It can occur only when one becomes involved with one’s unconscious mind in a set of circumstances which signal the undeniable need for an external greater power. ~  Voices of Recovery (Kindle Locations 568-569).

I believe, help thou my unbelief. 
A desperate father came to Jesus,
pleaded, asked Jesus, if he could,
to help his son. Jesus responded,
“If I can? Everything is possible
for those who believe.” Like the dad,
desperate, I answer, I believe,
help me overcome my not believing.
But do I believe? I know the bible,
church history, theology…
I write books responding to scripture,
can come up with quotes for most needs.
But my spirit roams, wants to be inclusive,
listens to folk talk of thin places:
“Thin places are those places where the veil
between the physical world and the eternal world
is thin. The two worlds intersect or seem woven together.”
That calls my soul. Ancient places, primitive cultures
resonate. Who exactly is my god, my own conception?
God is available. Inclusive. Accepting. Personal.
All roads lead to Rome. But they don’t, they all lead to God.
Past lives, auras, telekinetic, intuitive, eclectic —
too weird for God? God the creator of mainstream? Of edgy?
But none of this is personal.
Do I believe in a personal God? Absolutely.
One who accepts me, who sits back and grins
when I finally get something. Can a personal saint
be a glimpse of a personal God. If so,
who is my personal saint?
Why am I so afraid of people
whose god is not large enough
they can allow me this much freedom?