Conversion

Joanna Shelton’s journey to faith began unexpectedly with an email inviting her to the 120th anniversary of a church in Osaka, Japan-one founded by her great-grandfather, 19th-century Presbyterian missionary Thomas Theron Alexander. Despite a secular upbringing in Texas, where church was more educational than spiritual, Joanna’s adult life was marked by a high-powered career as an international economist and trade negotiator in Washington, D.C., and Paris.

Yet, even amid professional success, Joanna felt something was missing: “A feeling deep inside me nagged me with thoughts of a more ‘normal’ life. (One) of community and day-to-day rhythms focused more on family and friends than on international travel and high-level diplomacy.” She eventually traded diplomatic life for a Montana farm and began researching her great-grandfather’s legacy.

To understand what had drawn him to ministry in Japan, Joanna started reading the Bible seriously, guided by two devout relatives. “A long-suppressed inner flame burned brighter as I read and contemplated the Scriptures,” she writes. Verses like Luke 17:20–21 and John 14:9 resonated deeply, helping her grasp “the true meaning of faith, as hope in things unseen.”

Her spiritual search was further fueled by witnessing the enduring faith of Japanese Christians whose ancestors had been taught by missionaries like her great-grandfather. “My great-grandfather’s hand, still for over 100 years, seemed to beckon, and I followed,” she reflects.

In 2007, Joanna joined a small Presbyterian church in Montana and has since served as a ruling elder, taking the same vows her great-grandfather once did: “to trust in Jesus Christ my Savior, acknowledging him Lord of all.” She concludes, “You might say I’m the latest convert of a man whose work clearly was not done when he died more than a century ago.”

Tom Holland did not set out to defend Christianity. As a historian of the ancient Greek and Roman world, Holland assumed that faith was a relic—useful once, perhaps, but now intellectually unnecessary. Then history began to argue back.

Immersed in the brutal moral universe of the ancient world, Holland noticed something unsettling: the values he instinctively cherished—human equality, compassion for the weak, dignity for the suffering—were utterly foreign to pagan antiquity. In Rome, power defined worth. Mercy was weakness. The strong ruled; the weak endured.

And yet Holland felt those ancient assumptions were wrong. But why?

The answer, he discovered, was Christianity. The idea that the poor matter, that suffering can be redemptive, that every human life has infinite value—these were not self-evident truths of reason. They were historical consequences of the cross.

In 2016, Holland publicly admitted he had been wrong about Christianity. While he stops short of a traditional conversion narrative, he returned to church and confessed that, morally and imaginatively, he was “thoroughly Christian.” Secular humanism, he realized, was living off borrowed capital—Christian ethics detached from Christian belief.

Holland’s journey reminds us that Jesus does not merely shape private devotion. He reshaped civilization itself. Even those who deny him often reason, hope, and protest injustice using categories he introduced. Sometimes the road to Christ runs not through emotion, but through history—when the evidence becomes too strong to ignore the truth. quietly insists.

Kyle Zunker began suffering terrifying panic attacks in his late teens, which only worsened over time. By 2015, desperate for answers, he underwent an MRI while clinging to anxiety medication and hope. The scan was clear, leaving doctors puzzled and Kyle still searching for relief.

Seven years earlier, Kyle had left home for college. Though raised Christian, his faith was nominal and quickly unraveled. He writes, “I wanted to be the most successful and important person in the world. The more self-oriented my life became, the more I subscribed to intellectual arguments against the existence of God. By my early 20s, I was a staunch atheist.”

As he chased achievement, his health collapsed. His first panic attack at 19 left him desperate and overwhelmed. Anxiety became a constant presence, and he bounced from doctor to doctor, self-medicating to cope. He pinned his hope on passing the bar exam and proposing to his girlfriend, Hannah. When both dreams came true, he was shocked to find no peace: “If those hadn’t brought peace, then what could?”

Before their wedding, Kyle and Hannah often passed Pearl Street Church in San Antonio. Hoping to boost his respectability, he suggested they attend. Expecting to scoff, he was instead moved by a sermon on Genesis 22. Kyle recalls, “God’s instruction to Abraham was not a sadistic test; it prophetically foreshadowed the work of Jesus… God did not require Abraham to pay that price but chose instead to pay it himself.”

