I was raised in the United Methodist Church; attended church & Sunday School every week and Vacation Bible School in the summer with my brother & sister. My mother was very involved in the church. It provided her entire social life and an accepting social group. My dad did not attend with us.

I grew up regularly hearing the necessity of accepting Jesus as one's personal savior in order to get to heaven. Methodists are pretty calm people. I'm amused at the stories of yelling Bible thumpers or scary priests--our ministers were pretty nice. I attended a Billy Graham Crusade as a preteen and almost went up at the altar call but wasn't sure how I would find my family afterwards, so held back.

Finally, in college, my first roommate was a born-again Christian and involved with Campus Crusade for Christ. Uh oh, here it was again. I felt guilty inside as I knew I had never done this thing that I had been told my whole life I should do. I wondered how it would change my life. All those sermons and hymns about how great a relationship with Jesus is had made an impression. I'd had a miserable childhood -- maybe this would finally bring me some happiness.

One night alone in my room at home I asked Jesus to become my savior. I was so relieved I had finally done it that I felt very happy. Now I was all set, and I wouldn't go to hell. Thank goodness.

I got involved in Campus Crusade for Christ through my roommate. I adopted all the lingo, started listening to Christian music, even zealously went on spring break witnessing trips. I enjoyed being part of this group. I read my Bible and prayed, but I didn't really feel anything. I thought I must not be trying hard enough. When was I going to feel the Holy Spirit inside me? Was God even listening when I prayed? I didn't understand the point of prayer. If he was going to say "yes" or "no" to a prayer regardless, what was the point of asking?

The Bible didn't make much sense to me, either. The language seemed vague. It seemed like you could make an argument for just about anything in there, which, I guess, people throughout history have always done.

Soon I started feeling a bit of a fraud. I had done this thing that had been hanging over my head all my life, but it hadn't really changed me after all. I did not feel God's presence. I had to work hard to censor my speech to make it fit in with my Christian friends. What was wrong with me? This wasn't transforming my life like it was supposed to.

Meanwhile, I was getting older. I was starting to understand why my mom was so involved in church; it was for social reasons. Being a Christian did not make her strong morally. She didn't drink or curse, but she stood by and watched my dad emotionally abuse & neglect us kids without a word. She felt quite superior to those who did not attend church, however. Plunking her butt down once a week in a church pew somehow made her an good person in her mind.

My older brother got involved in a charismatic church that spoke in tongues. What a freak show that was. I waited to see him become more loving and kind, more Jesus-like. It never happened. I think he needed the acceptance of the group just like I did after the childhood we had.

At this point I stopped going to church. I felt my conversion really hadn't taken. I was disillusioned. I met people who were "strong Christians" who lied to me, openly gossiped, were bigoted, uncaring or unkind. I realize that's an old complaint, the "church full of hypocrites". But if following Christianity didn't have some effect on you, make you a force for good in the world, what was the point?

The point can't possibly be to murmur to oneself (pray), sit quietly in a seat (go to church), and read a book (study the scriptures) when you could be spending that time actually helping others. I had a very close friend, the daughter of a minister, who had no time for me when my father died because she was so busy with church activities. Is that really right? Is that what the God or Jesus of the Bible intended?

Meanwhile I got married and had children. I started taking my daughter to church. I felt uncomfortable taking her to this activity I wasn't sure I believed in. Eventually we quit going after some fits and starts. I just couldn't do it anymore, it felt false. I like having an honest relationship with her and it felt like lying.

At 12 years of age my daughter was diagnosed with cancer. Here was the kicker for me. My daughter is probably the best person I've ever known--kind to a fault, sensitive to the feelings of others, happy, loving, and talented. She loves life. If there was a God, how did he deem it proper and right that this kind, gentle girl should suffer so much?

This I could see first-hand; I knew this child inside & out and no one deserved this less than her. The only rational explanation was that God could not exist. If he did, he made a mistake in how he made the world such that children suffer like this. Only he is supposed to be perfect, unable to make mistakes. These two ideas are not compatible.

My daughter is doing well now, thanks to science. I am grateful to her doctors and nurses who treated her, and took care of her. I am grateful to the scientists who've made cancer research their life's work. I am grateful to the families who cooked for us, brought books and videos for her, and took care of my younger child while my daughter was in treatment. These people actually helped us.

Many people piously prayed for her. I hope it made them feel good. It didn't help us--we needed hot meals, phone calls, support and love. Most of our support came from people who are not big churchgoers. I guess they had more time than others to help out.

Looking back, perhaps I had gotten the wrong message somehow about Christianity, but I doubt that. I sat in church every week for years and years, listening to hundreds of sermons over time. I grew up going to Sunday School every week. Everything they needed to tell me about it, I heard. And yet, it didn't take. Why not? There could not have been someone more open to it than me. I have to conclude, the reason I did not feel God in my heart when I asked him to come in is because there isn't one. Too bad.

In the present day I've been horrified by their treatment of homosexuals. They seem quited comfortable with their hatred and prejudices. I

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