Recently I attended a ministry conference with my husband and was awed by what a close-knit family my nationwide church is. Yet, even as I settled into the comfort of this knowing, caring circle, I never wanted to forget what it feels like to be on the “outside” of a loving group and what it was that brought me in.

Some of my earliest memories are of talking to God, even though my childhood church experiences were flirtatious at best — a Sunday-school appearance here, a week at vacation Bible school there. But I talked to God about everything. He was almost like my imaginary playmate.

Then came adolescence and high school. Always a loner, I felt the oppression of the world of “cliques” I had entered. I hated “the cheerleaders” and “the jocks” — but not for their looks or abilities. It was their “closed-offness” that I loathed.

I was lucky to have a small group of friends I had known since grade school who felt the same way I did. One of them was a devout Christian, and she persuaded me to go to church with her.

I loved the words of the hymns that expressed so much of what I had been feeling throughout my life. I loved the way the preacher passionately talked about God’s love for us. I loved the teaching from the Bible.

But that was where my love ended. As my church attendance grew, so did my dislike for much of what I found there. The other teens, who had grown up together, were just another closed-off clique. They were nice to me when I was a visitor, but as soon as I tried to become one of them, the doors were closed. So I quit going.

Finally, I headed off to college with high hopes. Surely, I thought, people will have grown up enough that they can have their own thoughts and their own lives, and not need to belong to some group in order to be OK. And for the most part, I found that to be true. I was happier than ever.

But one thing still remained uncertain within me — my faith. Even though my relationship with God had floundered as I sought to maintain it on my own, my desire for Him had never ceased. If only there were some people I could find who share my passion, I thought.

On a secular campus it was easy to know where to look if you wanted Christian fellowship. Every Christian I knew about belonged to one popular Christian student group — a kind of Christian “club” replete with its own clubhouse, dances, conferences and field trips. In essence, they had their own world. And as much as I wanted to be a part of a world where God was at the core, I could never make peace with the idea of closing myself off in this “isolated” group.

So for four years my spiritual journey led me to make friends with all kinds of people from different countries and religions. I found all their beliefs interesting, but none of them provided the answers I truly needed. I longed for someone to talk to me about Jesus in a language I could understand, not in the typical Christian lingo with words that meant nothing to me. I wanted to find a Christianity without walls.

Then I met Ralph. He came to work at the service organization I directed, and from the first time we played volleyball together I instinctively liked this tall, thin, energetic sophomore. Ralph’s ability to get along with everyone intrigued me. I often saw him walking around campus with someone of a different color and nationality from his own.
But even more, I was overwhelmed by his pure joy. He was real. Real with himself, real with his friends, real in a way I had never encountered before. I wanted to know what made him the way he was.

It did not take long to discover that Ralph was a Christian. Though his witness was not usually overt, everything about the way he lived spoke of Jesus and the Christianity I had always believed to be true. There was nothing in Ralph that was closed off. He was a friend to all, and everyone liked him — especially me.

One day after work I approached Ralph about his beliefs. I told him I was tired of the fluctuation in my own spiritual life. I needed to decide either to be a Christian or not. Ralph talked to me for hours in a very real, down-to-earth way. And during subsequent conversations he taught me my very first worship chorus: “Change My Heart, O God.” Though his voice wavered a bit, I thought it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard. Its simplicity spoke to the hunger in my heart.

After reading the Bible with me in the middle of our office floor (which had become our church), Ralph asked me if I was ready to give my life to the Lord. And I knew I was. That night, without an altar call or fanfare, I laid my life before the Lord once and for all. For the first time in my life, I knew true peace.

Two years later, Ralph and I were married. After graduating, I joined the ministry in which he had grown up. We have now been here almost 11 years. During this time I have had the opportunity to share the gospel in a very intimate way with hundreds and hundreds of teenagers, and now also with our three little sons.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Ralph had chosen to stay “closed off” within Christian circles. Would his life have had the impact on me that it did? Would I even have a relationship with the Lord?

I really do not know. But I am glad I only have to wonder.