Over the next months, he read the New Testament and kept attending church, but anxiety persisted. One sleepless night, exhausted and broken, he finally prayed, “Thy will be done.” He writes, “Everything changed that night. The peace of God… changed my life. It gave me power over anxiety and fear, and my body began to heal as joy and hope replaced depression and despair.”

Joseph Kim grew up in North Korea with loving parents, but his world changed during the Great Famine of the 1990s. When he was 12, his father died of starvation, and soon after, his mother and sister left for China in search of food. His mother returned alone, having sold his sister into bride slavery-a common fate for young North Korean refugees. Later, his mother was imprisoned by the North Korean government, leaving Joseph alone and homeless on the streets.

For three years, Joseph survived by begging and sleeping in the mountains. At 15, facing starvation, he made the dangerous decision to escape North Korea by crossing into China. There, an elderly Chinese Korean woman advised him to seek help at a church. He found a church, where members gave him small amounts of money and temporary shelter. The kindness of these Christians, who helped a stranger without expecting anything in return, sparked his curiosity about their faith.

At another church, he saw the words, “Come To Me, All You Who Are Weary And Burdened, And I Will Give You Rest.” Joseph recalls, “It was as if someone was talking directly to me. I thought I heard a voice saying, ‘I understand how exhausted you are and what a hopeless situation you are in. I will take care of you.’” A Christian woman took him in, encouraged him to read the Bible, and gave him the name “Joseph.” He prayed, “God, I don’t know who you are or whether you exist as the Bible and Christians claim. But I need your help.”

With help from activists and Liberty in North Korea (LiNK), Joseph eventually escaped to the United States in 2007 as a refugee minor, attended high school, and began to build a new life. Reflecting on his journey, Joseph writes, “I had been alone in the world. Finding Christians in China, I found hope again. Caring for strangers, acting compassionately without expecting anything in return: That is the beauty of the gospel.”

Seventeen-year-old Casey Crease’s life changed forever after a night of partying at his parents’ house. Frustrated with his friends, he left the party around 1 a.m., despite their attempts to stop him from driving drunk. Ignoring their warnings, Casey sped away in his Camaro, only to lose control and crash near his home.

Casey recalls waking up, “covered in glass, a deployed airbag lying in my lap.” In shock, he repeatedly screamed, “Who did I hit?!” until a friend assured him he’d only hit trees. But at the hospital, a state trooper delivered devastating news: “There’s been a fatality.” Casey’s friend John, trying to stop the car, had been struck and killed. “Before the accident, I thought my life was falling apart. After the accident, I wanted to die,” Casey writes. Yet, in his deepest despair, he sensed God’s presence.

Raised in a Christian family, Casey had begun to doubt his faith before the crash. Afterward, desperate for hope, he returned to church and resolved to read the New Testament. Still, he wrestled with guilt and wondered, “The more I tried to be a Christian, the emptier I felt.”

Everything changed during a revival service in his senior year. The preacher asked, “Do you want to be well?”-echoing Jesus’ words to the paralyzed man in Jerusalem. Casey remembers, “If Jesus will heal me, I want to be well… It was a quiet moment between the Lord and me but that day he began to soften my heart. He made me his own.” Over time, Casey realized his sins were forgiven, “not because of anything I had done but because of what Jesus accomplished on the cross.”

With newfound faith, Casey faced the consequences of his actions-including probation and community service-and began speaking to other teens about the dangers of drinking and driving. He concludes, “I am confident that Jesus is the Son of God, that he is able to forgive sins, and that he is in the business of making broken people brand new.”

When Yassir Eric was 16, he believed he knew exactly who his enemies were. One of them was a new boy at school named Zakariya—quiet, brilliant, gentle, and unmistakably Christian, with the fan-shaped scars on his forehead marking him as part of the Dinka people. For Yassir, raised in an elite Sudanese Muslim family steeped in jihadist zeal, that was enough to justify hatred. Every day at noon prayers, he asked God to destroy Zakariya.

