We went to church sometimes, sure—but it wasn’t spiritual. It was tradition. Obligation. A box to check. God wasn’t someone I was taught to know. He was more like a distant concept we dressed up for on holidays.

When my parents divorced at 12, even that faded. Life got loud, complicated, and painfully practical. I learned to trust my mind, not my spirit. Reason over faith. Performance over presence. In our house, God was more of a punchline than a presence.

Still, deep down, I was hungry. Curious. Searching for something true.

Years later, I was walking through downtown Toronto when a street preacher stopped me.

We had a short conversation—nothing dramatic. But as I walked away, he chased me down and gave me a strange challenge:

“Ask God to reveal Himself to you on your trip. Write everything down. Numbers, names, bits of conversation—whatever grabs your attention. At least then, you’ll know for sure.”

I didn’t know it yet, but that moment would change the entire course of my life.

What happened next… well, I can’t really explain it. But I wrote it all down—just like he said.

And somewhere in the mess of names and numbers, something showed up.

Something I couldn’t explain.

The kind of thing you can’t unsee.

And if you're still reading, maybe it's because you're searching too.

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