My parents' journey with God, the church, and with each other began soon after the fall of communism in Czechoslovakia in 1989. Despite their newfound faith, much of their community continued embracing atheism. Thus, to spread God's message, my father decided to pursue an associate degree in literature evangelism at a small, conservative school in Wichita Arkansas. After completing the program, our family moved back to Europe to help spread God's word.

However, evangelizing in an atheistic country proved difficult. The summer I turned seven, we found ourselves saying goodbye to our friends and family once more. Due to poor cooperation from the Adventist church, my father accepted an opportunity to lead students in literature evangelism at a self-supporting high school in Tennessee.

My first impression of the United States was the midday heat of Atlanta, Georgia, right before my first day of school. Because I had no friends and still needed to absorb a foreign language, I became so disoriented that I recall being afraid of stepping outside for fear of this new continent not having solid enough ground to support me. Luckily, it took next to no time to adapt to the new environment. Soon, I was friends with all the other "staff kids" at the self-supporting high school my father now worked at.

Besides the academy I lived at, our home church was also quite conservative. And I don't necessarily mean this in a bad way. There were many good things that came of the environment I grew up in. I spent much of my time outdoors and was educated in various basic aspects of Christian theology at a young age. My church was so supportive of the elementary school I attended that many of my friends went there only because the church paid for their tuition.

One of the most touching experiences engrained in my mind portrays the academy's generosity. Following a fire that left only a little hill and a concrete slab where my home used to be, neighbors and church members brought together enough spare furniture and household items to fill a gymnasium. I was blown away when I got to pick out new toys and a new sofa for the living room in the house the school provided as a replacement. Unfortunately, this same church environment later proved detrimental to me in several avoidable ways.

Due to the summer programs that my father organized for students, he tended to not be around during the times that I was at home from school. Although I realized that I had caring parents and was lucky to have both parents under one roof, I did not develop a deep relationship with my father. He succeeded in providing for his family amidst difficulty and encouraged excellent work ethic and productivity, yet I lack memories of enjoying quality time together.

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Little happened between the day my life was flown across the Atlantic and my next vivid memory less than a year later. I was quite excited when my grandma, by far my closest friend among extended family, decided to visit us. My parents needed to drive several hours to meet her at the airport, and to spare me a lengthy trip, they left me with the neighbors.

I was particularly close friends with the boy next door who was just over a year my elder. Though he always seemed rowdier than I, we got along well. We spent a lot of time on his trampoline and forging new trails through the forest. In many ways, I looked up to him. At some point that weekend, his mom told him to tidy up his room. While putting all his toys on shelves and in boxes (and probably stuffing many into the closet) he motioned me over to his dresser. I froze as he exposed his genitals to me and asked me to touch him.

I now know of stories where the boy in my shoes turned and ran the other way. I wish I could say that I, too, left that encounter trying to forget it, or even better, ran to adults for help. Rather, I remember not initially understanding what I was seeing, and then becoming very curious after several hours. At 7, I was incredibly unprepared for any sort of sexual encounter. What was that feeling? I didn't know, but it turned out that when he presented the opportunity again, I wanted to find out. I have no need to go into graphic detail, but while I was curious to experience something new, there were things that he asked of me that I was thoroughly uncomfortable with. Sadly, with perfect hindsight, I now see how they clearly point to his own molestation in the past.

A little later, when his dad came into his room and asked us how we were doing, my friend kept his resolve, but I was immediately overwhelmed with guilt and blurted out how I was really doing. After what seemed like a several-hour long interrogation and a lecture about "never doing something like that again," we were set loose to go play again.

When my parents came to pick me up the next day, my mom confronted me about what the neighbors told her. After getting scolded for hiding things from her and being reminded that Jesus was always watching, I spent the rest of my afternoon curled up on my bed. In shame, I prayed that Jesus would forgive me for what I had allowed myself to be a part of.

I don't recount that experience because I was suddenly interested in other boys from that day forward. Neither molestation nor early same-sex sexual activity is a certain forecast for an individual's sexuality. However, even though I didn't think about that day for the next two years, it very well could have affected me.