So I'm lying in bed. It's about 3 a.m. and I've drifted awake. My bedroom window is open a little, because, even in winter, I like the fresh air. I hear the roar of a car's engine as it speeds down a distant street. Within the walls of my bedroom comes the soft rush of air from the heating vent. Except for that, all is silent, and I'm reminded of being a child, of feeling "tucked in", protected. Safe.
As my mind wandered in that safe place, I started wondering how a little thing like the sound of the heat coming on could fill me with such feelings of content. Funny thing, there weren't so many "safe" memories of my childhood. I was the product of two over the top, drama-loving alcoholics. While I know my parents both loved me dearly and did the best they could for me, our home was anything but a protective environment. Without going into much detail, suffice it to say it was much closer to a house of horrors, than say, The Brady Bunch, or The Cosby Show.
Then a memory struck me. These "warm, fuzzy" feelings, on the rare occasion they came to me, usually occurred within the walls of an institution, like a hospital, or school. Back in the day, I was what they called a "sickly child". I had spent a measurable portion of my young life in the hospital. In these places, there was no shouting, no violence. It was like a shield of armour between me and harm. One thing these places had in common: The soft rush of air from those magical vents, a gentle reminder that even Mother Nature could not touch me there. I was cared for. Safe.
My home was a modest farm house in Southeast Texas. My parents had bought a shack on two acres, and with their own hands and resources had added on here and there, until eventually they had a fairly decent house. Typical of small Texas farmhouses, however, there was no central heat and air. No soft rush, nothing between me and harsh reality.
As I lay in bed this morning, pondering all this, it occurred to me that this is how God makes me feel. He is my shield, my armour against all harm. If anything, or anyone wants to get to me, they have to come through Him. He is, after all, the Creator of all, including nature. He was there in that farmhouse. I just didn't know it, then. He's with me now. He'll be there tomorrow. That gentle, almost inaudible rush of air. Constant, silent strength. Surrounding me. Bringing comfort. Loving me.
Thank you, my Father. Amen.

I think that to say you have to have physical evidence for something to exist is an oversimplified answer to a complicated question. For instance, if you asked me what God is, I would answer that I believe God is love. Do you believe love exists? If so, what physical evidence can you show me?

My daughters and I were sitting at our kitchen table a couple of months ago, talking about our own doubts and fears and questions about God, as we sometimes do, when a sunbeam came thru the window and reflected on the wall. Above are pictures of that sunbeam. The photos are not retouched. The one with the black background was taken of the image on the wall. I don't know why the background came out black. I believe God was giving us physical evidence, in answer to our questions.
"Seek, and you shall find. Knock, and the door will be opened".