"You're completely crazy."

That's the typical response I get when I tell people that I've never had an ounce of alcohol in my body. Never had a sip of wine at Communion or Thanksgiving, never accepted a sip of Grandpa's beer. When offered, I say no. I tell people that I will never have a can of beer in my house when I am an adult. Whomever I marry isn't allowed to drink beer, period. Yeah, I know, for practically every guy this is a pretty major turn-off.

I didn't always feel like this. I used to not care; I would stare almost longingly at the beer my grandparents kept stored in their cooler. I wish I could say that this stopped because I became a Christian/Jesus Freak. But that would be a lie.

It all stopped when I met Kyle.

He was something else. He seemed cool enough, and to be honest I found him just a bit weird, with the way he suddenly knew my name or would randomly hug me or wave to me. I didn't really care about him; didn't think anything of him. However I still remember the day my mom came up to me and told me about how he had just thrown a drinking party at his house. The day she told me about how he had almost died.

And for some reason this made me cry.

I didn't make the conscious decision to never drink. I didn't decide I was going to hate the mere thought of any form of alcohol. In fact, I didn't even realize what a change had come over me until nearly seven moths later, the next summer. We were at another family's house and I went outside to get a pop from the cooler. There were three coolers, and I opened one to find it filled to the top with bottles of beer. The strangest feeling welled up in me: the urge to grab every one of them and smash them to the ground. The mental satisfaction as I pictured the shards of glass, the liquid seeping into the glass; it was staggering.

I slammed the top shut, and hurriedly opened the next cooler, ready to leave as quickly as possible. It, too, was full of beer. The same feeling rushed over me.

A few weeks ago, we were at the bowling alley. To get in we had to walk through the bar. I had to remind myself to keep breathing, to stifle the anger rising up within me at the sight of the open beer bottles, the virtual beer-pong games, the advertisements stating that you are nothing without alcohol.

Sometimes I wonder why God made me feel this way. I'm only fourteen. The majority of my freshman class drink. But the thing is, maybe God wants me to end up with a man who has a past; someone who has struggled with alcohol in the past. Maybe he created e like this so I can help him; to not be a wife who would push him to "Oh, honey, just have a beer for the football game", etc."

I am not saying that alcohol is bad, necessarily. I'm saying you need to be very careful, some people more than others. Don't let yourself get trapped. It's very hard to get out. Not impossible, but difficult. I've seen it happen. Many times.

God made me feel this way for a reason. I don't know why yet... but I will someday. But for now, I'm "completely crazy".

I happen to like it that way.