I have three secrets. At least, it feels that way. They’re not actually secrets, but they are at once important parts of my past and also not topics that come up in any normal conversation. By the time people learn these things about me, we will inevitably have known one another long enough that they are completely shocked by the revelation and I feel guilty for not sharing sooner. It’s absurd and annoying. It has reached the point where when I meet a new person, I am half-consciously brainstorming ways to introduce one or all of these points into our conversation as soon as possible.
Secret #1: I was married for a year in my mid-20s. (And just yesterday went for my hearing to make the divorce final.)
Secret #2: I’m adopted.
Secret #3: I have only been a Christian for about two years.
The last of these is mostly only interesting to other Christians, but it was a large motivation for starting this blog. The first question I always get when this secret is revealed is: “How did you become Christian?” To which I always answer that the story would take much too long to do justice, and I should write about it sometime. Then I attempt to give a short answer, because I feel that it’s a story worth telling and who knows when I’ll get around to writing it down. It’s the story of how I am Catholic by birth, declared myself agnostic at 14, Wiccan at 18, then generic neo-pagan, then dabbled in nearly everything I could find that wasn’t Christianity before finally, lovingly, Jesus caught my attention and all the pieces started falling into place.
Sometimes I feel like other Christians look at me with too much awe. I am (in their eyes) the golden child who proves that evangelism works, that God does call people who haven’t simply grown up in Christian families. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in. At the same time, I like thinking that my weird, meandering search for truth and spiritual fulfillment has some purpose beyond myself, that I can inspire and educate others who have maybe explored the world around them a little less.