Two years later, he and his friends ambushed the boy on a dark path. They beat him, stabbed him, and walked away assuming he was dead. Zakariya vanished from school, and the memory was buried under Yassir’s growing religious pride.
But life unraveled his certainties. His respected uncle unexpectedly became a Christian. His young cousin, near death, miraculously revived after the prayers of two Egyptian Coptic believers. Yassir secretly began reading a Bible, feeling the foundations of his world shift. When he eventually confessed his faith in Jesus, he lost everything—family, inheritance, even his name. He was arrested, beaten, and hunted, yet he rebuilt a new life far from Sudan.

Years later, now a Christian minister in Cairo, he finished preaching at a conference when a man approached him, walking slowly with a limp. His right eye was frozen from an old injury. His hand was twisted.

“Don’t you recognize me?” the man asked. “I’m Zakariya.” He opened his Bible. On the first page was a handwritten prayer list. At the top was Yassir’s name. “Because you hated me so deeply,” Zakariya said, “I always prayed for you.”
Sometimes the people we try hardest to erase are the very ones carrying our names—quietly, faithfully—before God.

For much of the last half-century, Sweden was held up as the clearest picture of a secular future. Church attendance hovered around five percent. Belief in God collapsed. As Swedish church historian Joel Halldorf describes it, religion wasn’t angrily rejected—it was gently dismissed. But in recent years, Sweden has seen unexpected signs of change: open conversations about faith at intellectual dinner tables, and—most surprising of all—young people showing up in churches.

Across the Western world, similar signals are appearing. In Britain, journalists speak of a “quiet revival.” In France, the Catholic Church reports a stunning surge: more than 7,400 teenagers baptized at Easter in 2024. In the United States, Pew Research notes that the long decline of religious affiliation has flattened, especially among younger adults.

Globally, Gen Z is now more religious than their boomer parents—a reversal once thought nearly impossible. Musician Nick Cave observed that a decade ago, talking about God at a dinner table would get you laughed out of the room. Now, he says, people listen. There is “a kind of need” in the air.

Halldorf argues that there’s an erosion of faith in secular progress itself. When reason, technology, and prosperity stopped delivering hope, people didn’t stop longing. They started searching again. And in the Western world that search is becoming visible.

Hector Vega’s journey to faith began in the most unlikely place: Rikers Island Prison. One night, correction officers rushed in. An inmate named Jose Vega had committed suicide. Due to a mix-up, prison staff mistakenly identified Hector as the deceased and notified his family. For several days, while the prison was on lockdown, Hector’s family believed he was dead.

Reflecting on this, Hector said, “There’s something powerfully symbolic in how I was ‘dead’ but not yet buried. Looking back on this moment in my life, I believe God was beginning to show me that although I was physically alive, I was spiritually lifeless.”

Raised in Hell’s Kitchen, New York, Hector struggled with feelings of inadequacy. To fit in, he began drinking at 11, then moved to marijuana, cocaine, and heroin. Multiple prison sentences followed. A turning point came through his girlfriend Michelle, who, frustrated by his addiction and aware he wasn’t ready for fatherhood, turned to God and prayed for his deliverance. She encouraged Hector to attend a Christian recovery program.

Hector recalls, “I also started feeling deep remorse and shame over the pain I had caused people in my family, especially my mom and dad. So, I started attending prison chapel services. From there I started reading the Word of God, and gradually it got a tight hold on my heart.” He clung to passages like Psalms 27 and 91, and Galatians 5:1–13, which speaks of freedom in Christ.

With the support of mentors, Hector surrendered his life to Christ. Since then, he has served as executive director of a homeless shelter and addiction-recovery program, and since 2009, as pastor of East Harlem Fellowship. Married to Michelle for 30 years, they have raised four children. Hector now travels globally, sharing, “When the world had labeled me an addict and a career criminal, his love and mercy overwhelmed me… I was made in his image and worthy of being presented as a trophy of his grace.”

