I was asked by the Chaplain's Office to give a presentation next week for their series entitled "How Can I Find God?" I've known about this since late December. Since then, I've been thinking about what I can say, what personal anecdote I can share that's unique and original, and most importantly, a genuine answer to this timeless question. I've been struggling with it, needless to say. To be able to answer this question, I've posed myself another question: How have I found God?

March 5th marks the one-year anniversary of former UNC student body president Eve Carson's murder. A year ago we were all slowly singing the alma mater on the quad; a year ago we were leaving for spring break in confusion and grief; a year ago I wrote a blog, asking the question "Why?" and openly admitting it couldn't be answered.

Last year on Ash Wednesday, I recorded a few thoughts about the Holy Day, which, as a non-denominational Protestant, I view as something of an outsider. But a year later, on re-reading, I find some of my musings remain surprisingly timely, especially near the end. I'll save my meta-commentary for the conclusion:

Last week, I was convinced my life had fallen into place. Sitting in class, I listened to one of my professors lecture about the medieval Ottoman Empire. She was discussing how its success in expanding was due to adopting a flexible ideology which enabled it to absorb peoples of such starkly different ethno-lingual and religious backgrounds. To quote her words exactly, she said, "When you're ideological, it's hard to be flexible." While she was getting us to understand the nature of an empire, I was understanding myself.

Sixty percent of the music in my iTunes library is Israeli. From time to time I'll listen to an American song, but the vast majority of my music listening takes place in Hebrew. I began collecting Israeli music during my senior year of high school when my aunt sent me an album by an Israeli rap duo called Subliminal and the Shadow. My collection gradually grew, and now every year when I am in Israel I make a pilgrimage to a Tower Records where I carefully select five or six new albums. It is probably my main hobby. Part of the reason I have so much music (over 1200 songs) is that I have a weekly Israeli radio show, but it also goes deeper than that. I love the Hebrew and I love being able to connect in a deep way to Israeli culture. It gives me serious street cred with the Israelis I meet in my travels. And I love being able to stay connected to Israeli culture via my iPod as I work out at the gym, walk around campus, and go about my very American life.

"I just couldn't identify with any group that tells everyone else they're going to hell." With that, our late-night dorm room futon musings ended abruptly. A friend who I respect very much refused to be pushed or prodded any further; her opinion of Christianity (or really, just a vocal subset of Christianity) would not change. The idea that belief in Jesus Christ is the exclusive path to salvation and the judgmental nature of humans assigning other humans a place in the afterlife was just too viscerally bothersome. Nothing I could say would make her budge.

After running some quick errands, I was headed back to my car in an unusually empty Lake Success Shopping Center parking lot. The weather in New York the past few days has been spring-like, a hopeful reminder that I can soon play tennis outdoors once again. As part of my rather extensive fitness routine, I park my car the longest distance from my destination store. Tonight was a great night to park inconveniently. The full moon of February 9th was begging for attention.

Talk about eye candy. As I walked the two minutes to my car, I also walked towards the moon. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Upon reaching my car, I put my stuff inside, zipped up my jacket, and leaned against the 100year-old silver Honda CRV that accompanied me on this short trip.

At some point in every day, I try to remember to say the prayer "I Confess in Faith" by the 12th Century Armenian saint, St. Nerses Shnorhali. Almost any Armenian will recognize the name of this saint, great mind and poet. I grew up near the Armenian seminary named for him. It was not until recently, however, that I read his rather short prayer and discovered the aura St. Nerses for myself.

Before classes really get going, I decided it would be a good idea to squeeze in something I've been meaning to do for a while. I took the Safe Zone Ally training to become qualified as an ally to LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered) people, and soon I'll get a rainbow sticker to put outside my dorm room to let anyone who comes by know that they can talk to me openly about their sexuality.

I just got back from the Holy Land and look forward to sharing with you some of my experiences. I must share one story first. While my parents were watching the news about Israel, wondering if I were in a city where a bomb had fallen that day, I got this story about my home town of Chicago: a synagogue was firebombed. Temple Sholom of Chicago -- where I became Bar Mitzvah, an adult according to the Jewish tradition, where I spent many nights sleeping over with my youth group friends, one of the oldest (and most left-leaning) Jewish congregations in the city -- was the victim of a 2 a.m. attack.

I generally don't like blogging about the Middle East, but current events don't leave me much choice. I spent last weekend sitting around the TV in my friend's cramped New York City apartment watching constant chattering and theorizing and pontificating by pundits on CNN and Fox News and then discussing with the assembled congregation. A large number of my friends on Facebook have donated their statuses to "QassamCount: [x number] more Hamas rockets hit Israel today. One million Israeli civilians live in range of rocket fire. Donate your status: http://qassamcount.com/fb." It is in my face. I am not an expert on the situation in the Middle East, and I don't even like talking about it much because it is simultaneously so heartbreaking and blood-boiling. But with that said, here are some thoughts.