My new therapist, Sam, had just delivered the “Anything is possible with Jesus” speech. While sipping this concoction would certainly cure some of my marriage and parenting woes, I wasn’t quite ready to gulp it down.

Yes, you’re supposed to go to Jesus as a child.

But I was an L.A. television writer. For someone who made a living creating stuff from her own mind, I wasn’t quite ready to believe an ultimate Creator scripted my life.

And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.Matthew 18:3

“The thing with Jesus,” I said, “Is that I love the idea of Him. But I’m just not 100% sure He exists.”

“So…” Sam said, waving his hand toward me as if to say.  “Go on.”

“So…” I said, gesticulating back to him, “If there’s no Jesus, then my life isn’t going to get any better, is it? I mean, if there’s no Jesus, there’s no heaven, which means no redemption for suffering, which means a lot of bleck for a looooooong time.  I mean, this faith walk could take while.”

I was sure I’d stump Sam there. After all, he was a Christian therapist and I was actively questioning his beliefs. If I wasn’t on board with his philosophies, then he couldn’t really help me, now could he?

I waited for him to throw up his hands and say, “I can’t help you.” Instead, he merely shrugged. “Jesus is patient,” he offered.

“How patient?” I sputtered. “I need answers now. I am, you know, kind of in crisis here! What if I don’t ever feel Jesus has the answers?”

“No big deal. Your feelings don’t really matter anyway. What matters is the truth.”

Before I could object to this seemingly offensive statement, he quickly went on, “The fact is, there is a Jesus. I know not just because the Bible says so which… knowing you… you’re not even sure is the true Word of God.”

He put up a hand to shush me and rattled on. “I know Jesus is real because I was once addicted to marijuana. My wife kicked me out of the house for not having a job. Alone, without any place to turn to, I turned to Him. And let me tell you, the moment I took that Bible at face value and stopped questioning everything… the moment I got out of my own head and into God’s… the moment I obeyed, my life got better.”

“You mean your wife took you back and you got off the weed?” I asked, now fully invested in the story.

“Oh, no, she divorced my sorry butt. It took a while to find a job, and I didn’t have sex for a looong time until I met my second wife.”

“Let me get this straight,” I offered. “I’m getting advice on religion from a former celibate, jobless, pothead?”

“That about sums it up,” he said. “Jesus transformed my life and He can transform yours.”

I let this information sink in, a small ray of hope dawning in my dark and clouded soul. He went on, “Jesus isn’t necessarily going to cure your son’s T.S. or your marriage woes overnight. And you’re not going to automatically believe just because it’s in the Bible.”

He stared at me. He had me now, and he knew it. “Let’s face it – you’re an intelligent woman. No one is asking you to leave your brain at the church door. But if you can take this faith journey, He’ll bring you peace while you go through the storm.”

It dawned on me, right then and there, that Sam might have a point. If this God hung out with potheads, tax collectors, prostitutes, thieves, what could he possibly do for me and my doubt?

I only had one thought as I ended that first therapy session. “I’m in.”


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