Even when I was an infidel, I had a sense of God.
I would drive the ten or fifteen miles to Bear Creek Lake every Sunday morning in the summer, look out on the sparkling water and let the sights, sounds and smells fill my senses. A lot like Emily Dickinson worshipping in her garden, I suppose.
In the winter, I would shoulder my .410 and take off across the fields. The exertion of walking across the rough ground, made uneven by the fall's harvest machines, would quickly dispel the chill of the winter air, and I would contemplate the bleakness all around me and understand the beauty and necessity of rest, in that even the very earth must have her season of quiet.
Paul says that since what may be known about God is plain to all men, their foolish hearts are darkened by their denial of Him and their refusal to worship Him. What a blind and foolish heart was mine!
Yet, Isaiah speaks of God pouring out his Spirit, like water on dry and thirsty ground , upon his people. And Jesus told Nicodemus that that same Spirit must effect rebirth before one can even see, much less enter into, the kingdom of heaven.
Psalm 33 says that God spoke, and it came to be. My eyes give evidence of this. How much more so this reclaimed and regenerate heart.
Praise be to God!