I grew up near Charlotte, North Carolina. My dad was a school teacher and itinerant preacher. He filled pulpits, and spoke at summer camps. It was at one of those camps that I first crossed paths with Jesus. My dad was inviting people to come up and pray. I noticed a rapid thudding in my chest. Something vague began to rise in my throat. He went on, "If you'd like to become a Christian and receive forgiveness for the wrong things that you've done, then please, get out of your chair and come up to the front. We'd like to pray with you." My hands were clenched around the raspy edges of my plastic seat. My mind raced. You need this. You need this. But I argued back. No, I don't. I'm not go
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