I didn't come to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ until I was 19 years old. The years until then were mostly void of any awareness on my part of God's presence.

We left Greece when I was 13, moving stateside to Kennesaw, GA. This was supposed to be a "permanent move", a term used by my dad's employer, McDonnell-Douglas, to indicate a stay of  2 – 5 years. We got there in October and left at the end of the school year in June. During that time, and the next year when we were living in Hawaii, I don't recall having any conversations with anyone about God or getting invited to church or even praying to Him.
After Hawaii we moved to Fargo, N.D., and I did go to church a couple of times there with my best friend, Laura. She was raised Catholic and attended Mass sometimes. I had never gone until once when I spent the night at her house on a Saturday. Our sleepovers consisted of buying a bunch of junk food and pigging out while we read fitness magazines and listened to music. After indulging in Doritos and candy and maybe Twinkies or Little Debbies, all washed down with Diet Coke, (gotta watch those calories!), we'd swear never to eat so much junk again. Then we would make plans for the new exercise program that we intended to start…tomorrow.
So once or twice I ended up going to Mass with Laura on a Sunday morning. Why? Because her mom treated the kids to McDonald's if they went to church, and since I was at their house I got in on the deal. I only did it a couple of times, though, because after going to Mass the first time I was pretty sure it wasn't worth sitting through the service just to get a free Quarter Pounder and french fries. The pastor guy was dressed in some gown or robe or something and during the service you had to stand and then sit and then kneel and then do it again and the songs were lame and you had to say some chant-y type responses to stuff the robe guy said to you and some of the stuff was in Latin and it was just all too weird for me at the time. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why this church had to go through all that just to spend some time with God, and I didn't want to participate, even if you threw in a caramel sundae with the QP meal. I did admire their stained glass windows, however.
After that, I didn't step inside a church again until I was a senior in high school, living in Creve Coeur, MO. My friend Moe and I were going to our boss's wedding. The service got going and we were sitting towards the back in the middle of a pew. Something was said that struck us as funny, and we spent the next couple of minutes trying desperately not to laugh. We looked at our shoes, tried to blank out our minds, and dared not look at each other. I pinched myself, hard, but the pain wasn't enough to distract me. Now our shoulders were shaking in silent laughter, and then Moe snorted. That was it! We both sprang up out of our seats and "excuse me"-ed past everyone in the pew and power-walked to the exit, heads still ducked down, burst through the door and cracked up. We didn't return to the ceremony.
That was the only wedding I ever went to until my own, and I've still never been to a funeral, so the possible chance to hear the Gospel at one of those services never came up.
When the time came, God used a much more unexpected, albeit prosaic, opportunity to tell me about His Son.
(to be concluded in Part 5)