I was lost but now I am found

I'm trying to hack out a fake testimony to bring a bunch of New Yorkers to the Lord, but my heart is hardened towards God.   

Here's how a testimony works: 

"I was a very bad person.  I drank, I smoked, I spat, I swore.  I was selfish, and I was an atheist/Catholic/criminal/Jew/New Englander.  And then, someone crammed a mustard seed of faith into my skull with a particularly pithy sermon.  Later that night, I got down on my knees and prayed to Jesus to save me, because only He can.  And now, I am still imperfect, but I am on the path to Heaven, and I hope my story can put you on that path too. Oh, and the Lord helped me quit smoking."  

I bought my first pack of cigarettes while living with Born Again Christians -- their stories all ended with the Lord removing them from their nicotine dependency. I was tempted.  If they (the Christians) knew that their stories made me start up, they'd probably see it as me reaching out for divine intervention.  I thought I was just reaching out for stress relief and a quiet vice after realizing that the quiet intolerance bubbling in the skulls of those in whom I had entrusted my story and my well-being (I was living with them) was not something I could endure.  But I never got addicted.  I'm still not.  

I spent my last year of college with Christians 5 days a week, including nearly every weekend of my Fall semester.  I spent the day of my college's Halloween party at a Jesus Day party with a crazy Pentecostal preacher who used a children's karaoke machine (a small, primary-colored tape player with a microphone) as a sound system to lure costumed children off the street so he could explain to them why dressing up as a vampire once a year was inviting the Devil to take their souls.  So a cigarette here and there became the beginning and end of a much-delayed adolescent rebellion.  There were overtures of getting a nose ring.  Instead, I spent the money on moleskine notebooks and another King James Bible. I spilled wine on my first copy while giving a drunken reading of the Song of Solomon.  

Anyway, first I was lost, and then I found myself sleeping on the indoor porch of a trailer in Maine four nights a week.  And then I was lost, and then I was lost.  The only time I've ever gambled in my life was at the Born Again church's Christmas party -- everyone had to bring a scratch ticket.  I didn't know where to get one, but I lucked out in a rest stop on the way up.  I don't even participate in office pools.  Gambling is not the way I take risks.  I prefer mortal peril.  

Being found is too heavy a lens for me to use.  Once found, everything is seen differently.  It creates a story where there is none, necessitating the employment of a cliche (or few).  But I'm not lost -- I'm just easily distracted.