This became a weekly tradition, just like our girls’ nights. We’d meet at the service, all sit together, and then go out afterward and hang out. Every week I’d meet someone new, the service would be great, and I’d leave wondering why I hadn’t heard more of this stuff before. The things Paul (the speaker guy) talked about made sense, which I’d always thought was impossible; religion wasn’t about reason, it was about superstition. Or so I thought. At dinner afterward, I’d ask the other girls questions and we’d debate and talk, and usually by the end of the evening I felt a little clearer about another aspect of this God thing.

Joy, Taylor, and Missy were fast becoming the closest friends I’d ever had. Their camaraderie was unlike any I’d experienced with girlfriends in the past. There was a solidness in their commitment to each other, the way they looked out for each other and cared for each other. I felt privileged to have been allowed into their little minicommunity—not only allowed in, but invited in, my presence actually requested. Even my resistance to their beliefs didn’t seem to deter them from being with me. I felt safe with them, like anything I told them would be heard with an open mind, and that they wouldn’t judge me. I felt loved. It was a new experience, one that I found myself clinging to in near-desperation because having it showed me just how much I’d longed for it, and I was almost afraid I’d wake up one day to discover I’d been ousted. I prayed that wouldn’t happen.

February and March passed like a high-speed train, and my California credential slowly took shape. A good thing, too; my job with Williams & Williams was far from fulfilling and was starting to get on my nerves. Overall it was a decent job, and I tried to remember that. I still had the energy at the end of the day to wade through school district applications or to try to figure out what exactly I was going to do with this God thing. And as time wore on, that became my biggest question: what was I going to do?