I came to UW-Madison in search of academic success, with hopefully a little fun thrown in. My expectation was that success as a college student would translate into the American dream–a great career, financial abundance, material possessions, a beautiful family–in short, a long, happy life. I had learned in my earlier years of training and experience that success came from a lot of hard work and the occasional bit of good fortune. I was also cocky enough to think that I had more than my fair share of innate abilities. At the same time, years of growing up in a loving family, church, scouting, and excellent suburban and school environments shaped me into a generally dutiful and well-mannered guy.

The adjustment to university life was a big one, but by halfway through my time at UW, I was finding exactly the kind of academic success that I had planned on and my life as a business person was starting to come into focus. My hard work was paying off. I also took note during my freshman and sophomore years of a handful of individuals who were surprisingly serious about religion. I admired them for their intellect, their athleticism, their relational skills, and/or more, and even though I continued to be a regular church-goer as a college student, I thought it odd that some of my peers considered faith to be equally important, or even more important than academic and career goals.

In my junior year, one of these fellow students, whom I had known since high school, began inviting me every week to a Bible study. These invitations made me quite uncomfortable. Despite the fact that I had spent my entire life in church settings, I thought it was a little weird for college students to study the Bible. I was most interested in success, and not in being a “religious freak.” I politely declined these invitations. And then, late on a Friday night in November–when I must have been one of the only students on campus who was actually still studying–Mark popped by to extend the usual invitation, and for the first time we talked about his faith.

As we talked about how he came to know the God of the universe as a personal and loving God, as opposed to an unapproachable, distant, mysterious, or mystical being, I found myself totally gripped by the conversation, very much to my surprise. And then Mark asked me a question that had flashed through my mind once or twice each year from about the age of 5: “if I died that very night, did I think that I would go to heaven?” From all of my years in the church, I had essentially concluded that good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell, and I answered quickly and with complete sincerity: “I hope so.” I have no memory of how Mark responded. But I remember with crystal clarity the thought that I believe came from God Himself in that moment: “Jim, you’re a fool. Here you are on a Friday night, studying away and doing everything in your power to secure success for the next 50, 60, or 70 years of your life. And your friend asks you about all of eternity, and the best you can manage is ‘I hope so!’ You’re a fool.”

Our conversation went on until the wee hours of the morning, and I couldn’t sleep after Mark left. I’ve come to understand now that I was confronted that night by the living and loving God, who wants every one of us to have an eternal relationship with Him–not through religion, or hard work, or being good, or keeping a set of rules, or on our own terms. Instead, we come to Him through His Son Jesus Christ, who walked this earth 2,000 years ago and is the only path to the God of the universe. All that He asks is that we recognize our utter inability to enter a relationship with Him in our own strength or on our own terms; our human nature is sinful, broken, and flawed. And, at the same time, He asks us to believe in Jesus Christ as Savior, Lord, and the pathway to God Himself.

I eventually fell asleep, and when I woke up midday on Saturday, I knew in the deepest part of my being–in my soul–that I was a different person. I told Mark later that day that I wanted to come to the next Bible study. I was no longer a fool.