My parents were not Christians when I was growing up. Nor was anyone else in our family, to my knowledge. I became a Christian at age 13—a tumultuous age for teenage guys, whether or not they’re Christians. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I quickly longed for someone to show me how to be a strong believer in the world of teenage struggles in a non-believing home.
Consequently, I began to pay attention to how Christian men lived. I listened to how they prayed in Sunday school, in worship services, and at fellowship meals. I watched how they treated their families when they occasionally invited me to Sunday lunch at their homes. I paid attention when they spoke up in church business meetings (even though the business meetings themselves were incredibly boring, as I recall). If they invited me to visit church members and/or guests with them, I
