Just a little draft... maybe more to come...
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I remember the day we first met. I entered the sanctuary for worship team practice and noticed him immediately. New members had been joining us for rehearsals, several of whom, had been very attractive men that, to a high school senior, was always something to look forward to. And there he was, a new face, a new boy to know.

I strolled down the aisle smiling at the sound of my named being shouted by Eileen, the band leader. Glancing his way, I saw him look at me and return to his conversation with her husband, Andy. Once, I made it to where everyone was gathered, I caught up with a few of the other team members and casually ignored him. I knew I had plenty of time to meet him and the idea of chasing after another boy, a recent pass time, was not something that seemed particularly fun at the time.

Band rehearsal was the one place for me, a 17 year old girl, was able to feel safe and confident. It was a second home to me, the church I had grown up in, learned to sing in. I felt honored and special to be on the worship team as I had been specifically asked, even though I was in high school, to join by Andy and Eileen. Little did I know that their action of reaching out to me in such a way would open wide a doorway to singing, a door that I thought was supposed to remained locked. Joyously, I would bounce into rehearsals, coming to life with an eagerness to sing. Each practice was like a blank canvas where we would paint and splatter our sounds. It was a creative outlet for me to close my eyes and sing, my voice soaring along with melodic lines, ringing in my head, echoing all around me. It was there that I learned to harmonize, taking my musical ablilty to a new level. It was there that I was truly happy.

The pass year's events had dealt me the death of a close friend and the birth of a longstanding battle with depression. It was the hardest year of my life. While friends spent their senior year partying and looking forward to college, I spent my time trying to know myself. I had been hiding behind a mask my entire life, pretending it were different, pretending I was someone else. This behavior began my non-existant identity, formed from the perfections of friends and their successes, hoping that if I copied their paths, then I, an invisible being, would surface and find happiness. Those I fed off of were members of a Christian group called Young Life.

My Young Life leaders were people I wanted to be so badly. Their lives were so organized and pretty, their homes beige and cream colored, accented by huge couches and scripture. They were so friendly and outgoing. They were perfect. Perfect Christians, perfect parents, perfect friends. The model of human behavior. I gravitated to them, accepting their flier invitations to "Club", feeling wanted and cared for. I would drive by myself to school mate's houses who were, by far, way more popular than I was. I would fight off feelings of unworthiness as I entered their homes, desperately seeking out a familiar face. Many times, the only people I knew were the leaders and there was an awkwardness between myself and my peers seated around me. I felt like I should be nice to them, I expected them to be nice to me, but hardly any words were spoken.

Eventually, I got to know more people and once they found out I was already a Christian, I was invited to attend the pre-club bible study called Campaigners. Becoming an active Young Lifer, was where I thought I belonged, where I thought I would be happy. My parents even opened up their home to host Club several times to give me this. At the time I didn't realize it, but I thought hosting Young Life was what good Christians do.