From knowing of God…

I was born in Nigeria and grew up in a Nigerian —> America immigrant family. My family knew of God, but both of my parents were fairly private with their spiritual journey, even within our nuclear family. Most Nigerian families we knew also frequently referenced God. Some colloquially, some socially, and I suppose some spiritually.

For as long as I can remember, I knew of God.

Years later, my mother died of lung cancer a week before I started medical school. My acute grief demanded some answers, perhaps to questions I should have asked years prior.

“Where exactly is God?” “And where was God when I prayed for her healing? For years?”

I knew of God, but truth be told, the relationship I had with him felt very one-sided. I was the one trying to make good choices. I was the one staying out of trouble. I was the one praying. I was the one hoping. I was the one waiting for answers, all of the time. It was so exhausting. As answers evaded me, in a new city, I embraced my stranger identity with my new neighbors and medical school classmates alike. I decided that I was done with spiritual “stuff” as a whole.

Time passed and I found joy in many new friendships with wonderful supportive classmates, who were also on their own journeys of becoming and self discovery. Some found satisfaction and fulfillment in meaningful romantic relationships (I did too, for a while). Others enjoyed exploring high fashion, elaborate makeup, and hair (I did too, for a while). Some poured themselves into body building, the Chicago marathon, and meeting weightloss goals. Then there were the community service clusters who went above and beyond in either knowing and loving the beautiful diverse neighborhoods of the Southside of Chicago that was home to us all for years or crossing continents to live with and serve more distant neighbors who spoke different languages and struggled courageously with daily poverty in city slums. I did each of these too, for a while. While our stories differed, I found I had something important deeply in common with these men and women; they were desperate in some way or another like me to figure out who they were or at least who they were supposed to be. And how the title “doctor” might fit into that personal identity.

With so many options, I did not see the necessity of an impersonal spiritual relationship any more than I felt compelled to connect with celebrities in pop culture magazines. Spirituality and faith felt unnecessary.

I knew of God.

But I didn’t know him.