That Does It [Part I]

It’s impossible to argue with the data at this point. God exists. Not because I want him to. But because he just does. You probably haven’t heard yet. It will be released soon enough.

A new species of insect was discovered off the coast of Africa, and the entire book of John was found embedded on its thirteenth chromosome. If there was any doubt, it’s been tested and retested. The Book of John was found inside an insect.

The guy who discovered it used to work for the CIA in cryptography. He went back to school in genetics and discovered this insect. On a whim, he ran the genetic code through some of his cryptography software, and…the rest is history. Of course, no one believed him. He didn’t even believe the result. He ran it a couple times, then sent it over to a friend to check out.

The question obviously becomes ‘what’s next?’ Being an outspoken member of the American Association of Atheists, I’ll obviously have to revoke my membership. Because at this point, not believing in God is the same as believing the earth is flat. No rational person could reject him.

I always had a suspicion. The more I learned about the fine-tuning of the universe, the more I started to wonder. Could all of this really happen by chance? But my friends in academia were atheists, so I just assumed that it was the rational belief. Or lack of belief.

I gave my theistic coworkers a lot of grief. But they were right.

So I guess that makes me a theist. By default. I don’t ignore evidence. I accept it. But what’s that mean about my worldview? It’s shattered. I’ve been doing what I wanted for the past thirty-two years. If there is a God, is there an afterlife?

I’ve completely ignored this question. The premise was always false before. The Book of John would certainly imply that the Christian God exists. And if the Christian God exists, heaven exists. And also, hell exists.

This is just too much to process. How could I be so wrong for so long? How could I upend my worldview and submit to a mystical omniscient being? But just the DNA alone paired with Pascal’s wager means that this is something that I have to explore. I have to try.

So I bought a Bible and started going to church. But I am just really struggling with submitting to a higher power. I want what I want. “God’s will be done.’ What about my will? Can I yield my dreams to a higher power?

The guys at work are split. Some have successfully ‘transitioned.’ Others have considered but rejected. Not saying that God doesn’t exist, just that Christianity isn’t ‘them.’ Essentially, they tried but it just didn’t take.

It’s really an impossible situation to be in: what I want and certain doom, or what I don’t want and eternal bliss. My eyes are on the Nobel Prize, but what if that’s not the will of God?

I’m going to keep going to church and praying–yes, praying–and see what happens. I’m not throwing in the towel. But I’m also not giving up on my research. Surely an omniscient being will understand the importance of scientific inquiry.

The Journal

I wake up in a room, with no memory of how I got here. No memory of my past, or much anything else. All I know is what I see.

I’m in what seems like a cabin. It’s old and dingy, but functional. A bed sits in one corner. A bathroom at one side, and a pantry at the other. Wood throughout. The floor is wide wood planks, cold to the touch. A furnace sits in the middle of the cabin radiating heat.

The door is locked. Windows are boarded over. I’m trapped. Cue the panic attack.

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There are some books in the room with me, sitting on a table next to the bed. I grab the thickest one and start reading. It seems really old, but I’ve got a lot of time to kill.

I find this journal at the bottom of the stack of books. It’s basically blank, barring a few smudges and recipes scattered throughout.

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The rest of my life could be spent in this lonely room. Of course, I remember nothing else. And I have no way to escape. Only a book, with a glimmer of hope.

There seems to be enough food to last quite some time. I won’t be eating great, but I won’t be starving. So as long as I can manage not to lose my mind, I can live. And I have no quality of life to compare it to. This life is all I know. And all I will likely ever know.

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The book says that one day I will be free. There aren’t a whole lot of options. There appears to be a world outside of the room, but there were no windows. No sounds except the furnace and the occasional bird.

Do I try to escape? Or just sit and wait? There are other options. I could probably figure out a way to kill myself. There was a lot to think about. And a lot of time.

So I lay in the small bed and think. Hours turn into days, And days into months. One thing was clear: no one was coming. It was just me and this room.

Who knows, maybe this is prison of some sort. Maybe I committed a terrible crime, and this was my punishment.

Maybe I was kidnapped, and left here to die. The possibilities were endless. I would probably never know.

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All I  know for sure is that I am alive. And there is a book that makes some promises that I am starting to believe. It’s really all the hope that I have since I don’t have any memories of life outside this room.

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I actually manage to get into a pretty good routine, showering, eating, reading, and doing some stretches. Of course, it didn’t fill the whole day, but it wasn’t like I was just sitting around all day waiting to die. Of course, that’s what I am doing. There’s no way around it.

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I’ve gotten pretty familiar with the book, and if it’s true, there is absolutely no way to get out if I killed myself. Either that or I’d just go somewhere worse than this. But the other place sounded pretty good. If I could manage to stay sane, something was happening. The book is talking to me.

It was quiet at first. Some words that I had read simply echoed in the back of my head as I did some pushups. But later I realized that those words applied to what I was thinking about. And as I grew more and more familiar with the book, the voice grew and grew.

The voice is now a character in the cabin, whether a figure of my imagination or not. It was real. What is even stranger though, is that I could argue with the voice. And as I thought about doing something, the voice would answer with a reason why that was wrong. It is like the book had produced the voice, and the voice is training me.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is my life. And the book said that this might happen. But it is still hard to believe.

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So if the book promised the voice, and the voice is real, does that mean that the escape is real? Can I trust this process with my life? Or better yet, is there anything else to trust? Were there any other options? Any other hope? 

The book certainly promised the voice and a better life. And I believe it. I’ll sit here in this empty cabin as long as it takes. Until someone finds me or I go to a better place.