Altar call

Of all the weeping boys on their knees, at the front of the campsite hall seeking the Holy Spirit, at the height of a dusty Indiana summer, I chose the brownest boy there. I didn’t know then what I was doing or why. Looking back, it seems obvious.


Most people who know me now are surprised to find out that I was a devoted churchgoer in my youth. Although I wasn’t raised “on the pews,” the church was there in my background from the beginning.