My bride

My new home when I became a Christ-follower was a church in Maryland called Laurel Christian Fellowship.

It was one of twenty-plus sister churches, pastored by former “Jesus People”—

My first pastors, Victor and Sheri Castro (tambourines were standard equipment back then).

disenchanted counterculture youth, hippies and outcasts who burned for Jesus back in the late 60s and early 70s and who were still on fire. The flame had been lit in me at an IHOP, and the Jesus People, sans tie-dyes, blew on the coals.

At the same time, we were about as politically active as they came. We were the most active Moral Majority and Concerned Women for America chapters in America. When our home groups met on Wednesday nights, like as not, we spent our time putting together thousands of campaign mail-outs, in addition to an hour or so of worship. Those who weren’t serving candidates were running for office themselves. If there was a picket line, we were there. If there was a march, we were in step. And yes, we were a bit over the top.

By 1980, I was leading a home group.

A member of our group had a younger sister named Annie, who was in college in West Virginia. One evening she showed up at our meeting. And she stayed.

Whenever elections came around, we would be paired off and go door to door to turn out voters. Before one election, Annie and I were teamed up and decked out in red, white and blue skimmers.

As we walked, we talked. I never wanted to get married again, I told her. I was in the middle of a divorce, and being a three-time loser was more than enough for anybody. Besides, we

were so different. She was one of five. Her mother was one of eleven. Annie said she wanted thirteen kids and to stay at home and bake. I was fifteen years older and an only child (though the baking part sounded good).

But Annie was, and continues to be, on the same full-speed-ahead track to get closer to Jesus as I was. So, I guess it shouldn’t have been that shocking when we were married just months later—43 years ago.

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