I grew up in a nominally Christian home. I thought we were a thoroughly Christian family, though, and especially admired my mom’s “faith”. She was committed to good works; she was a hard-working, faithful wife and mother, she read her Bible daily, and prayed constantly. She got to know elderly neighbors and helped them in any way she could. She made baked goods for people we knew and delivered them. She was a model of good works. We rarely went to church. I do remember going, sporadically, throughout my childhood, but only for a time, and then we always stopped for long periods before trying another church. I went to a Christian school in my very early school years, and we were told that Jesus loved us and wanted us to invite Him into our hearts. My teacher prayed with me (I think she prayed FOR me) with my mom present, and I believed that I was going to heaven. I tried hard to be obedient and do good things. I believed what my mom believed…that believing Jesus died for my sin