Besides, even if we had wanted to back out, it’s hard to argue with the Christian narrative that promises your only job is to raise your hand and show up, and then God will sprinkle pixie dust all over your life. And it’s still kind of embarrassing to admit this, but in the deep, dark recesses of my heart, I was holding on to a secret hope that if we obeyed God—like, if we made this great big dramatic sacrifice and became missionaries—God would fix us. We would serve God, and God would heal our hurts.