Nabeel Qureshi was born in California to Pakistani immigrant parents, devout members of the peaceful Ahmadi sect of Islam. His father whispered “Allahu Akbar” into his ear at birth, following a family tradition dating back to Muhammad. Nabeel’s family was loving and tightly knit, entirely centered on Islam. His mother taught him Arabic before English, and by age five, he had read the entire Qur’an in Arabic and memorized many chapters.

His family legacy included generations of Muslim missionaries, and by middle school, Nabeel was adept at challenging Christian theology. Islam gave him “purpose, values, and direction for worship.”

In 2001, while at Old Dominion University, Nabeel met David Wood, a Christian student. Nabeel was surprised that someone so intelligent would read the Bible. Their debates grew into a deep friendship and years-long dialogue. David encouraged Nabeel to examine both Islam and Christianity objectively. “I had been happy with my faith and with my Ahmadi community and did not want to leave it, but I ultimately converted to Christianity after years of dialogue with Wood,” Nabeel recalled. He described his conversion as “the most painful thing [he] ever did” because it cost him most of his friendships and relationships with fellow Muslims.

He wrote, “For the first time, the [Qur’an] seemed utterly irrelevant to my suffering. It felt like a dead book.” In contrast, the words of Jesus in the New Testament “leapt off the page and jump-started my heart.” He realized, “For Muslims, following the gospel is more than a call to prayer. It is a call to die. I knelt at the foot of my bed and gave up my life.”

His conversion deeply wounded his family. He said, “To this day my family is broken by the decision I made, and it is excruciating every time I see the cost I had to pay.” But Nabeel said, “Jesus is the God of redemption. He redeemed my suffering by making me rely upon him for my every moment… To follow him is worth giving up everything.”

“Abu Jaz,” is a key leader in a movement that describes itself as the “People of the Gospel.” This group represents several thousand Muslims in eastern Africa who have converted to faith in Christ. Abu Jaz describes his conversion to Christ:

One night the only food my wife and I had was a small portion of macaroni. My wife prepared it very nicely. Then one of her friends knocked on the door. I told myself, ‘The macaroni is not sufficient for even the two of us, so how will it be enough for three of us? But because we have no other custom, we opened the door, and she came in to eat with us.’

While we were eating, the macaroni started to multiply; it became full in the bowl. I suspected that something was wrong with my eyes, so I started rubbing them. I thought maybe my wife hid some macaroni under the small table, so I checked, but there was nothing. My wife and I looked at each other, but because the guest was there, we said nothing.

Afterward I lay down on the bed, and as I slept, Isa (Jesus) came to me and asked me, ‘Do you know who multiplied the macaroni?’ I said, ‘I don’t know.’ He said, ‘I am Isa al Masih (Jesus is Messiah). If you follow me, not only the macaroni but your life will be multiplied.’

I didn’t understand what he meant when he said that my life would be multiplied. Now I understand what that means. But at that time, I accepted him simply as the ‘lord of macaroni’ much like the crowds in the Gospels who accepted him as ‘lord of bread.’

Yes, I just accepted him as one who satisfied my needs. That day I understood that Isa came to my home. When I think back now, the kingdom of God came to my home. Jesus said, ‘[I]f I cast out demons . . . the kingdom . . .has come upon you’ (Luke 11:20, NASB). Any miracle that takes place by Isa al Masih speaks of the kingdom of God.

In an interview in Esquire magazine, actor Denzel Washington said, “The biggest moment of my life was when I was filled with the Holy Spirit. It happened in the West Angeles Church of God in Christ, Crenshaw Boulevard, Los Angeles.” He went on to describe what it’s like to follow Jesus today, especially in the ethos of Hollywood:

Things I said about God when I was a little boy, just reciting them in church along with everybody else, I know now. God is real. God is love. God is the only way. God is the true way. God blesses. It’s my job to lift God up, to give Him praise, to make sure that anyone and everyone I speak to the rest of my life understands that He is responsible for me. When you see me, you see the best I could do with what I’ve been given by my Lord and Savior. I’m unafraid. I don’t care what anyone thinks. See, talking about the fear part of it—you can’t talk like that and win Oscars. You can’t talk like that and party. You can’t say that in this town.

