Where to begin? It's sad to say that I am 1000 times more embarrassed of what I'm about to tell you, than I am of being accused of the crimes that have landed me in jail. It's a testament to how screwed up my way of thinking is, as well as to how screwed up our society has become. At first I blamed this whole situation on Christy and that guy. Then I blamed my bad luck. Then I blamed my bad karma. Then I blamed myself. Then I blamed steroids. Then I blamed the programming job done to my subconscious mind… A product of a traumatic childhood and a poor choice of role models. One of them has to be the culprit, there must be some reason that, though I always have the best of intentions, I keep landing myself in huge messes. And why am I so restless, why am I never satisfied? I've achieved countless goals: I'm a professional athlete, I own my own business, I once had the perfect little wife, then I had Christy – my life, though enviable on all accounts – never satisfied me no matter how well it is going; I find a reason to be unhappy, a reason to sabotage it. A few blogs ago I wrote about the letter from my grandfather; his letter, and my response to it, broke my heart all over again. I began that blog with a quote of my own: "The good times only count while things are well; once things turn bad they only serve as specters – which torment you in the night." I think that must be the most horrible thing that any man has ever said. In both my blog and my letter back to my grandpa I compared my situation; losing the woman whom I loved when I found her in bed with another man, to my grandpa losing my grandmother to cancer after decades of happy marriage – saying that i'm better off – less good memories to be haunted by. I said that there are no good endings, all things end poorly. In the letter to my grandpa I said that our only hope is in the possibility of "heaven". That while only a fool could honestly believe in religion or God, there may still be an afterlife. For days after that I was depressed beyond words, I mean if all things end horribly and memories are only there to add to the pain – why live at all? What type of life can you live while always believing that for every good time you experience the memory of it will be back to torment you countless times? I now refuse to believe that. The day after I received my grandpa's letter I received a book titled "The Case For a Creator", I'm not sure who sent it, normally I get a receipt, but not this time. I set it aside uninterested. "Coincidentally", while chatting with my neighbor in the air vent that night, he asked me if I was religious. I proceeded to tell him about how all of that is garbage; I brought up the ancient holiday of Ishtar, the Nag Hammadi, scrolls, the Council of Nicaea, etc. 2 days later I found myself bored to death and out of "good" books and for the first time I picked up the book about the "Creator." On the back cover I learned that it was all about science (my favorite subject): Darwinism, DNA, subatomic particles, consciousness, etc. Now that I realized it was more about intelligent design and a nameless God, I started to read it. I finished it in 24 hours. It was great, full of facts that are impossible to argue against. The night I finish that I received a letter from a girl who writes me several times per month – always about God. This time though, her opening quote was awesome and I grabbed that book to let her know the authors name, Lee Strobel (I figured she'd like it), and in doing so I saw that he also wrote a book "The Case For Christ". I like the style of his first book and the hard facts that he used, and I wondered what that book would say, how would it grapple with all the stuff I had come to believe about Christianity. I've never had a problem with the idea of a God, I've only had a problem with organized religion. I made a note to get the book. The same night I told my neighbor about the "Case For a Creator" book, "you mean 'The Case For Christ'?" "Nah man, creator." "Who wrote it?" "Strobel." "Oh, cool, let me borrow it, I have the Christ one." What were the odds? After tearing into his beliefs about Jesus days earlier, it was awkward to tell him to let me read it, but I did. I finished it in 2 days. I have to admit that I believe that it requires more "faith" to believe that Jesus wasn't what they claim he was, than to believe that he was. I'm embarrassed to only have believed him now, when my life is in such turmoil, I feel that it makes me "weak", that I am abandoning "reason" only in desperation, but that's not what it is. Besides the overwhelming evidence in the books, there are all the "coincidences" in the days surrounding this, as well as my life's history. Why, when I am truly a good, loving, person and honestly try to keep my nose clean, do things keep coming out from left field and blindsiding me? Could it not be God saying, "Wake up dummy! I'm not gonna let you live this 'war machine' ego up and allow you to be happy until you learn to love me, the one who made you!" If I were following Jesus would any of my trouble have ever happened? If I didn't first break Christy's heart through my own selfishness, would she have done what she did? Before her, would I have grown restless with my perfect wife, if I wasn't living for ME, and instead living for Jesus? A few blogs back I wrote about Genghis Kahn and asked -WWGD – I've asked that too much in life. If I had asked WWJD I'd be happy and free…