I have thought that I have known things; I have thought that I have had some answers. What did I have? It would more seem, I think, that when I look back and peruse the comprehension of my heart and mind, that the only things I had ever truly learned were what I grabbed onto in desperation, when my world at the time was collapsing in on itself. Nothing rational, did it seem, would stay; nothing that I ever thought out logically would hold; all the high ideals of my youth were straw men, hollow men. The things most important to me I clutched as a drowning man, never questioned, for they had rescued me when I was about to go down.

My faith is one of those things, though I do not want to admit it. I would like to think that if I were given chance enough and time, that I would have chosen to believe in Jesus Christ in a civilized manner — but perhaps, all eternity would have passed and I would have still been defiant in my beliefs, instead. My Lord came to me when I was beaten to the ground, and He raised me up as if from the dead. My faith is emotional, it is desperate: it cares little of logic, and it cares little if it makes sense to anyone but me. It is not to say that it is not rational, for rationality came later, why; but the leap into believing never was. And it has since saved me.

In the end, I may know nothing, but what I believe, I think, is more that just opinion — for such things burn away when tested against the heat. One hopes you never get as desperate as I have been, but there the question must go: what do you hold onto when you come undone? And what holds onto you?