When The Presence Came

By J.K. Stenger

Everyone has things to celebrate.

Who doesn’t like the joy of a special day? Birthdays, Christmas, Easter and, of course,  occasions like anniversaries for years of service. These are joyous moments of recognition for faithful service. They usually involve older men with grey hair and large, meek smiles on their wrinkled faces. The boss of the company calls them to the front for a handshake and while everyone applauds them, they receive a golden fountain pen or, if they are lucky, an all-inclusive holiday trip to the Bahamas.

This month was such a month for me.

It was my anniversary.

I received no golden pen, nor a tropical getaway. But honestly, I don’t care for such things. I believe I’ll get something better, although I still may have to wait a bit.

So, what was the celebration all about? Obviously, it wasn’t Christmas; I did not have my birthday, and neither did I retire. And yet … I reached a 50-year milestone.

Let me explain.

It all began 50 years ago.

Or actually, it started earlier. It really started on the day I came out of my mother’s womb and was stuck in a drawer of my father’s desk as I was a few weeks early and no-one had thought to get me a cot.

This day marked the start of my search.

Like a tender plant, babies grow up and discover the world around them. They become toddlers, grow into little boys and girls, and then reach their teens. That’s a time when nothing seems to be making sense anymore. Suddenly, there’s this voice inside that tells them that all is not as it seems to be. That there’s a reason for being on this earth; there’s a plan. But the nature of it is frustratingly vague and shrouded in mystery. Something is out there, but they know not what and their quest to find the Holy Grail of life becomes real. At least, that’s how it went for me.

I discovered there was a hole inside of me and it needed to be filled. With knowledge perhaps? A little was helpful, but it also brought more questions to the table. Money? It was nice to have, for without money, everything seemed to stop. But how much money was enough? My Dad, who took off when I was three, claimed a well-stocked wallet would be preferable above all else. Maybe so, but why was he so unhappy and confused even though he possessed earthly treasures?

Religion then? Several folks claimed the right religion opened the door to the treasure house of everything good. Not the religion of church, of course. After all, that seemed dull , non-spiritual, and filled with people who never knew what it was like to have a good time. So, I took on Eastern mysticism, built a shrine for Buddha in my student apartment, read tons of books on the subject, but ended up more confused than ever.

That’s when the idea of drugs came up.

Cool. So much easier than having to stand on your head for three hours. The teaching of Buddha, telling me to force out my wicked self with the sheer power of discipline was actually too much for me. Drugs made life easy. One pill was enough to open the door to the hidden mysteries of the universe. Revelations flooded my soul while godless, mind-altering herbs and mushrooms snapped the dams of normality like matchsticks in the hands of giants. All the answers I was longing for were ready to be picked up like shiny pebbles before my feet on a strangely rugged, supernatural road.

Unfortunately, the joy of the discoveries never lasted.

After waking up out of the ethereal slumber of fascinating realities that only I understood, all the knowledge was gone again. All the collected morsels of truth invariably washed away like water through a sieve and nothing remained.

No, this was not the answer either.

There had to be a better way, and again I found one.

India!

I needed to go to the land of mystics, gurus, and answers. The irrelevance of the filth, poverty, and weirdness in large parts of that vast country didn’t stop me from taking off for India.

How?

I walked.

Huh, to India? That’s crazy.

Of course it was. I already told you my spirit had become strangely ill, and I had lost all sense of proper planning and had cultivated a warped sense of reality.

I never made it to India.

Germany was as far as I got. Still, in some ways an admirable feat, but since Germany looks in nothing like India, I suppose my journey was another failure.

I remember it well, although a lot of the details have gotten lost somewhere. But one thing I will never forget. No earthly pen can describe the loneliness I felt during those days on my walking tour. It was a terrifying, lonely time. I wandered through the fields, slept in haystacks, and tried to stay warm on a rainy night. I learned what loneliness meant.

That’s when the tears came too.

I was lost. Hopelessly lost and utterly forlorn in a world without hope and without God.

Without God?

Wait … with the tears came something else as well.

There was something with me. In those moments of utter despair, I sensed a presence around me; soft, warm, comforting. That happened every time when the floods of despair were about to crush me. A voice, not audible but clear nevertheless, whispered to me. “Fear not, I am with you. Be not afraid, for I am your helper.”

Who was that?

There was nobody there, and yet there was. I was alone; and yet I was not.

Was I losing my mind?

Of course not.

The truth dawned on me, ever so slowly. It wasn’t knowledge I was looking for, it wasn’t money, and it wasn’t religion. God was not an idea, but a person; alive and real.

I wept again. Rivers of tears, but no more were they the tears of loneliness, frustration, or bitterness. They were tears of joy.

And that happened precisely 50 years ago.

All those years in service of the Presence. They have been good years. Yes, I’ve had my ups and downs, I’ve not only known joy, but had my share of pain as well. But never once did He leave me; not even for a second.

That’s why I don’t care for a golden pen from the company, or a trip to a far-away island for my years of being a part of it. Soon, something much better is coming for me. And that’s also why I don’t want anybody else to make a fuss over my anniversary.

After all, it had nothing to do with me. When I was the captain of my soul, I ended up in a pit on my way to India, a head full of drugs, and a heart racked with pain and misery.

But when the Presence came … I was never the same.

Usually older people, those who have stuck it out in a firm for 50 years, are heralded for their knowledge and their experience. Am I one of them? I don’t know. I still have a long way to go, but one thing I do know and that is captured in my parting words: Trust in the Presence. He will never let you down.