I sat in my room, unwilling to come out. I didn't care if I ever saw another person again.

I was fifteen and struggling to adjust to life in the US. After living in France for almost eleven years, my family and I unexpectedly moved back to the States several months earlier due to my mother’s health. The change was a shock for all of us. Looking back, I realize that my parents were likely suffering just as much as my brother and I were, even though that thought never crossed my mind at the time. I was too focused on my own pain.

High school was a disaster. I was doing okay academically (it didn’t hurt that I had already learned the same math two years earlier in French school), but my social life was nonexistent. I couldn’t relate to my peers and half the time I didn’t understand the slang words they used—not that I would ever admit it.

The word that repeated in my head was “stupid.” Everything and everyone was stupid—America, Americans, school, the food, society, and so on and so forth.

I attended the church youth group. The other teens were nice to me, but they didn’t understand me, and I didn’t understand them, which made building relationships difficult.

Back in those days—the late seventies and early eighties—there was no help for third culture kids transitioning back to American life, and so I had to figure things out on my own—not a good idea. As a result, I withdrew into myself in a futile attempt to wall off the pain I was feeling.

Through it all, Jesus was my lifesaver and the one who helped me keep my sanity. Because I had no friends, I experienced His friendship as never before. His love and acceptance pushed away the dark thoughts the enemy sent my way. Despite being incredibly lonely on a human level, I never felt completely alone. I knew He was walking with me through the dark valley.

And now, many years later, Jesus hasn’t failed me yet.