I grew up in a secular home where God was never a topic of conversation. My parents believed in simply being good people. My father, having attended Catholic schools as a child, developed a general distaste for religion. Despite this, I was drawn to church and went every chance I got, tagging along with friends and neighbors who invited me. I attended Catholic, Mormon, and Baptist churches—essentially any church where someone welcomed me.

 For my parents, church was only a place they visited for special occasions. They attended my baptism, first communion, and high school graduation, but that was it. Even those moments happened because of my grandfather, who was a practicing Catholic.

 My faith lacked any real foundation. I was drawn to God and loved the idea of someone out there loving me unconditionally, but I had no understanding of why I believed. As I entered my teenage years, I became focused on getting a better education to prepare for the college of my choice. I asked my grandfather to send me to a Catholic high school, and he was happy to cover the cost.

 You might think attending a Catholic school would deepen one’s knowledge of God, but that wasn’t the case for me. All I learned was how to follow traditions and participate in ceremonies. Despite taking three years of religion classes, my eyes were never opened to the true knowledge of Jesus Christ.

 During my freshman year of high school, I met Julie, who quickly became my best friend—and still is to this day. Neither of us paid much attention to our faith during those years, but after graduation, Julie got saved. She started dating Matthew, a youth pastor. I wasn’t a fan of Matthew at first; he came across as abrasive, and we often argued about Catholicism.

 I found myself defending traditions and ceremonies I didn’t truly understand, clinging to them because they were all I thought I knew. Deep down, I resisted the idea that he was challenging my beliefs. But God began working on my heart, slowly chipping away at my defenses. Over time, I started to see that what Matthew was trying to show me wasn’t arrogance—it was truth.

 Eventually, I left Catholicism and became a non-denominational Christian. In 1999, Matthew even baptized me. Looking back, I can see that I was still lost and without a solid foundation, which was reflected in the life I was living.

 Around this time, I met my first husband, Ken. We both believed we were Christians, but we were living in sin and focused entirely on ourselves. Before long, I became pregnant, and we decided to get married. Ken already had a child from a previous relationship, so we suddenly found ourselves with two kids, and when I got pregnant again, we had three children under the age of three.

 In the beginning, we attended church sporadically, but with so many young kids, life became hectic, and eventually, we stopped going altogether. Ken started to question his faith, diving into books on philosophy and ancient scientific texts. This exploration led him down a path to atheism. For years, I struggled with his disbelief. The thought of a world without God felt cold and empty to me, but I looked up to Ken because of his incredible intelligence.

 He was brilliant—a former rocket scientist who worked with intelligence organizations, often on projects so secretive he couldn’t tell me about them. Over time, his reasoning wore me down, and I allowed him to lead me away from God. I never became an atheist, because I couldn’t fully deny the possibility of God’s existence, but I claimed to be agnostic. I convinced myself that I didn’t care whether God existed or not.

 I didn’t notice any real difference in my life when I transitioned from believing in God to not believing, which I took as further proof of my disbelief. In reality, it was simply evidence that I had never truly believed. We lived what seemed like good lives, but without God, bitterness quietly took root. You don’t notice it happening—you just go through the motions like a zombie.

 Ken was a loving husband, but as a father, he was cold and distant. While he cared for his children, his love felt clinical and detached. I couldn’t stand the way he treated them, and ultimately, I decided to leave. To ensure I could provide for my kids without relying on him, I joined the Army, believing it would give me the resources I needed to take care of them on my own.

 Unfortunately, my plan backfired. After I left, Ken became inconsolable and suicidal. The only thing that motivated him to get out of bed each day was taking care of the children. Realizing this, I reluctantly agreed to let him have primary custody.

 This was the lowest point in my life. I was a mother separated from her children, living in what felt like a toxic environment—the Army. I spiraled out of control, seeking comfort in all the wrong places. I was desperate to fill the gaping, God-sized hole in my life, compounded by the ache of being without my children. They were my reason for living, my anchor to sanity, but I only had them with me on Wednesday evenings and weekends. I would cry myself to sleep at night, lost in emptiness.