I’m free now. [Faith in Jesus] is not talked about in this town. It’s not talked about… It’s not fashionable. It’s not sexy… But my faith has always informed the roles I choose. Always… Even in the darkest stories, I’m looking for the light.

Changes in personality following a heart transplant have been noted pretty much ever since transplants began. In one case, a person who hated classical music developed a passion for the genre after receiving a musician’s heart. The recipient later died holding a violin case.

In another case, a 45-year-old man remarked how, since receiving the heart of a 17-year-old boy, he loves to put on headphones and listen to loud music — something he had never done before the transplant.

What might explain this? One suggestion could be that this is a placebo effect where the overwhelming joy of receiving a new lease on life gives the person a sunnier disposition. However, there is some evidence to suggest that these personality changes aren’t all psychological. Biology may play a role, too.

The heart transplant seems to be most commonly associated with personality changes. The chambers release peptide hormones which help regulate the balance of fluid in the body by affecting the kidneys. They also play a role in electrolyte balance and inhibiting the activity of the part of our nervous system responsible for the fight-or-flight response. The cells in charge of this are in the hypothalamus — a part of the brain that plays a role in everything from homeostasis (balancing biological systems) to mood.

So, the donor organ, which may have a different base level of hormones and peptide production from the original organ, could change the recipient’s mood and personality through the substances it releases.

We know that cells from the donor are found circulating in the recipient’s body, and donor DNA is seen in the recipient’s body two years after the transplant. This again poses the question of where the DNA goes and what actions it may have.

Whichever mechanism, or combination of mechanisms, is responsible, this area of research warrants further investigation so that recipients can understand the physical and psychological changes that could occur following surgery.

Possible Preaching Angle:

This phenomenon is still unproven medically, but what is certain is that before salvation each of us had a desperately sick heart (Jer. 17:9). But by the process of regeneration, God implanted a new heart (Ezek. 36:26, Ezek. 11:19; Psa. 51:10-12; 2 Cor 5:17). This gradually and radically changes a believer’s personality to reflect the Christlike qualities of a new nature (Eph. 4:22-24). With a new heart, a Christian will begin to show unconditional love, kindness, and forgiveness. They become less focused on themselves and exhibit simple acts of servanthood toward others.

Jennifer Nizza grew up on grew up on Long Island, New York, as part of an Italian and culturally Catholic family. For her, Christmas was mainly about Santa Claus, antipasto, and pretty lights on houses. However, her understanding of spirituality was limited to the supernatural realm, shaped by conversations about ghosts and early experiences with tarot cards.

At age 13, the door to demons was thrown wide open. a tarot card reading ignited a fascination with the occult. Jennifer delved deeper into this world, experiencing fear and discomfort as she felt the presence of demonic forces. Seeking answers, she consulted a psychic medium who claimed Jennifer was a medium herself, gifted with the ability to connect with the departed.

She writes, “But the further I went down that road, the more it seemed demons were surrounding me and I experienced so many moments of fear. I felt them touching me, and I could see them manifesting as shadowy figures and animals.

Jennifer loved the thought of helping clients attain the desires of their heart and communicate with their loved ones. But she lived in constant fear of bad spirits and what they would do to her. She said:

In my mid-30s, at a moment of especially intense fear, I suddenly cried out the name of Jesus Christ. Not my spirit guide or a deceased person or an angel—Jesus! Almost immediately I felt a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7). This began my journey to full Christian faith. And I had no idea what the gospel was. But I knew I didn’t want to be a psychic anymore.

Ten months later, a chance encounter with a friend who was attending a Bible-based church sparked Jennifer's curiosity. Despite initial hesitation, a few weeks later she felt a strong desire to visit the church. She shares:

I was singing along with the worship music when the lyrics “Jesus saved me” flashed on the screen, instantly transporting me back to the moment I had cried out to Jesus Christ. I started crying with joy, because I knew in my heart that he saved me.

Filled with joy and newfound conviction, I sought to understand the Bible's teachings on my profession. I didn’t have a Bible on hand, so I asked Google, “What does the Bible say about psychic mediums?” And I was shocked to find verses like Deuteronomy 18:9–13, which condemn anyone who “practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or . . . consults the dead.” Since Jesus had saved me, I would have to pick up my cross and follow him, even at the cost of quitting my job.

