In 1972 I fell in love with a man who resisted the draft and said he would rather go to prison than participate in an unjust war. We were wed on the front lawn of my church in our bare feet, because we refused to be conventional. I was seventeen, a virgin, and a Christian. He was five years older and an atheist with a strong sense of himself and even stronger opinions. We had many energetic discussions in which he attempted to convince me I was delusional for believing in the Bible.
Then, in the first year of our marriage, my husband underwent a conversion experience. Previously he had attended church with me solely for the purpose of amassing evidence against the existence of God. But one Sunday he stood up during an altar call, went forward, and pledged his life to Jesus.
