"Do you really believe in Jesus and what he did for you?" At the time the answer was no. Joetta would ask me questions like this all the time. She would ask if I believed in Heaven, Hell, God, the Holy Spirit, and anything else she could think of. I went to church when I was little, so I assumed the answer was yes. I sat down and really gave it some thought. Deep down I knew the faith wasn't there.
             I grew up going to this small Methodist church in the suburbs of South Houston. Our church had a total of maybe two hundred people. The majority of those where all over fifty years old. So entertaining ourselves was a full time job. My dad was big in the choir, so sneaking out wasn't all that hard. My buddies and I would always go behind the church and play. We played football, basketball, soccer, or we would go to the abandoned neighborhood next to the old sewage treatment facility. The times I did attend church I fell asleep halfway through the service. After a while my dad stopped forcing me to go. It wasn't until I was about sixteen that I started going to church again. It was during this time that I actually started questioning myself about my beliefs. I started going to this gigantic church a few blocks away and immediately fell in love with it.
             I had friends that were Atheists, Buddhist, Christian, and some that were pretty much undecided. This made discussions fairly interesting. I felt I had to do some studying on my own. I tend to be a fairly analytical person, so it was hard to fully believe in something without tangible evidence. On the other hand, I figured everyone's thought of what happens after this life is just a guess. How can anyone really be sure? Who's to say the Bible is the inspired word of God as apposed to the Qu'ran, Vedas, or the Tipitaka? Why would someone else die for my sins long before I was born? All these thoughts were floating around in my head. Debates dur
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