It was the late nineties, and I had fallen in love with the only group of Christians I’d ever known.

Following the painful divorce of my parents, we started attending a new church. My experience with the church and its people up until that point was one of stuffy, self-righteous obligation and hollow conviction, and I had no desire to participate in that sort of thing under a different roof.

But these people were different. I could tell from the very moment my awkward, insecure, 15-year-old self worked up the courage to push through the heavy, brown double doors and enter youth group territory. The brief time I’d spent in catechism as a teenager told me that if I didn’t know someone or belong to a clique, I would be excluded...and I didn’t know a soul....