To John H.; I wasn’t always a Christian, I was born a little sinner like everyone else, Lol.
My journey to faith was less a single lightning-bolt moment and more a slow awakening to truth, much like the way you describe seeing the “tsunami coming” by observing subtle signs. Growing up, I was not a real skeptic—not hostile to faith, but curious and questioning. That’s probably why I “went forward” at church and Billy Graham events time and time again. I was a curious kid, I saw the world as a puzzle, and I wanted to understand how it all fit together. I built model cars and tore apart engines to see how they worked. And I vas very cocky and competitive, a football jock if you remember. But it was not until I was much older, maybe 50. When I became passionate about reading apologetic and philosophical books that I grew exponentially in knowledge. These were my playgrounds – when I wasn’t building something.

Your point about kids being “excellent recorders and lousy interpreters” resonates deeply. As a young person, I absorbed everything—ideas, culture, arguments—but I lacked the verbal skills and the wisdom to sift through it all. Today I’m still a verbal nightmare, stuttering while searching for words, but I’ve learned, with Gods help, to read and write. Some even say they like my writing. Not bad for a Jock that flunked English 101. I’m still pretty slow and methodical it. I use the thesaurus and dictionary a lot. My parents weren’t particularly religious or studious, but they were steady, loving, and taught me to think for myself. In other words, they were too busy with life to give me much guidance so I often fended for myself once I went off to college. Coaches and friends, like Jim Rexilius, Rick F. and Wes W. on the other hand were very influential. Some were mentors who challenged me to dig deeper athletically and spiritually while others challenged me biblically. The Pastors I’ve studied under were all pretty good. None parroted secular ideas without questioning, as you mentioned. Some like Richard Owen Roberts were hard and tough. John MacArthur was probably my favorite. I noticed early on that many adult – teachers – and churches included—lacked the kind of “fathering” or mentorship you describe, which left their congregations vulnerable to shallow worldviews. You know how easy it is to think, ‘really, they go to that church, too bad for them!’

My path to Christianity started with the stars, ironically. One day i looked up and thought, Wow, that’s a big universe, there must be a God.”

You mentioned that those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it, and I found that to be true in my own search. So I began reading about the early believers—people like Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Isaiah, C.S. Lewis and, yes, Paul, whose Damascus experience you referenced. I was struck by how these pillars of our faith weren’t just blindly following a religion; they were encountering something real, something that transformed their lives in ways that defied explanation. Paul, (for the sake of other readers) for instance, went from hunting Christians to becoming one of the faith’s greatest defenders. That kind of 180-degree turn wasn’t just a whim—it demanded grace and investigation.

I started my journey by asking hard questions: Was the resurrection of Jesus a myth? Were the Gospels reliable? What about angels, heaven, hell? I dove into the works of historians like Josh McDowell and skeptics like the big five Atheists, weighing their arguments. But mostly I’ve studied and read older works. Authors who haven’t been perverted by wokness, hippies, and spirit “worship.” The evidence for the resurrection—eyewitness accounts, the rapid growth of the early church despite persecution, the transformation of the disciples from cowards to martyrs—kept piling up in my studies of literature. I also enjoy being and knowing strong Christian men (I once thought all Christian men were wimps). It wasn’t just their theology, though. I began to see the “water moving on the beach,” as you put it—patterns in my own life that pointed to a deeper truth. I threw the sins in my heart and past into the gutter. God had forgiven me, why was I carrying them around in a sack? Moments of beauty, love, and even pain that seemed to whisper of something beyond the material world took their place and I held tight. Soon, I wasn’t afraid anymore, afraid to say to practically everyone I meet, “I Love Jesus” out loud (this happened later in life).

My conversion wasn’t a dramatic Damascus road moment, but it was real. I remember sitting alone looking up at that “big universe,” grappling with the implications of Jesus’ life and death. I realized not only did he create even matter itself, that if He was who He claimed to be, it changed everything. I prayed—not awkwardly like some, unsure if I was doing it right, I simply asked God to show me the truth. Over time, I began to sense His presence, not as a feeling but as a quiet certainty. I read the Bible ferociously well into my 30’s. But then marriage and family humbled me. Life wasn’t just about me anymore. I learned to pray during these times. I became someone hungry for wisdom. I wasn’t the best husband or the best father back then, so God showed me how much I needed Him. Many passages in scripture became my guide, but none were more influential than Romans at first. Now, I look at all of scripture as equally important. Still, God’s sovereignty, his plans, play a huge role in my life.

Maturity in faith, for me, has been a lifelong process. It’s not about being perfect but about being shaped—through prayer, community, and wrestling with hard questions. My battles and conversations with unbelievers, progressive christians, and squishy believers have hardened my skills, but I don’t do it to win, it’s just “the right thing to do!”

Like the young girl in the tsunami story, I’ve learned to pay attention to the signs: the way Scripture speaks to my heart, the way God works through broken people, the way history shows His hand at work. I especially enjoy simple people with big faiths. I think I lean more from them than I do scholars, and they give the best hugs!

I’ve also seen the dangers of what you call “secularism” in teachers and culture—a kind of spiritual amnesia that rejects the lessons of the past and the light present. That’s why I share my faith with honest skeptics and the undecided, as you do, praying they’ll encounter the magical truth that transformed Saul into Paul.

As for the “boiled frogs” analogy, I see what you mean. People can get so comfortable in their worldview—whether it’s secularism, politics, or anything else—that they don’t notice the water heating up around them. My hope, like yours, is for a awakening, a moment where eyes are opened to the reality of God’s love and truth. I pray for that Damascus experience for others, and I keep seeking for myself a growing stride toward that full stature of Christ, an event certainly just around the corner.

So, there you have it in a nutshell. Easy to read, direct and hopefully encouraging. Hope you’re doing well.

Bob