When I wrote the first post on the reality of Jesus, I was half-way through, on the seventh day. It was the eighth and ninth days that were most impactful for me, and especially the ninth day, which I largely wrote about in the post, “Climbing to Golgotha.”

I must confess that I held out a small hope for an obvious sign that God IS, not that I don’t believe that HE isn’t; but I do deal with doubt, as did even Sr. Theresa, and I’m sure many other people. Even the Apostle, Thomas doubted until he placed his hand in the wound of Christ, then he believed; but he’d already seen quite a bit as a disciple of course, and you’d think that’d been enough.

Although I didn’t observe a direct sign directed towards me personally, it does not mean that it wasn’t there. It may be that I didn’t see it, that I wasn’t good enough, that my faith is too weak, that I am not yet worthy. Sue did have a very spiritual moment on the Mount of the Beatitudes of which I was part of simply by my proximity, and it was powerful. I do believe that I’ve had direct divine intervention at least two times in my life, and so I was pretty much there, relative to HE IS, I just always felt I needed to be better, that I had some work to do.

So, no voice from the heavens or burning bush or walking on water, although it seemed I came close to the latter on the Dead Sea; however, I did feel a certain calm in certain places, and grief in both the Garden of Gethsemane and at the Rock of Calvary. I will never hear the Gospels in the same way again. I’m actually looking forward to the Passion during the Holy Week. The Gospels were brought to life. I’ve been in those places. I’ve walked where he walked. That Jesus of Nazareth was is without doubt. It is not possible for it to be otherwise. That he was the Son of God is the realm where doubt exists. There will always be doubt, until that day I display the stigmata, or see a blinding light and hear a heavenly voice on the road to Algoma or place a hand into the wounded side of Christ; but I shouldn’t need that. I shouldn’t need to see God’s handwriting in the sky because it’s already there. It’s there.

It’s in the fulfillment of the prophecies in the Old Testament that was written five-hundred years before the birth of Jesus and corroborated by the Dead Sea scrolls dug up in 1946. It’s in the preservation of the Holy sites throughout the ages of repeated destruction. It’s in the exponential growth of the Christian faith from the time of Christ. It’s in the conviction and belief of the disciples, who knew Him without doubt, who gave their lives for Him because they knew Him as the Son of God.

And possibly the strongest writing in the sky was the conversion of Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus. I do not see how this could not have happened. How else could you explain the conversion of a Christian-persecuting Pharisee on the road to Damascus to arrest followers of Jesus and return them to Jerusalem for imprisonment and execution.

It’s already there. That’s what I saw. That’s what I felt in those special places, so, yes, my faith is stronger, my doubt is much less, and I am spiritually stronger now than I was before, but I still have work to do. I’ll go back. I might yet walk on water.