In the beginning...

I was raised on the East Coast in a loving family. I have two parents that are still together, after more than 30 years of marriage, and a sister with a heart of gold. My family didn't go to church on a regular basis. We were what some might call "Chreasters"--we went to church on Christmas and Easter. My life was not completely devoid of Christ, but he wasn't on the forefront of our minds either. We were raised with basic Christian, and in my opinion, common decency principles...don't lie, cheat or steal. Work hard and act responsibly. Do unto others, etcetera, etcetera.
I wasn't baptized because my parents denominations did not agree on whether I should be baptized at birth or be left to make the choice on my own. I went to vacation bible school a few times when I stayed with my Grammy in Ohio. I went to church occasionally after sleepovers with my friends once I hit middle school/high school age. Usually Catholic...there were lots of Catholics. I joined UMYF in my sophomore year of high school and went on several retreats and participated in Appalachian Service Project. In all these exposures, I don't remember anyone "inviting" me to get to know Christ and accept Him as my personal Savior. Church was an obligation. Youth group was a social event.
And anyway, I hadn't survived any particularly tragic events, hadn't suffered any traumatic abuse, hadn't even grieved the loss of a loved one...so, why would I need Christ? Better yet, why would the Lord, Jesus Christ, even bother with me? With so many injustices, illnesses and tragic excuses for life in this world, surely he's got something better to worry about than helping me through my ordinary life.
Nothing drove me to Him. No one told me I wouldn't go to Heaven (except the crazy Bible-beater on the corner by the library at UT). Besides, everyone I knew that was "religious" was weird. They didn't cuss, didn't drink (not even a drop), and couldn't have a conversation without mentioning what God had "told" them to do. I've prayed before. I pray now. Why isn't God's voice CLEAR to me? He must not feel the need to advise me, after all, as I said before, he's surely got something better to do.
And then it went beyond me. I got the fear. I had my first child and I looked in her eyes...and I saw Him. He was all over her. I love my husband; he is a wonderful man. I'm surely not the best, but not too bad either. But there is NO WAY that we made this beautiful, perfect, little girl on our own. There is no way that she grew inside of me, with all ten fingers and ten toes in the right place, because of something that we did. Her toes would have been on the wrong feet, or something would have been forgotten. But it wasn't. He made her. I remember thinking...now we have to raise her. This perfect little child will be raised by two imperfect people. I will undoubtedly screw this up somehow. I have got to do something. We have got to get help. And that is what drove me to Him...