When I was 17 years old, I started attending a small church of about 100 people. In the whole church, there were only two teenagers whose parents were not at church — me and my friend Gabe.

I remember it so well. I brought my friend Beatrice to church. She was a year older than me, 18 years old. She was very tough and beautiful. She had also been in some complicated situations in life — the kind that made some people at that church uncomfortable. I asked her to sit next to me, and she finally mustered up the courage to come.

When the altar call came, I asked her if she wanted to go up and pray. She said yes. I brought her up to the front, kneeled down with her, and we prayed together. It was amazing — and terrifying for some people in that room.

After the prayer, the pastor came to me and said words that still sting. But I looked at Beatrice and said: if they want to kick one of us out, they'll have to kick all of us out. I smiled. She was at ease.

Looking back, I realize Beatrice was my one. She was one person God put in front of me — one person others may have been uncomfortable with, one person Jesus loved.

She died at 21 years old. But she died knowing Jesus. Because one person didn't look away.

That person was her one.