My story is actually a big cliche in many ways. My family moved to southern California from Korea when I was 8 years old, with typical immigrant aspirations of working hard to fulfill an American dream. We didn't have much, and we hit a big speed bump a year into our move when my younger brother got hit by a car on our way to school. I witnessed the accident, which now is a distant blur, but for many years caused me much anxiety .
Throughout these early and difficult years, my mother served as the rock. Her unwavering faith, and insistence on the rest of us actively being involved with church, in hindsight held us together. During my high school years, I served on the praise team at our church, and continued on in early college years through involvement with campus ministry.
But as I entered my 20's, difficult questions arose in my mind. Do I really believe in God, and if so, why? Was it merely an emotional byproduct of the naivete of my youth and difficult circumstances? And the most troublesome question: was I using the notion of a higher power as a crutch to compensate for my weaknesses (and by extension, does religion draw from the weak and the failed, which I certainly did not want to be associated with)?