I was raised by very kind, moral parents, one of whom took me to a Protestant Sunday School and the other of whom entertained basic doubts as to the very existence of God. I loved them both but found as I was growing up that I lacked a sound moral basis for making decisions. I remember consciously trying to "be nice," but eventually I found that this was not enough of a guideline with which to handle situations that came up at home or in school. I made many unfortunate choices of friends and activities, and although it seemed that conventional mores were at times hypocritical, I felt a great deal of guilt from flouting them.
By the tenth grade, I was so confused I tried to kill myself. My parents were concerned for my physical safety and, at a loss for what to do, committed me to a mental institution. A stay of more than a year there only added complexity to the problem. My suicide attempts occurred every so often after that, but I was living alone by then (I had convinced my parents and the authorities that I was ready for a job and my own apartment), so my parents never knew.
A young life of drinking, swearing, and promiscuity had about run its course by the time I was nineteen. I remember simply looking up at the sky one day and realizing, then and there, that God certainly exists. A long period of my gradually becoming aware of God's guidance and protection followed; I was led by degrees. I passed a test and received my high-school diploma, and afterward began attending college. My actions at times were still far from honest and upright. In fact, I was still sexually promiscuous. But understanding God was becoming more important to me.
