I woke up at dawn, shivering and covered by moldy cornstalks. However, although I was physically uncomfortable, I was settled in my conscience. I had been heading in the wrong direction, both geographically and spiritually, and during this long, cold night, I had repented and resolved to head in the right direction.

About halfway through the fall term of my sophomore year in college, I had become fed up. I’d been sliding through school the “easy” way, without dedicating sufficient time and effort to my studies, and was slipping into self-destructive activities such as drug experimentation. I was disappointing my parents, my professors, and myself. 

At that point, like the prodigal son in Christ Jesus’ parable in the Bible, I decided to run away from my responsibilities. It was an unseasonably warm autumn day, so I walked off campus and hitchhiked along the Mississippi River. I was headed to Iowa, where a friend had offered to get me a job—amusingly, considering the prodigal son story, at a pig trough factory. This plan had seemed feasible in the warmth of the day, but as the sun set, I discovered I was unprepared for the drop in temperature, having neither warm clothes nor funds for lodging or transportation. On that autumn night, with no cars coming or going, I was stuck in the dark on a deserted country road with no prospects for movement in any direction. In an attempt to keep warm, I went out into a field and covered myself with damp, rotting cornstalks. The rest of the night was spent wrestling, like the prodigal, within my consciousness.