On Feb. 16, 1952, I was born into a family of four—my mother, father, and two brothers. My father had been baptized and confirmed in a Lutheran church. My mother was an adult confirmand in the same church.

Rough beginning

Regular church attendance was not a part of our family life. My younger brother was the only child baptized. He had been admitted to the hospital with severe dehydration, from vomiting and diarrhea. The doctor didn’t think he was going to make it, so they baptized him. He did make it, but neither my older brother nor I was ever baptized.

My father was an alcoholic. When he had his times of trying not to drink, we attended church. But when he started to drink again, my mother would make my brothers and me go to a non-denominational church, which she preferred. We made a fuss because we didn’t want to go to any church. Eventually, she gave up trying to make us go.

I remember attending a summer vacation Bible school at a neighborhood Baptist church. I was about eight years old, and going was my own idea. The second day, as I sat around a table with several other children, the teacher started to impress upon us the need to accept Christ into our lives. Very quickly it became apparent that she was not going to let us go until we verbally accepted Christ. I became uncomfortable and didn’t want to say what she wanted me to say. Under duress, I gave in, even though I didn’t believe in or feel right about what I was saying.

I grew up confused about religion. It seemed to be very complicated. I tried not to think too much about it and convinced myself that I was, after all, a pretty good person. I knew something was missing in my life, but I didn’t want to deal with whatever it was. Church and religion were not a part of most of my adult life. I believed in God, but I couldn’t quite swallow those Bible stories. I wondered how they could be true.

Continued difficulties

At age 18, I married for the first time in a Methodist Church. My parents weren’t pleased with my choice in a husband. They were right. After four years, I had to get out. He was lying and embezzling from the business he managed. We divorced.

At age 23, I met my second husband. He was eight years older than me, and my parents liked him. But 14 years of marriage and two children later, I learned he had been unfaithful with two different women. Another divorce. I vowed to never marry again. I felt like such a failure in life. I wondered why God was punishing me this way. What terrible wrongdoing had I done?