Y PARENTS DIVORCED WHEN I WAS 10, and my time was divided between my mother and father. In 1984 my father remarried, and a year later, as a junior in high school, I moved in with him. In my senior year I enlisted in the United States Navy with dreams of distant travel.

A Vague Hunger
I was raised in a family that regularly attended church on Sunday. My father was a deacon, and my sisters and I attended Sunday school. During the summer we also attended Vacation Bible School.

Our church was a beautiful historic gothic building, built by artisans in a fledgling colony that at the time wasn't yet recognized as a nation. I remember sitting in the sanctuary, looking up at the intricately carved designs on the ceiling. Rays of light danced through the massive stained-glass windows that ran from floor to ceiling, depicting Christ's ministry, crucifixion, and resurrection.

During Christmas Eve services all the congregants were given candles upon entering the church, and at midnight a flame was passed from member to member until the sanctuary was bathed in the glow of candlelight.

One week after Sunday school a friend and I got the courage to creep up the cavernous winding staircase that led to the belfry, where a massive bell lay in its cradle, looking like the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. I found out years later that the bell was made by the famous patriot and silversmith Paul Revere.

I was christened in that church, out of a hand-chiseled granite pedestal and bowl. I was taught that God was important in our lives, but our family left religion on the steps of church when we left the building. Yet throughout my years of traveling abroad, I searched for God and for meaning in my life.

While serving in the United States Navy, I was exposed to numerous religions and practices. In the Philippines I saw the deep Roman Catholic influence of that country. At one time I felt called to be a priest.

A Change of Direction
While stationed in the Philippines, I encountered an event that changed my life. Waterskiing one beautiful Sunday morning I fell, my foot didn't release from the ski, and my leg was wrenched in severe hyperextension. My doctor told me that if my leg had twisted a couple more centimeters, my popliteal artery could have ruptured, and my injury would have been much more serious. Even so, the damage was so extensive that the doctors were unsure whether they could save my leg. But after five hours of surgery, they were successful.

This was only the beginning of a long uphill battle. I progressed slowly from wheelchair to crutches to cane. It would be two years, and another lengthy surgery, before I would walk unassisted again.

I suffered much during this time, including months of painful physical therapy. Mornings before physical therapy, I would stop in the hospital chapel to pray for God's strength and guidance. I felt him working in my life, a strong presence that convinced me everything was going to be fine.

Another Detour
After a full recovery I was cleared for duty and received orders to be stationed on the island of Guam. There I met a young woman who told me she was a student missionary working for Adventist World Radio.

"Adventist who?" I retorted. Then I thought, Great, another kooky religion. Shortly into my relationship with my future wife, her roommate invited me to go to church with them. They explained that Adventists go to church on the Bible's true Sabbath, Saturday. I wasn't sure what I thought about that, but I knew that going to church on Saturday wouldn't kill me, even though at the time it was a completely foreign idea. I went to church on my first Sabbath with an open mind and was surprised to see so many people in attendance.

Months went by, and I felt God leading me into the Adventist Church. During this time I had many questions. I studied the Bible with Greg Scott and Gordon Retzer, from Adventist World Radio, and was eventually baptized a Seventh-day Adventist. My wife, Anjali, and I got married and were stationed in the United States.

Heading for Home
That's when something ironic happened. My parents had been cleaning out their attic and had sent me several boxes of my childhood toys, books, and other artifacts. As I sorted through the items, many fond memories came flooding back. One of my discoveries included a well-worn paperback version of Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories; as a child it had been one of my favorite books. I didn't know then that Uncle Arthur was an Adventist. It triggered another memory-that someone had once come to our home and left a copy of the book Steps to Christ. It had to have been given to us by a literature evangelist.

My father passed away recently, and while I was home in Maine I decided to do some research about Ellen G. White. I thought I'd see if I could locate her birthplace. Anjali called the Northern New England Conference and was told that the Harmon/White home was gone but that a marker commemorated the site of her birthplace. Anjali got directions to the marker and hung up the phone. When she handed me the slip of paper with the address on it, my face went pale and I sat in stunned silence. Anjali asked if everything was OK, and I stammered out a feeble reply.

Mrs. White had been born less than three miles from my childhood home. My wife and I went to the location and saw the marker. We also visited a nearby cemetery, where we saw the grave of Ellen's brother.

My religious life had come full circle. I had traveled around the world in search of God, but my answers were less than three miles away from where I had been raised. That's when I realized that becoming an Adventist was no accident. Throughout my life and my search for a relationship with God, He had been directing my path.

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Kevin Tierney is a photojournalist in the United States Navy currently stationed in San Diego, California. His wife, Anjali, resides in Phoenix, Arizona.