 In my desperation, I lived as though sin didn’t exist. I had countless one-night stands, sometimes with multiple people in a single day, and even slept with a woman. No matter how much I indulged in these fleeting pleasures, the void remained. I was running as far from God as I could, but no matter how far I strayed, He never turned His back on me.

 I didn’t deserve His goodness, yet He was about to step in and transform my life. Change was coming, but not before I hit a few more bumps in the road.

 I received orders to PCS to Germany. Before I left, I was involved with a married man, and at the time, it didn’t bother me. Just four weeks into my new assignment, I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified and had no idea what to do.

 Not long after arriving in Germany, I met Keith. He was quiet, reserved, and completely unlike anyone I’d ever been drawn to before. We spent time together in a group, exploring tourist spots near our station. When I discovered I was pregnant, he was the first person I told. To my surprise, the news didn’t seem to faze him—he wanted to date me.

 Under normal circumstances, I would never have said yes. But in the deep hole I had dug for myself, God sent Keith to help me climb out. He was perfect in every way: kind, patient, and steady. I didn’t deserve him, but he didn’t seem to care.

 Keith had been raised in a Christian home, attended Christian schools, and, like me, had stepped away from God at that point in his life. He had also been through a rocky first marriage. Both of us knew what we didn’t want in a spouse, and as we spent more time together, it became clear we were perfect for each other. Six months after we started dating, we got married.

 We lived in Germany for three years, and by the time we left, I was pregnant again. Our next stop was Washington, where Ken and our two children were living. This was the happiest time of my life. I felt like a complete mom, with my heart full. I got to see my older children every weekend, and they were able to bond with their younger siblings.

 Everything felt perfect—until the day Ken called. I assumed he was about to complain about our oldest, Zachary, who had a reputation for being a troublemaker. I jokingly made a comment about him not dying, and his response stopped me in my tracks. “Funny you should say that,” he said. My heart sank.

 Ken went on to tell me he had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and not just any tumor—the fastest-growing kind there is. He needed surgery immediately, followed by chemotherapy. In an instant, my world came crashing down.

 Even though we were no longer married, Ken was still one of my dearest friends. Knowing he was fighting for his life sent my anxiety into overdrive. I didn’t understand what was happening to me—I even thought I was having a heart attack on two separate occasions. I couldn’t cope with the thought of losing him.

 Keith had an aunt and uncle who lived about 45 minutes away in Washington. His uncle was a pastor with his own church, and he and his wife, Teresa, also offered counseling. Desperate and brokenhearted, I went to see them.

 Teresa and I sat together in the chairs of their church, and she prayed with me. I felt utterly lost, consumed by the certainty that Ken was going to die. But as Teresa prayed for his healing, she reminded me that God could take the tumor away—that He could heal Ken.

 In that moment, something shifted. God softened my hardened heart and opened my eyes. For the first time in years, I felt hope. I realized I wasn’t alone—God was right there with me. Tears of relief streamed down my face as the weight of my despair began to lift.

 I had spent 11 long years running from God, but through Ken’s illness, I was drawn back to Him. It struck me that the same man who had once led me away from God was now, unknowingly, leading me back. There was a strange and poignant beauty in this tragic story, a connection I didn’t immediately recognize—but it was undeniably there.

 I began attending church every Sunday, actively seeking books to help me better understand the God of the Bible. Throughout my life, I had heard the story of Jesus Christ many times, and each time, it moved me. But what I hadn’t realized was that there was actual evidence supporting the existence of Jesus. He wasn’t just a fictional figure—He truly existed.

 The most influential book I read during this time was The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel. It opened my eyes to the facts and historical documents that back up the claims of those who witnessed Jesus after His resurrection. My hope in Jesus became more than just hope—it became rooted in reality.

 The Bible can be difficult to understand when you're not ready for it, but in His perfect timing, the Father opened my eyes. Now, as I read His words, I feel myself slowly being transformed. I make it a point to read or listen to His words daily, as I no longer want to feel lost in this world. Ken eventually passed away from his illness, but God granted him 18 months of being cancer-free after the first tumor was removed. God's grace carried me through one of the toughest times of my life, and now, I want to share that saving grace with others.

 My hope is that by sharing my story and the stories of others, seeds will be planted that inspire others to embark on their own journey of discovering the transformative power of Jesus Christ.