My journey into the Seventh-day Adventist faith did not begin with a sermon or a Bible study. It began quietly, almost imperceptibly, 10 years before I ever stepped into an Adventist church. At the time, I did not realize that God was preparing my heart through subtle shifts in lifestyle, circumstance, and conviction. Yet looking back, I can clearly see His hand guiding me long before I knew where I was headed.

The first significant change came through my diet. I had grown up on a farm, and pork had always been part of our home and heritage. But one day a Muslim coworker named Boris approached me with a comment that startled me. “Barbara, did you know that when you eat pork, you’re eating worms?” he asked.

I was shocked. Though his explanation was blunt and exaggerated, something resonated deeply. Almost immediately I stopped eating pork. At the time, it felt like a simple health choice, but now I see it as the first step in a spiritual redirection.

Another shift came while I worked among draftsmen at the Ford Motor Company. Lunchtime drinking was common, and occasionally I participated. But one evening, after a meal and a drink during a retirement celebration, I became violently ill. The experience was so intense that I gave up alcohol altogether. These decisions felt personal and practical, yet unknowingly, they were aligning my life with Adventist health principles long before I encountered Adventist beliefs.

In the years that followed, life moved me across states as I cared for family. I spent time in New York helping my sister, then returned home to Michigan to assist my parents. During one errand, while washing heavy quilts at a laundromat in Berrien Springs, I noticed a religious tract lying unattended. It discussed the mystery of 666—an intriguing topic. I took it home, read it in a quiet corner, and found myself drawn into Scripture study, particularly the subject of the Sabbath. Through those studies I felt a strong impression from God: the Sabbath was not Sunday but Saturday. The Holy Spirit convicted me that I needed to find a church that honored the biblical Sabbath.

Unsure where to begin, I turned to the telephone directory. I found two places: a synagogue and the Highland Avenue Seventh-day Adventist Church. I called the synagogue—no answer. When I called the Adventist church, a kind voice warmly invited me to attend that very day. That simple invitation marked the beginning of a life-changing journey.

I began attending services regularly, always sitting quietly in the back. Over time my conviction to join grew stronger, but with it came a profound personal struggle. My father was a Baptist minister, and we shared a close bond. I typed his sermon notes, supported his ministry, and was cherished as his “special” daughter. The thought of disappointing him by joining another denomination felt unbearable. Yet in the midst of that emotional battle, the Holy Spirit spoke words that settled everything: “Your father cannot save you. Do not let the devil cheat you out of your soul.”

That moment crystallized the importance of my decision. My salvation depended on following God’s call. One Sabbath, after service, I approached an elder and told him I wanted to become a member. He later came to my home for Bible studies, and soon after, I was baptized in 1980 at camp meeting.

Highland Avenue church became my spiritual home. Members who knew my family understood the significance of my choice and embraced me with remarkable warmth. The Woods family, in particular, served as mentors, supporters, and lifelong friends. Even now, decades later, their encouragement continues. Through them God provided the family I needed when my biological family emotionally distanced themselves from me. Though I still feel the sting of that separation, I have learned to accept it with grace, choosing to love them from whatever distance they allow.

As my faith deepened, God opened doors for service. When repeated disruptions occurred in Sabbath services because of missing participants, our pastor realized the need for a worship coordinator—someone to confirm schedules, organize elements, and ensure prayerful preparation. That role became mine, and I committed it to God as an act of service. I also prayed that He would use my talents more fully. With degrees in business and education, I felt called to help rebuild the Adventurer Club. Though I was initially overwhelmed, God surrounded me with supportive leaders who encouraged and guided me. Together we revived it into a thriving ministry for children. One of my greatest joys was watching the young Adventurers eventually run entire programs independently, demonstrating the growth and confidence God had cultivated in them.

I moved to Las Vegas, Nevada, and living here presented new challenges—especially financial ones. For the first time in my life, vacations and comforts were beyond reach. Yet those hardships forged spiritual resilience. God taught me to depend entirely on Him, assuring me that every closed door was preparing me for another opportunity. 

I believe deeply that He has a greater plan for my life, and I sense that new doors are just beginning to open. 

What brings me the greatest joy is evangelism. The third angel’s message (in Revelation 14) fuels my passion for sharing Christ. Throughout the years I have given numerous Bible studies, participated in prison ministries, and distributed literature in public places. My calling is to help people find Jesus and remain grounded in their faith. I often study with new believers for a year or more, checking on them, visiting them, praying with them, and offering support during their struggles. Nothing brings me more joy than seeing a soul baptized, strengthened, and held securely in God’s hands.

My journey has been shaped by loss, growth, and unwavering divine guidance. Everything—every change, every trial, every calling—has led me closer to God and to a life devoted to His service. And for that, I am profoundly grateful.

— Art Brondo, who interviewed Barbara Jean McDavid, is media producer for Communication for the North American Division.