I do not remember a time in my life when I was not a churchgoer. My parents became Christians before my first birthday, and I was grafted in by confession of faith at the age of 9. My conversion was typical. I was afraid of going to hell. So afraid in fact that for about a week before my conversion I couldn't sleep, be alone, or think of much else. Christmas 1979...that's when it happened. The church we attended had a Christmas dinner and showed a movie. White Christmas, It's a Wonderful Life? Nope, they showed A Distant Thunder the second in a series of rapture/second coming of Jesus films. This film (horrible production, acting, filmography, and directing) was all about people who did not make the rapture. These people either had to take the mark of the beast or be killed. I took away that if you didn't accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior you were going to hell, and hell isn't a place you want to go. For a solid week, I could not sleep, I could not be by mysel...