My life has become a long quest to resolve a crisis of faith.
It’s not just about religion or theology, though. It’s about all of life. I didn’t even recognize what was going on when it started. At one point, everything made sense. I had a coherent worldview. That’s what I thought anyway — until the foundations of my life broke down, one by one.
When I was young, everything made sense to me. I had what seemed to be a coherent “theory of everything.” I knew The Truth, not because I had found something, but simply because I had grown up being taught exactly how things ought to be.
My understanding of The Truth wasn’t just about theology or God or anything so narrow. I had an integrated set of beliefs about reality. About everything. They all fit together — like the parts of a beautiful building.
My “theory of everything” was a work of great art which had been designed with mathematical precision — by an architect who was also a great engineer.
The central pillar of that structure of beliefs was my father. Even though I now understand that my family was deeply dysfunctional, I believed that everything my father taught me was right and good. I got angry with him at times and I pushed back in small ways, but I was ultimately too afraid to rebel against this god-like father who ruled my life.

When you’re finally facing death, how many people will love you?
What really matters in life? Hardly any of the things we worry about
Throwaway culture can leave us looking for something that lasts
The Alien Observer podcast heads to Planet Earth in weeks to come
Door in my dream keeps trying to take me to the life I’ve needed
What do U.S. colleges sell today? Knowledge or just access to jobs?
Cult’s targeting of family funeral points to folly of speaking for God
Chick-fil-A boycott misguided; tolerance has to run both ways