A nudge, a surprise, and a hillbilly. That’s what it took last year for me to leave behind the atheism of my entire adult life. A nudge, a surprise, and a hillbilly led me to accept the God of the Bible as my personal Savior and Redeemer, and begin to build a relationship with this God. My story illustrates not only the mysterious ways in which God summons each of us, but also the mysterious ways in which we respond to the summons.

The nudge was a desire that came over me several years ago to study philosophy. I’m a mortgage banking attorney with a busy life. I found time, though, listening to lectures on CD driving to and from work. Pretty quickly I came upon the metaphysical question of materialism, that is whether everything in the universe is ultimately explainable only in terms of the interaction of objects—big objects up to planets and galaxies and little objects down to atoms and sub-atomic particles. Eventually, I saw that materialism cannot be the foundation for the moral order which, even as an atheist, I wanted to believe in and, did assume in my everyday life. But without materialism, I would have to believe in something immaterial, something higher than matter as the foundation. My options at that point seemed to be either belief in a formal religion, or belief in some kind of vague and structure-less spirituality that, for these reasons, was not intellectually satisfying. In retrospect, the nudge of philosophy took me to the door of religion yet did not open the door.

The surprise was what I experienced next, in reading about a study conducted by a Harvard professor on religious conversion experiences of Harvard undergraduates. The study focused on what the students and those who knew them best—parents, siblings, and friends—reported about the students’ lives before and after their conversions to Christianity. The study’s hypothesis was that, if religion is a Big Lie, then, when a person organizes his or her life around that Big Lie, dysfunction should set in, measurable dysfunction. The surprise was that the study showed just the opposite. The students, and those who knew them best, both reported that the students experienced improved relationships, better work performance, more confidence, and greater resilience when things went wrong. For me, the surprising results of the study opened the door of religion, but still I did not enter.

Before I tell you about the hillbilly, I have to talk about temptation. I think each of us experiences many temptations in life. Then one day there may come desperate temptation, the kind which feels like something deep within you has been unlocked and must have its way. This temptation is desperate because it is your personal nemesis, your unique weakness which, if you indulge it too long, will inevitably drag you down to your ruin. Desperate temptation can take many forms—envy, lust, greed, anger, gluttony, all of which are addictive in nature. Last year I found myself in the grip of desperate temptation and had to admit to myself that my will to resist and my resources to resist were simply not going to save me. Each day brought greater dread and greater terror, as, against my will—against my reason—I would move farther toward my own ruin. In seeing up close each day my terrible weakness and pitiful limitations, I was ready to stop being the god of my own life.

It was then the hillbilly appeared and walked me through that door of religion. One day, a few years after that first nudge, I was out walking my dog. A face came to mind—the face of the late actor Buddy Ebsen playing his character Jed Clampett of the Beverly Hillbillies, a face I’d seen many times on T.V. as a kid. Buddy Ebsen had died not long before, and I’d read a remarkable piece in the paper about him, one that recast Jed Clampett not as a foolish bumpkin, but as a kind, patient, loving, honorable figure, one who held to his values in the midst of temptation and craziness and who, by the end of each episode, helped those in his circle do so, too, even people as crazed and self-absorbed as Granny, Jethro, and Mr. Drysdale. It was then the thought came to me: if God exists, might He act something like and maybe even look a bit like Jed Clampett? I mean, wouldn’t homespun and plain talk and concern about people be what He was all about?

At that moment I gazed up at the endless blue sky, addressed Him as “Jed,” and poured it all out—my story of terrible temptation, my crumbling resistance, and my desperate need for help. At the end of the outpouring I felt like Jethro after a talk with Uncle Jed—cleansed by the mere act of confession, bolstered by contact with a higher moral authority, affirmed for my will to resist, and prepared for the struggle to come. Of course, the rewards of talking with “Jed” caused these talks to become a regular feature of my life. My temptation eventually subsided. Then one day the training wheels came off the bike, and the “J” of Jed became a “G,” the “E,” an “O.” Jed had become God, and I was speaking to Him directly.

For me, the religious conversion experience was a gradual process full of strange twists and turns that culminated in an intense, emotional, transforming moment. I will be forever grateful to God for the nudge, the promise, and the hillbilly. I am also thankful for David Clark, and for all of you, who, when I parachuted off my flight aboard Atheist Airlines, awaited me below with the Christian warmth and support of Faith Covenant Church. Thank you!