In the ten years since, Jesus has changed my heart and my life as only he can. I am no longer caught in the hamster wheel of endlessly seeking peace, joy, and fulfillment without finding them. Today, I continue to share the gospel whenever I can, in part by devoting myself to exposing the demonic darkness I served for many years and warning others against following the same path.

Editor’s Note: Today Jennifer Nizza is a speaker and Christian content creator. She is the author of From Psychic to Saved .

Rosaria Champagne Butterfield was a leftist lesbian professor, who despised Christians. Then somehow, she became one. She shares her testimony in an issue of CT magazine.

Professor Rosaria Butterfield hated and pitied Christians. She thought Christians and their god Jesus were stupid and pointless. She used her post as a professor of English and women’s studies to advance the allegiances of a leftist lesbian professor. She and her partner shared many vital interests: AIDS activism, children’s health and literacy, and the Unitarian Universalist church.

She began researching the Religious Right and their politics of hatred against queers like her. To do this, she would need to read the Bible, the book she believed had gotten many people off track. She then began her attack by writing an article in the local newspaper about Promise Keepers.

The article generated many rejoinders … some hate mail, others were fan mail. But one letter I received defied this filing system. It was from the pastor of the Syracuse Reformed Presbyterian Church. It was a kind and inquiring letter. Pastor Ken Smith encouraged me to explore the kind of questions I admire: How did you arrive at your interpretations? How do you know you are right? Do you believe in God? Ken didn’t argue with my article; rather, he asked me to defend the presuppositions that undergirded it. I didn’t know how to respond to it, so I threw it away.

Later that night, I fished it out of the recycling bin and put it back on my desk. With the letter, Ken initiated two years of bringing the church to a heathen. Oh, I had seen my share of Bible verses on placards at Gay Pride marches and Christians who mocked me on Gay Pride Day. That is not what Ken did. He did not mock. He engaged. So, when his letter invited me to get together for dinner, I accepted. Surely this will be good for my research.

Something else happened. Ken and his wife, Floy, and I became friends. They entered my world. They met my friends. We talked openly about sexuality and politics. They did not act as if such conversations were polluting them. When we ate together, Ken prayed in a way I had never heard before. His prayers were intimate. Vulnerable. He repented of his sin in front of me. He thanked God for all things. Ken’s God was holy and firm, yet full of mercy.

I started reading the Bible. I read the way a glutton devours. I read it many times that first year. At a dinner gathering my transgendered friend J cornered me in the kitchen. She warned, “This Bible reading is changing you, Rosaria.” With tremors, I whispered, “J, what if it is true? What if Jesus is a real and risen Lord? What if we are all in trouble?”

I continued reading the Bible, all the while fighting the idea that it was inspired. Then, one Sunday morning, I … sat in a pew at the Syracuse Reformed Presbyterian Church. Conspicuous with my butch haircut, I reminded myself that I came to meet God, not fit in. The image that came in like waves, of me and everyone I loved suffering in hell, gripped me in its teeth.

Then, one ordinary day, I came to Jesus. Jesus triumphed. And I was a broken mess. Conversion was a train wreck. I did not want to lose everything that I loved. But the voice of God sang a sanguine love song in the rubble of my world. I weakly believed that if Jesus could conquer death, he could make right my world. I rested in private peace, then community, and today in the shelter of a covenant family, where one calls me “wife” and many call me “mother.”

Editor’s Note: Rosaria Champagne Butterfield is the author of The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert (Crown & Covenant). She lives with her family in Durham, North Carolina, where her husband pastors the First Reformed Presbyterian Church of Durham.

In the spring of 2000, a unique library was established in Copenhagen, Denmark. It's called the Menneskebiblioteket, which is Danish for, “The Human Library."

The library is, in the true sense of the word, a library of people. Readers can borrow human beings serving as open books and have conversations they would not normally have access to. Every human book from their bookshelf, represents a group in society that is often subjected to prejudice, stigmatization, or discrimination because of their lifestyle, diagnosis, belief, disability, social status, ethnic origin, and so on.

