Faith?

A farm in Eastern Kansas

On this ride across the country, I’ve thought about a lot of things:
Why the hell did I do this?
What’s growing in that field?
And—more than I expected—What is faith?

Today was Sunday. I passed a lot of churches with full parking lots, and it made me ask: What does faith mean to me? How has this journey affected my view of it?

I’ve been sitting with this question for weeks. Every time I try to write about it, I chicken out. I’ll probably give up and go back to a funny travel post. But for now, I’ll try.

One of my best friend’s daughters died last year. I had only met her a few times, but she radiated goodness. She was an adoring daughter, a loving sister, and a smart, generous human being—earning her master’s in public health so she could help make the world better. She was 32.

My wife, Cindy, died when she was 34. She was a wonderful person and an amazing mother. She was sick for 4.5 years. I prayed every night that she would live, and that she’d stay with me and our children. But she died anyway.

My wife Kim’s husband, Steve, also died—suddenly—leaving her widowed and her three children in shock. It made no sense.

I’ve seen photos of the killing fields in Cambodia. I’ve walked through the concentration camp where my friend Kurt’s great-grandparents were murdered—simply for being among “God’s chosen people.” It makes no sense.

I can’t believe in a personal God and reconcile all this pain and horror. Cindy—who, in high school, was once arrested in Tijuana for peeing on the street—was one of the kindest people I’ve known. That’s the only “bad” thing I ever heard about her. Why would a loving, personal God give someone so lovely a glioblastoma? When she died, I stopped praying.

I’ve always been a little jealous of people with deep faith in organized religion. It offers a framework: how the world works, what’s right and wrong, and what happens after we die. Many religions center on a personal God—one who can be convinced, through prayer, good deeds, or offerings, to intervene or to punish those who’ve done harm.

That kind of belief can be deeply comforting, especially when you’re surrounded by things you can’t control. For many people, God fills in the gaps—answers to things we don’t yet understand.

But what’s strange to me is that as science advances, this “God in the gaps” idea makes God seem smaller. No wonder some of my most “religious” friends seem to distrust science and progress the most.

I’ve had friends pray that we’d win a consulting contract over a competing firm. Why would God care whether we beat Bain or McKinsey?

I’ve even dared to wonder: why would a divine being interfere in a football game, so one wide receiver catches a pass while the defender trips? People say, “It was God’s will.” I guess that explains why the Chiefs won the Super Bowl and not the 49ers.
God only knows.

So, if I don’t believe in a personal God—do I still have faith?

Yes. I do. Let me explain.

I have faith in people.

On this trip, I’ve had cars and trucks speed by me on narrow roads, and I have faith they won’t hit me. I’ve been in difficult, even dangerous situations—and every time, someone has shown up. I’ve stood soaked in rainstorms while drivers pulled over and begged me to get in their car. They didn’t even call me an idiot when I refused.

Time and again, I’ve found someone kind, generous, and helpful—who didn’t know me from Adam but still helped a stranger dressed like a cartoon character on a one-wheeled vehicle. One man rescued me from his own land, which I was trespassing on, and never even mentioned the offense.

I have faith that beauty is everywhere—from the intricate structures of a human cell to the awe-inspiring images from the James Webb Space Telescope.

On this trip, I’ve found beauty in places people often describe as “boring.” And what I’ve discovered is this: if you look for beauty, it will reveal itself.

Kansas ended up being one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited.
How can that be?
But it was.

I have faith in human connection—even across political divides. I’ve bonded with people who probably voted in exact opposition to me. But we’ve shared food, laughed together, swapped stories. There’s a human affinity that runs deeper than partisanship.

I’ve had connections with strangers that were unexpectedly profound. In Kansas, I ended up meeting relatives I never knew existed. Today, I met a woman in a little town in Indiana who lives just blocks from my mom and used to teach at my old high school in Denver.

I’ve been treated like visiting family in restaurants by people I’d never met. Today, a kind family invited me to sit with them, offered me a place to stay—and then secretly paid for my lunch and slipped out before I could thank them.

Very nice people that bought me my lunch today. The lady in the black dress actually used to teach at my high school in Denver. Many, many years after I had left. Her family lives just blocks away from my mom.

I have faith in my friends and family. On this trip, they’ve supported me, offered advice (sometimes more than once), and reminded me that they’ll be there if I need them. And I know they would be.

I have faith that there are intelligent beings elsewhere in the universe—beings who are doing a better job than we are. If we destroy this world, I hope others don’t repeat our mistakes. I hope our story can serve as a cautionary tale.

I have faith that science will continue to uncover ideas just as awe-inspiring and mind-bending as the virgin birth of a prophet in the desert. I find more spiritual comfort in theoretical physics, quantum mechanics, and the study of consciousness than I do in ancient texts written by men in robes who never saw a microscope.

Take wavefunction collapse in quantum physics: when a conscious observer measures a particle, its probabilistic state “collapses” into a single outcome. Why? We don’t fully know. But we know it happens—and we can reproduce it experimentally.

Quantum mechanics tells us that objects aren’t always entirely where we think they are. A particle exists in many potential states and can instantaneously affect another—regardless of the distance between them. That’s entanglement. It’s not science fiction. It’s real, and it’s the foundation of quantum computing.

Particles can appear and disappear in a pure vacuum.
What does that mean?
We don’t fully know. But it invites wonder. So the odd connection that I have experienced on this trip, is even odder if you think of the real connections that we have on a quantum level with everything both close and billions of miles away.

I especially love the concept of the multiverse—that in an infinitely vast universe with a finite number of particle arrangements, repetition becomes inevitable. That means some version of us might exist elsewhere, making different choices.

I imagine a universe where my friends’ daughters are alive, texting each other madly. Maybe they even have wings, so they can fly instead of calling Uber.
Multiverse theory

I have faith in this country. We’ve done good in the past—and we can do better in the future. Our goal shouldn’t be to return to what was, but to grow toward what could be: better, kinder, more deeply human, and more closely connected.

Look for and cherish connection! It is there even though you can not see it!