I remember absolutely everything about the moment I became a Christian. I remember the place… the people around me… the feel of the grass and the smell of the campfire… I was nineteen, studying to be a doctor, with every reason to believe that I was perfectly prepared for the successful life I knew I was meant to live. And yet something was missing, something that should be there… but wasn’t. It was a void in my heart.
I tried to fill that void by being a classic overachiever in school, playing sports, and keeping myself busy. But after awhile, it wasn’t enough. This led to some unhealthy void-filling pursuits that only made it worse. My freshman year of college must have been a sad thing for God to watch. On the outside it looked like I was having the time of my life, but on the inside… void.
I was a kid who wasn’t raised in church, didn’t know anything other than stereotypes about Christians, and truly felt that religion was a crutch for the weak-minded. But there I was… hired to work at a summer camp because I wanted to get away from home. And that night, against all the odds, over conversation with some really amazing followers of Jesus, I decided to say, “yes” to a life of faith.