That night on the floor with my Bible, I realized that I had two options. The first, of course, was to give in to the despair and walk away for good. In so many ways, it would have been easier. I was so far into the world already, and I desperately wanted what it offered—status, opportunities, fun, romance, and relationships. I had plenty of sympathetic friends who would have been happy to welcome me into a world without God.

Honesty usually comes easily to me, but telling this story has not. It’s hard to admit that I, who was raised in an Orthodox Presbyterian church, brought up in a Christian family, steeped in good doctrine, and surrounded by Christian friends, fell away from the faith.

I didn’t expect to. I’m an obsessive rule-follower. My skirts go to the knee, and I still address adults as “Mr.” and “Mrs.” The only tattoo I have is a Czech phrase taken from the statue of a martyred Reformer that stood in the village outside Prague where I served for two years as a missionary associate for the Orthodox Presbyterian Church. I may have struggled with aspects of my Christian walk, but my faith had never wavered. Not once.

Prague

I had never felt closer to my Maker than in Prague. It was clear to me that I was where God wanted me to be, serving him in a beautiful place with wonderful people. Even though it was by no means a simple two years, God’s presence was so tangible and his provision so evident that I felt refreshed and revitalized daily.

While there, I frequently hosted friends and acquaintances who were meandering their way through Central Europe. The routine was the same: we’d meet up, I’d show them the city, and sometime between the hot coffee or the spiced wine and the sweeping views of majestic castles and steeple spires, we’d talk about God.

The story was often the same: they were struggling. They didn’t feel connected to God or the faith of their parents. They were afraid to tell their families or people in their church about their doubts. Feeling like hypocrites, many of them were considering leaving the faith altogether because it would be easier to slip away unnoticed than to cause a public stir.

At the time, I didn’t understand. I told them that they should talk to someone, seek accountability, pray, draw near to God. After all, I had a great relationship with the Lord, so clearly it could be done.

Many of those friends are no longer in the church.

San Diego

I think I left a lot of my relationship with God in Prague. Almost immediately upon returning home to San Diego, I was swept up into college and work and making new plans for the future. And I was lost. There were no road signs from God, no clear direction. It seemed that he had just backed away completely, that he didn’t need me anymore.

My Bible reading was the first thing to go. It was followed closely by poor decisions at school—worldly choices, things that drew me away from the Lord rather than to him. Small sins became habitual, big sins began appearing.

I wanted to see how far I could push myself down the wrong path before something went really wrong. Like the prodigal son, as I began to recognize the trouble I was getting into, I assumed I could work my way out of it. If I hadn’t witnessed my own progression, I would never have recognized the person that I had become—a rebel still parading around as a put-together Christian, leading youth group events and explaining to my non-Christian friends that “my faith is everything to me.”

What a lie.

I kept it up for two years. Late one night, I came home from work, sat on the floor, and opened my Bible, my soul feeling particularly unsettled. I did not know where to begin, so I reached for a devotional tucked in the back cover of my Bible and read the first page. A voice in my head interpreted every line with bitter, cynical mockery. It was a voice I had never heard before—certainly not mine!

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