Instead of checking out a book, you can have a conversation with someone who will share their story of being deaf, blind, autistic, houseless, sexually abused, or bipolar. The mission of the Human Library? To break down stereotypes and prejudices by fostering dialogue. Yes, you can ask these human books questions!

Their motto: "Unjudge someone."

Possible Preaching Angle:

Isn't that what Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount? "Do not judge, or you too will be judged." Instead of focusing on the speck of sawdust in someone else's eye, Jesus told us to “take the plank out of our own eye” (Matt. 7:1-5).

In an issue of CT magazine, Carrie Sheffield shares how politics had become an idol to her and how she discovered a deeper source of purpose and meaning in Christ.

Carrie Sheffield was raised in extreme religious trauma in an offshoot Mormon cult. Her father believed that he was a Mormon prophet and was eventually excommunicated by the LDS church for heresy. She grew up with seven siblings in various motor homes, tents, houses, and sheds. Carrie attended 17 different public schools and when she took the ACT test, the family lived in a shed with no running water in the Ozarks.

All the children inherited trauma from their tumultuous family life. Two of her siblings have schizophrenia, including one brother who tried to rape her. Carrie has been hospitalized nine times for depression, fibromyalgia, suicidal ideation, and PTSD.

When she left home to attend Brigham Young University, her dad declared that she was satanic and therefore disowned her. As a student, she felt disillusioned by a growing list of unanswered questions about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and the prospect of polygamy in the afterlife. After receiving her journalism degree, she stopped practicing Mormonism, formally renouncing it in 2010. For years she assumed she would never return to belief in God or organized religion. She writes:

To fill the void, I threw myself into work, schooling, dating, friends, and travel as ultimate sources of meaning. I worked as an analyst for major Wall Street firms, earning unthinkable sums for a girl from a motor home. I launched a career in political journalism at outlets like Politico, The Hill, and The Washington Times.

But ultimately her career goals left her unfilled. It was during the 2016 election that she felt an existential crisis. She realized that when she’d lost faith in God, she had allowed politics to become a substitute religion. She had built her career toward working on a Republican campaign or in the White House. She had appeared on CNN, MSNBC, Fox News, Fox Business, and other networks, even sparring on HBO’s Real Time with Bill Maher. She says:

During this crisis of meaning, I felt distraught and adrift. So, I turned to church, first to Redeemer Presbyterian, founded by the late Tim Keller, and later to Saint Thomas Episcopal. It was during a service that I encountered Scripture’s answer to career and political idolatry in passages like Mark 8:36–37, which asks, “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” Studying Christianity felt like uncovering buried treasure discarded by intellectuals who had discounted its scientific and philosophical heft.

I joined the Episcopal church, having been influenced by Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, the preacher from the royal wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry. My baptism day—December 3, 2017—was the happiest of my life. A group of about 30 family and friends watched me vow to “serve Christ in all persons, loving my neighbor as myself” and “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”

More than six years since my baptism, I enjoy a healthier relationship to politics. I still have strong convictions, which I don’t hesitate to share in columns, speeches, or TV appearances, but I know God is far bigger than any puny manmade system. As I returned to a walk with God, I felt enveloped with a sense of peace that surpassed understanding.

Editor’s Note: Carrie Sheffield is a policy analyst in Washington, DC. She has published in The Wall Street Journal, TIME, USA Today, CNN Opinion, The New York Times, The Washington Post, CNBC, National Review, Newsweek, HuffPost, and Daily Caller . She has appeared as a live broadcast guest on media networks including Fox News, Newsmax TV, Fox Business Network, MSNBC, CNN, PBS, and BBC. Carrie provided analysis for Fox News’ first 2016 GOP presidential primary debate.

