LATE ’70s I was a manager for
Pizza Hut. The area office secretary, a
woman named Paula, was reading the
Urantia Book on her lunch break one day
when I came into the office to turn in
some reports. I have always been an
omnivorous reader, and always ask people
what they’re reading. When she said it
was a book about God and spiritual
things I became really interested.
“Who’s it by?”
I asked her.
“Uh . . . uh .
. . angels, sort of,” she stammered.
By now I was
even more intrigued, and asked if I
could borrow it. As I recall, she was
able to lend it to me just long enough
for me to read enough to convince me I
had to get my own copy. I did so
immediately, and the course of my life
began to change.
From the time
I was very small, I remember being
convinced of God’s love for me and the
essential goodness and friendliness of
the universe. My poor family was a mess;
we were dysfunctional before it was “in”
and before it was so named. Some
horrible things happened to me as a
child, but somehow I always knew that
wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
One of my
earliest spiritual memories is of
roller-skating around my block at dusk
and watching the stars come out,
speculating whether somewhere among the
stars there was another little girl
looking out at me and pondering the same
things. I would talk to God and wonder
if I would ever know why I was created
and what my true destiny, my purpose for
being, was. Conventional religion never
satisfied me. Years later, when I found
the Urantia Book, not only did it
confirm what I had always known about
our heavenly Father, but it eventually
supplied the answers to all of my