Ask and Recieve

From Skeptic to Surprised: How Asking Changed Everything

I'm a Xennial, stuck in that awkward Gen X-Millennial limbo where you scoff at everything but still secretly want meaning. Religion? We were dosed with heavy skepticism from day one. The 1990s faith vibes screamed "hokey preacher alert" to anyone with ears. Think bad infomercials for eternal salvation. Preaching got you ghosted faster than a bad Tinder date. With that in mind, I’ll skip the sermon and just tell you a story instead.

2020/2021 rolled up like a wrecking ball at a piñata party.

- One January day, political activism nuked my life. Though I made some solid friends along the way. Real ones, the kind who don't vanish when things get messy.

- My partner of 20 years vanished when I got sticky. Love wasn't blind; it just needed better glasses.

- My house was to be sold quicker than crypto in 2021.

- My job, managing a local business, 1099'd me to dodge taxes. Nothing says "loyal employee" like getting stiffed on overtime and benefits.

Those online activist friends (some from the IRL crew, some not) swooped in. No Bible-thumping lectures, though they all regularly invited me to go to church with them. They created a GiveSendGo campaign to pay for moving, lawyers, and survival. One of them, the one with the most internet clout, did a livestream to raise funds for me. By the end of that stream, I was looking at over $8k that just appeared out of thin air. I thought, "Damn, I'm so blessed... or lucky." Nah. Divine Providence was in cargo shorts, hauling moving boxes at midnight into my new apartment.

The job blew up next. I pushed back on the contractor scam and was rebuffed. I quit, because I didn’t want to work for a place that was breaking the law while peeing on my boots and swearing it was raining. Still, rent was looming like a bad ex. I prayed for the first time since forever; not for riches, just "some guidance, please. You know I don’t know what I’m doing out here." No fireworks, no choir. I’m not even sure if I said ‘Amen’.

I applied to a DHS contractor gig the next day, on a whim. Normally I would have skipped it, I didn’t have a lot of what they were asking for. I was laughably underqualified. They called the following day. I started soon after and I was really good at the job I wasn't qualified for. Some breathing room, with a federal-adjacent paycheck and a security clearance.

The Long Nap and the Alarm

Years passed in contractor mode. I had a steady gig, bills paid, but apathy crept back like a bad roommate that needs 2 more weeks. God was barely a footnote. I got the bailout, said thanks (sort of), then ghosted the Divine like a one-night stand. Life normalized into quiet coasting with faith on mute.

Then it was September 2025: Charlie Kirk was assassinated at Utah Valley University; shot by a sniper during an event. A shocking, brutal, national gut punch that I watched on an iPhone screen in my car. I cried uncontrollably. Ugly, snotty, can't-breathe crying. I didn't know exactly why it was ripping me apart so hard. I knew him from afar, admired the fight, but this felt personal, and disproportionate. I was horrified and enraged by the people celebrating across social media. I remember thinking, “These are lost souls.” Then it clicked: that was the moment. God was saying, loud and clear, "You’ve got what you need. Time's up. Come home. Start working for Me."

No more coasting. Wake-up call delivered via tragedy and tears. God doesn't always whisper; sometimes He uses headlines and forces you to ugly-cry until the message lands.

Here's the real kicker though: God always answers. Always. It might be a "yes" that’s delivered overnight with a job offer. It might be a "no" that stings like hell. It might be a "wait" that feels like forever. Or it might be a sniper's bullet hitting a good man that breaks you open. But radio silence? Never. Even when I coasted for years, pretending the line was dead, the answers kept stacking up. Some merciful, some blunt, all on time.

The moral? I spent decades dodging preachy anything. I still do sometimes; barbecue testimonies are the worst. But when life craters and you quietly ask, something does move. When you slack off afterward? A reminder is incoming, and it might come with seriously leaky waterworks that you didn’t prepare for.

The skeptic side of me still smirks. But pretending He doesn't pick up the phone? That ship sailed long ago.

Ask. He answers. Every single time. Timing's His, not yours. And zero chill is guaranteed.