Why Do We Believe?

As I walked down the street I heard him. One of those street preachers. He was old and had long grey hair and a beard. He had green eyes and wore very simple clothing. He had a crowd around him, listening to what he said. He was one of those hyperactive spiritual jerks preaching to us atheist people that we were all doomed to hell.

What does he know? I thought. I heard him going on and on about how God is a generous perfect God. I was able to just tune him out and walk along until he said:

"Everything happens for a reason, and it all works together for the glory of God!"

That was it. I was done.

"Hey!" I yelled, "You're a Christian right?"

He turned to me, there was kindness in his eyes.

"Yes," He replied, "I am."

"Why is it just so annoying to you that we are not?" I yell ignoring his kind look.

"It is not frustrating to me that you don't believe," He responds, "Why would you think that?"

"Because if you didn't care," I say, "Why don't you take all your bull about some sky daddy to a church?"

I expected him to get mad, I wanted to argue with him so bad, but he still had the same kind and peaceful look in his eye.

"Well," He said calmly, "Do you care that I'm Christian?"

"No!" I yell angrily.

"Then why go out of your way to create conflict with me?"

The crowd around him laughs and I feel my cheeks flush.

"I'm just mad that you're pushing this on everybody!" I yell "You want to believe in God? Go ahead! Just don't preach at me!"

"Who says I'm pushing this on you?" He asks calmly.

"Well, you're standing there screaming your crap like some banshee!" I retort.

"No one forcing you to listen, you can walk away. No one is stopping you."

"You still shouldn't be doing this!" I stand my ground.

"Sir," He comes closer to me, "Do you support the LGBTQ?"

"Of course!" I respond.

"Do you support their parades and marches?"

"Yes!" I am angry now.

"Well, what's the difference between that and what I'm doing here?"

I sat there, unable to speak for a moment. I don't know what to say. Tears well up in my eyes as I think about what brought me here in the first place.

"How can you say 'All things work together for the glory of God'" I change my tactics, "When children die of cancer every day? When girls can't feel safe outside of their homes for fear of being kidnapped, raped, and murdered? How can that be for the glory of God? What kind of God let my daughter die with a tumor in her lungs?"

The old man is quiet for a moment, I see tears in his eyes. I think I've won, but he begins talking.

"I don't know every answer," He replies, even still the look in his eye is kind and peaceful, but now, there are tears, "And I felt very similarly when I stood by my granddaughter's bedside as she died. Do you wanna know why I still believe?"

I searched his eyes for an answer but, did not find one. Tears streamed openly from my eyes.

"How?"

"Because the last thing she said to me was 'Don't worry Grandpa, I'll be with God and he will protect me.'" Tears also fell down his face, "Even as she died she believed. When she went to hell and came back, she still stood strong. What gives me more of a right to quit than her."