I Never Tried to Be a ‘Good Christian’—I Just Walked With God

Reading the Bible as an Adult

I don’t remember a moment when I didn’t sense God.
Not as a figure, not as a voice, not as a belief; but as a presence, dependable and close, like the weight of the air just before rain—unseen, unmistakable, already shaping everything. He was there long before I had words, long before I had permission, long before I knew what faith was supposed to look like.

I grew up without religion, without ritual, without anyone telling me how God should be found. We didn’t speak about Him at the table. We didn’t name Him. And yet, I felt Him everywhere: in the silence after questions went unanswered, in the weight of certain answers, in the way some things felt undeniably real even when I couldn’t see them.
I was raised with freedom, yes, but also with limits shaped by the world my parents knew. Like all children, I inherited their way of seeing without choosing it. Still, something in me resisted the idea that truth had to be visible to be real. That belief never sat comfortably in my heart.

I carried that tension most of my life. The push and pull between what could be proven and what could be known. I questioned everything. I trusted my senses, but I trusted my intuition more. And even when I tried to ignore it, there was always that sense of being accompanied, as if I was never fully alone in my thoughts.

God did not arrive in my life dramatically. He did not interrupt it. He waited.
And one day, as an adult, without urgency or spectacle, I felt drawn to buy and open the Bible. Not because I was searching for answers, and not because anyone told me to either; but because I felt led to do so. I read slowly and carefully, without expectation but with an open mind. I questioned and researched every verse, every chapter, every word that asked something of me. I didn’t read to submit; I read to understand. And I had no intention for Scripture to make sense, but it did.

And this surprised me most: it held together even where it shouldn’t have.
Through angels and giants, lifetimes that stretch beyond our measures of time, a virgin birth, the Holy Spirit moving where logic insists it cannot, nothing asked me to suspend my mind. Each of these things, improbable as they are, answered something real in me. Not by forcing belief, but by making sense at a depth reason alone never reached.

Loving God only deepened that knowing. The more I read, the more I understood: not just Him, but the world we live in and our place within it. This relatively small book carried the weight of everything: beginnings and endings, what has been, what is, and what is still and will be unfolding.
It didn’t flatten mystery; it gave it shape.

Instead of fear, I found coherence.
Instead of contradiction, I found depth.
Instead of rules, I found relationship.

I never tried to become a “good Christian.”
I never learned how to perform faith.
I simply walked hand in hand with a God who had always been there, waiting for me to notice Him fully.

If any of this feels familiar, let it rest. You are not late. You are not behind. You are not doing faith wrong. You don’t need to silence your questions or make yourself smaller to walk with God. You are allowed to come as you are — thoughtful, awake, attentive — and meet Him there.

Faith does not begin with certainty or performance. It begins where relationship always begins: with presence, with listening, with a willingness to walk hand in hand. And if you sense Him already, closer than you thought, it’s because He has always been there — waiting patiently, lovingly — for you to notice Him fully.

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