I was raised largely non-denominational. My parents (and my mother's parents) were adamantly opposed to larger, more structured churches, so they met every Sunday in their house (with the exception of "convention," where a bunch of nondenominationals met in huge tents for a couple of weeks each year). As my sister and I grew older, my parents took us less seldom to the meetings at my grandparents house.
I started bouncing around other philosophies and religions during my high school years, but never really left general Christianity. But it's likely my experiences there that led me to be more respectful and tolerant of alternative faiths (I've sometimes said that if I wasn't a Christian, I'd be a death-worshipper - not in the negative way, but because everything dies, death should be respected, not feared. Death is not your enemy. And I get annoyed when death is depicted as a malevolent force in entertainment media.)
In college I started to attend a Pentecostal church nearby (mostly because a girl I liked went there - I'm sure you've heard this kind of story before...). I found it quite interesting - similar to the other teachings, but there was a strong feeling about the church that I didn't get from my grandparent's house, too - a feeling of warmth and comfort. The feeling of the Holy Spirit. My mother wasn't fond of me attending the church, but I liked it. For some odd reason, though, when I prayed to God about whether or not I should join the church, I was told, quite adamantly, NO. In a gentler voice, God implored me to be wary of churches that put more emphasis on ritual than the meaning behind the ritual. It was an odd message to receive, but it stuck with me.
After meeting the wonderful woman who would become my wife, we pretty much dropped out of the church scene altogether. After a personal crisis that affected both of us deeply we began church-shopping again. Some churches had a similar feeling - and some we practically fled from - but nothing really seemed to fit.
Then, a short time after my second daughter was born, a couple of older people came knocking at the door. Since my wife was breast-feeding our newborn, I answered. They were missionaries with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (a.k.a. the Mormons). After talking with them for about a month, I asked Heavenly Father if I should join this church - and was incredibly surprised when He told me "yes." (My wife had been baptized years ago, but because of other circumstances, she had gone inactive.) That was about five years ago, and I'm still in that church... for now. Who knows where Heavenly Father will lead me next? But I trust in Him - He won't steer me wrong, as long as I listen to the promptings of the Spirit and am willing to follow them!