So this is the point in the story where I turn to Jesus. Don’t worry. There’s no altar call or soft light or repetitious droning of “Just as I Am,” no sudden realization that all of my questions are answered in a single verse, every doubt cast away by a moment of illumination, just me in my sweats with a glass of wine and the familiar stories of Jesus spread before me on the kitchen table like an old family photo album that suddenly carries new meaning after a death or a divorce or a long overdue reconciliation.
