struggled to keep that voice of skepticism hushed.

About a year ago, I set out to understand myself, maybe even find a sense of purpose. I went to a bookstore and picked up my first self-help book. Didn’t finish it. A week later, I bought another. Also unfinished. Then, I came across a book series called Conversations with God, I purchased the books, and I read the first one in a single day.

Since then, I’ve read at least a dozen books on spirituality, God, manifestation, the subconscious mind, and positive thinking. I am still a work in progress, still reading, practicing, meditating, and overall just trying my best.

I’m not an expert, but here’s what I know: God is real.

I know because while I may not have cried at the altar, I’ve cried listening to music from my favorite artists. I’ve cried at the end of books and movies that cracked me open. I’ve felt deep, unshakeable love while talking with friends, petting animals, watching the sunset, swimming in the ocean, and watching my body heal a scraped knee. That’s holy, too.

I know because the same creative energy that forms the universe is the same material I am made of. I am the infinite love of God, and it’s that love that pulses through my veins and beats my heart.

I know now that the manifestation of my thoughts has shaped my reality. Some of those thoughts led to beautiful outcomes; others, not so much. I’ve realized I’ve spent most of my life living by default, carrying around beliefs and values that weren’t mine. You can reject the idea that thoughts, words, and feelings have such power… but isn’t it far more exciting to consider that they might?

To accept that you are the creator of your life comes with deep responsibility in addition to immense freedom. You’re no longer reacting, you’re creating on purpose.

This realization brings with it a hunger to know yourself. It pushes you to question what no longer fits and to rebuild your beliefs from the ground up. We’re taught from a young age how to think, feel, behave, and believe. What’s polite. What’s normal. What’s “just the way it is.” And most of us accept it without ever asking why.

But I’ve started asking.

I’ve challenged myself to rewrite what I believe about God, love, and life itself. And while it can be scary at times, the potential to create the life I want to experience far outweighs the old way of following disenchanted beliefs. I already know where that takes me.

I’m no longer searching for God in the sky, the cathedral, or a book.

I’ve come to understand that God, Spirit, the Universe, whatever you prefer to call it, lives within me. As it lives within you. 

Taking the time to get to know yourself is one of the holiest things you can do. To know yourself is to know God.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Psalm 46:10