Controversial activist Ayaan Hirsi Ali became well known when she published her 2007 memoir Infidel, which was an account of her life as a Muslim woman and her fight against radical Islam. She made headlines worldwide when she converted to atheism, receiving numerous death threats. In November 2023, she announced her conversion to Christianity. Her reasons address in part what is happening in the world today. She writes:

Atheists were wrong when they said rejection of God would usher in a new age of reason and intelligent humanism. But the 'God hole'—the void left by the retreat of the church—has merely been filled by a jumble of irrational, quasi-religious dogma. The result is a world where modern cults prey on the dislocated masses, offering them spurious reasons for being and action. This is mostly by engaging in virtue-signaling theater on behalf of a victimized minority or our supposedly doomed planet. The line often attributed to G.K. Chesterton has turned into a prophecy: 'When men choose not to believe in God, they do not thereafter believe in nothing, they then become capable of believing in anything.'

In this nihilistic vacuum, the challenge before us becomes civilizational. We can’t withstand China, Russia, and Iran if we can’t explain to our populations why it matters that we do. We can’t fight woke ideology if we can’t defend the civilization that it is determined to destroy. And we can’t counter Islamism with purely secular tools. To win the hearts and minds of Muslims here in the West, we have to offer them something more than videos on TikTok.

The lesson I learned from my years with the Muslim Brotherhood was the power of a unifying story, embedded in the foundational texts of Islam, to attract, engage, and mobilize the Muslim masses. Unless we offer something as meaningful, I fear the erosion of our civilization will continue. And fortunately, there is no need to look for some New Age concoction of medication and mindfulness. Christianity has it all.

Former abortion doctor Patti Giebenk tells the following story about the woman who prayed her into a lifechanging encounter with Jesus:

During my lengthy conversion from pro-choice to pro-life, there was a person who prayed for me repeatedly. She was a prayer warrior I’d never met, but God heard her special prayer for me. It was the prayer of Sister Josita. Throughout her life, Sister Josita advocated for the poor, the refugee, and the vulnerable.

After Sister Josita heard that Dr. Giebink did abortions, she started praying for her—for over ten years. Then Dr. Giebink met Christ and stopped doing abortions. She joined a local church in South Dakota, and started treating poor women around the globe, but no longer doing abortions. After returning from one of her many trips to, she received the following letter:

Dear Doctor Giebink,

May your Christmas be blessed and the New Year filled with joy.

You don’t know me ... I want to thank you for your courage to speak out for life, and ... to bring an end to abortion. When I saw you on television, I was so proud of you to publicly state that you used to perform abortions for Planned Parenthood in Sioux Falls and now you support life instead. When I first heard that you were performing abortions, I began lifting you up in prayer. I do not believe abortion is right, or a solution to an unwanted pregnancy. I have prayed for you, by name, that one day your heart would be touched, and you would discontinue performing abortions. I thank God for you, and I continue to pray for you.

Patti Giebink concludes this story with the following words:

Sister Josita still prays for me. We write regularly, and I’ve visited her twice. She turned ninety this year, and she’s still a vibrant and dynamic warrior. Her initial intervention for me—just a name and a face—moved celestial mountains, making way for my future legacy of life. May we all stay on our knees until the answer comes, just as Sister Josita did.

In her book Atheists Finding God: Unlikely Stories of Conversions to Christianity in the Contemporary West, Jana Harmon explored why atheists came to faith in Christ. One big factor included the kindness of Christians. Harmon writes:

Nearly two-thirds of the former atheists I spoke with thought they would never leave their atheistic identity and perspective. They were not looking for God or interested in spiritual conversations. So, what breached their walls of resistance? ... Something [disrupted their] status quo.

She shares one story about how some Christians became the catalyst that disrupted the atheistic worldview by Christlike kindness:

Jeffrey became an atheist following a childhood tragedy where he lost two brothers in a house fire. His deep pain fueled a vitriolic hatred against God and instability in his own life. During the next 20 years, he developed strong arguments to support his emotional resistance to belief. When his wife unexpectedly became a Christian, his anger against God only grew.

One evening his wife called and asked him to pick her up at the home of the Christians who had led her to Christ. Jeffrey was expecting a heated exchange, but instead received warm hospitality. Feeling valued, he was drawn back again and again toward meaningful conversation. Over time, his walls of resistance began to melt, friendship and trust developed, and intellectual questions were answered. Eventually, he lost his resistance to God and found the peace and joy that had long eluded him.