My Spiritual Journey
My faith didn’t grow in a straight line. It began in the
Jehovah’s Witnesses, where everything was certain and nothing
was questioned. Leaving that world opened a door I didn’t
expecta door into history, travel, and the wider story of
humanity.
Reading David Rohl’s work changed everything. It made the Bible
feel alive again, connected to Egypt, Persia, and Mesopotamia in
ways I’d never seen. Suddenly scripture wasn’t isolated — it was
part of a much older conversation between cultures.
As I travelled and read more widely — the Hindu Gita, the Quran,
ancient myths — I realised something simple: every tradition
carries a thread of longing, truth, or wisdom that points toward
Jesus in one way or another. Not through doctrine, but through
the human search for meaning.
Over time I realised something simple: Jesus never asked for
worship, only recognition that he was the way. His message was
that God’s presence lives within us, not in institutions or
rituals. The more I read — from David Rohl’s work to the Gita,
the Quran, and the stories of Egypt, Persia, and Mesopotamia —
the more I saw that every tradition carries a thread of truth
that leads toward him. Not through judgement, but through
compassion.
Sharing meals with Muslims at sundown taught me something
simple: times change, but people don’t. Most people are
basically good, wanting the same simple things — family, peace,
dignity. What divides us isn’t faith or culture, but the voices
that twist them: false prophets, extremists, and politicians who
trade in fear. Travel showed me that people shouldn’t fear each
other; they should be wary of those who profit from our
differences instead of our common humanity. Sitting with
ordinary people, I saw the same kindness Jesus spoke to. He
never asked for worship, only recognition that he was the way,
and his message was never judgement — it was compassion,
presence, and the truth that God’s life lives within us all.
I’ve come to realise that Jesus saved me, but so did people. My
friend Ian appeared when I needed a real friend the most, and my
wife arrived later in a completely different way, offering love
and stability. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses, for all their
complexity, gave me structure at a time when I was lost. Maybe I
need to recognise that these people were placed in my life for
me, and I was placed in theirs. Everyone I’ve known has taught
me something — when to trust and when not to, how to love, how
to be loyal, and when to walk away. I’m lucky, because my life
could have led me in any direction, but the people who crossed
my path shaped the person I became.
Most people never learn what hardship is meant to teach. Some go
through suffering and learn nothing, and some face almost none
and never grow at all. Hardship can break you, but it can also
make you strong as steel — mentally and emotionally — or destroy
you just as easily. I’ve seen both. People who never struggle
are often blown away by the smallest breeze, while those who’ve
been tested learn resilience, loyalty, boundaries, and
compassion. My life could have gone in any direction, but the
challenges I faced shaped me into who I am.
I try not to judge anyone — it’s not my place. I don’t begrudge
anyone the accident of birth that gave them comfort or denied it
to me. But I’ve noticed that people shaped by long-standing
stability often carry a quiet ease, while those who come into
comfort suddenly sometimes struggle with perspective. It isn’t
about wealth itself, but about how life shapes us. Hardship
taught me resilience, empathy, and understanding, while comfort
can sometimes insulate people from those lessons. I’ve learned
to see people as they are, shaped by their experiences, and to
grow from mine.
Today my faith is quieter, deeper, and freer. It isn’t about
labels or fear. It’s about recognising truth wherever it appears
— and trusting Jesus at the centre of it.
