I remember hearing the sound of my parents' car door shut as I sat in my bedroom. Excited, I rushed across the very small hall to my brother's room and looked out at the driveway to see them walking to the door. In their hands was a shoebox-sized box.
I was crushed. It was in that same room, just a day or so earlier, that I'd laid on the floor, praying for our oldest cat, Kissy. I was around six at the time. She was in her late teens (very old for a cat) and had been with me my entire life. She slept in my crib as an infant, greeted me every day when we got home from school, and licked our faces raw with her kisses, which is how she got her name as a kitten.
The prayer I prayed? It was simple. Nothing elegant or extravagant. "God, please heal my Kissy." I don't even know why I prayed, not having had a religious or spiritual upbringing. But no matter what my upbringing or style of prayer, it didn't work. Here was my cat, dead in a shoebox. It was at that moment when I believed that God couldn't hear, didn't care, or didn't exist. And it was at that moment when I decided that even if God was real, I wanted nothing to do with Him. From there, my life went wheels off.
Over the years, I learned about Christianity, not to work on my faith, but to rip others' apart. I found happiness in making other people cry, making others question their faith, and feel lost just as I did. The insatiable search for joy and answers led me to and through multiple belief systems, worldviews, and political stances. I became addicted to porn, belittled women and viewed them as objects of my pleasure, became a social alcoholic, and smoked like a chimney. I sought out adrenaline-based sports and activities all to satiate this desire for more.
I ended up in Montana driving alongside a lake when I heard a voice say I needed to reconcile with my father. (This took place just a few months after my brother and I rode around highway 285, "the loop" as it's known in Atlanta, telling my dad all of the reasons we would never forgive him for being the failure of a dad that he was.) I went home and wrote my dad a long letter and told him I forgave him. Soon after, I moved back to Atlanta and worked to develop a dear bond and friendship with my dad, one of the best friends I have ever had. Dad passed away a few years ago - I still miss him to this day.
But that reconciliation with my dad was only the beginning of a lot of healing to come. Over the months that I reconciled with my dad, I began to take steps towards reconciling with my Father - the One I'd believed for so long didn't hear, care, or exist.
Through so many ways, including a Christian I worked with who simply loved me where I was at rather than beating me over the head with his judgment, God proved to me that He's heard every word.
So when I ask if God really hears, know that He is listening to your heart's cries. He knows what you want and need.
Does He care? Absolutely, you are His son or daughter. He wants you to be reconciled to Him, to have a loving, trusting relationship with Him. He wants to be best friends with you.
And does He exist? You bet. He couldn't listen or care if He didn't exist. And just because you don't believe in Him doesn't mean He doesn't love you.
If you have never seen evidence, heard His voice, or experienced His presence, just know that you still can. As we say, You're Never Too Lost To Be Found.
There is a story that Jesus told about a shepherd leaving ninety-nine of his one hundred sheep to go find the lost one. If that is you, know that He is not far, that He loves you, that there is nothing you need to do but to submit to and trust Him.
No matter where you find yourself on the path of life, we would love to walk beside you. What hurts are you dealing with? What other belief systems or worldviews have you tried? What questions do you have?