WILL I EVER FIND GOD?

I've copied a story that was sent to me
by Joan, a fellow subscriber. As she warned
when she emailed it, "This is a little long,
but so terrific I had to share with you."

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John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago writes
about a student named Tommy in his Theology of Faith class:

Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students
file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith.
That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He
was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his
shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that
long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind
that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on
that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed
Tommy under 'S' for strange, very strange.

Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology
of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about
the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with
each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was,
for me at times, a serious pain in the back pew.

When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final
exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find
God?"

I decided instantly on a little shock therapy.
"No!" I said very emphatically.

"Oh," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were
pushing."

I let him get five steps from the classroom door, then called out,
"Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain
that He will find you!"

He shrugged a little and left my class and my life.

I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my
clever line: "He will find you!" At least I thought it was clever. Later
I heard that Tommy had graduated, and I was duly grateful.

Then a sad report came. I heard Tommy had terminal cancer. Before
I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my
office, his body was very badly wasted, and the long hair had all fallen
out as a result of chemotherapy, but his eyes were bright, and his voice
was firm for the first time, I believe.

"Tommy, I've thought about you so often. I hear you are sick," I
blurted out

"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of
weeks."

"Can you talk about it, Tom?" I asked.

"Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied.

"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?"

"Well, it could be worse."

"Like what?"

"Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals; like being
fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the
real biggies in life."

(I began to look through my mental file cabinet under 'S' where I
had filed Tommy as strange. It seems as though everybody I try to reject
by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)

"But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, "is something
you said to me on the last day of class."

(He remembered!)

He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God,
and you said, 'No!'which surprised me. Then you said, 'But He will find
you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was
hardly intense at that time.

(My clever line... He thought about that a lot!)

"But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me
that it was malignant, that's when I got serious about locating God. And
when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging
bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven, but God did not come
out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try something for a long
time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically
glutted; fed up with trying. And then you quit. Well, one day I woke up,
and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick
wall to a God who may or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I
didn't really care about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that.
I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more
profitable."

"I thought about you and your class, and I remembered something
else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without
loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave
this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved
them.' So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the
newspaper when I approached him.

"Dad."

"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.

"Dad, I would like to talk with you."

"Well, talk."

"I mean it's really important."

The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"

"Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that." (Tom smiled at
me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and
secret joy flowing inside of him.)

"The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two
things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he
hugged me.

We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next
morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to
feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me. " It was easier with my
mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each
other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the
things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry
about one thing - that I had waited so long. Here I was, just beginning
to open up to all the people I had actually been close to. "Then, one
day, I turned around and God was there! He didn't come to me when I
pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a
hoop; 'C'mon, jump through. C'mon, I'll give You three days, three
weeks.'

Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour. But
the important thing is that He was there. He found me. You were right.
He found me even after I stopped looking for Him."

"Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something
very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at
least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make Him
a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in
time of need, but rather to open up to love.

You know, the Apostle John said that.

He said: 'God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with
God and God is living in him.'

"Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class
you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now.
Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them
what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be
half as effective as if you were to tell them."

"Ooh ... I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for
your class."

"Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call."
In a few days, Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he
wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date, but he
never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the
one with me and my class.

Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only
changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life
far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man
has ever heard, or the mind of man has ever imagined.

Before he died, we talked one last time. "I'm not going to make it
to your class," he said.

"I know, Tom."

"Will you tell them for me? Will you... tell the whole world for
me?"

"I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."

So, to all of you who have been kind enough to hear this simple
statement about love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy,
somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven - I told them, Tommy,
as best I could.

If this story means anything to you, please pass it on to a friend
or two. It is a true story and is not enhanced for publicity purposes.
With thanks, John Powell, Professor Loyola University, Chicago

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Thank you Joan for sharing. You can visit
Joan's site at:

http://www.locoweedproductions.com

where she offers "Fine Gifts and Home Decor"

To Your Success,
Susan
FriendsWhoCare