I began to eye even my own parents’ teachings with increasing suspicion, putting my total trust in what a new set of teachers had to say — Christian pop stars, authors, pastors, and my peers’ more church-involved parents who, despite what I can only imagine must have been a multiplicity of perspectives among them, presented what is in retrospect an astoundingly consistent set of messages. I went to church, Sunday school, and youth group weekly; to Bible studies, retreats, mission trips, conferences, trainings, and concerts regularly; and to youth group-organized parties, movie nights, sleepovers, concerts of prayer, and church lock-ins whenever they were offered (and they were offered a lot). I sang and played guitar in the youth group praise band; started and led a very well-attended Bible study at my public junior high school; launched a girls’ Bible study for anyone in the city, which I led out of my parents’ basement; and made it a habit to talk to everyone I could about how they could ask Christ into their hearts and experience the spiritual awakening I had experienced. I got up early every morning to do daily devotionals before school, read the Bible before bed each night so its wisdom would settle into my subconscious as I slept, and continued my childhood practice of trying to pray my way through each day.