Do we have to start at the beginning?

At my thirtieth birthday party seven years ago, I stood in the living room of my friend Antonia's house, lit with candles everywhere. Surrounded by my diversely great friends, I affirmed that THIS would be the decade. These thirties of mine would be filled with grace and wonder and, far more importantly, high-profile success and a big fat ring on my finger. I smiled with a smug, visionary contentment...for which I've been paying ever since.

I won't even try to tell you the story now, about the seven-year bomb that's gone off. Sweet mother of Jesus, would you even want to know? I nauseate myself sometimes, just thinking about the anguish and melodrama. I'll just start with where things are now.

I had a breakthrough this weekend. Having seen that I was literally standing in the balance between faith and death--it had gotten so bad that these were my only two options--I decided, well, what if I actually just feel some stuff? What if, instead of going to O'Brien's Liquors for a bottle of cheap Riesling at 2pm on Saturday, I just sat down and felt something? So I did. And you just thank your lucky stars you were somewhere else, because within about seven seconds, I was (no joke) on my hands and knees in my living room, wailing at the top of my lungs. Wailing. Tears fell on the hardwood floors and my adoring dachshund Duke licked them up. (Yeah, kinda gross.) I rocked back and forth in this wordlessly primal state, off and on, for the rest of the afternoon. I still fetched the Reisling later, but was pleased to note that it was more out of habit than anything else and felt rather beside the point.

So that was the sobbing part, which appears to have been one half of my cracking up and crying uncle about this Christian thing (this has been brewing for a while; more later). The second half involves Lewis Black. Now, for those of you who don't know, Lewis Black is a socialist, atheist Jewish comedian who's so worked up about the state of the world that he's about four seconds away from a nervous breakdown. This is his schtick. He shares it with us on Comedy Central frequently, and is one of those few people I only have to THINK about before I burst out laughing.

One of the things about Christianity that terrifies me is that it may require me to give up Lewis Black, who is a friend of the f-bomb, but who frankly gave me a reason to live on Sunday. I'd had enough with the rocking like a wounded bison, but there was still some cracking up to do. So I ask you: What did we do before YouTube? There I found Lewis, throwing his beautifully hysterical and profane tantrums, making me lean over sideways in my desk chair with soundless laughter. You know, the kind where you can barely catch your breath for minutes on end? Lewis and I spent a technologically cuddly Sunday afternoon together, until finally (at least for the time being), I was done.

Leonard Cohen wrote: "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." On Sunday night, I stood in assessment of the situation, and this is the line that came to me. I was cracking up, and thinking of Jesus, and goddamn it, the light was getting in. I thought of this church I know, and one of the small groups they have that I went to a couple of times last year, before I melted down like butter in a hot pan. And I knew it was time to go.

I know a turning point when I see it. Today my heart is loaded with fear and tentative hope in equal measure. I know just about nothing right now, only a couple of things. The wounded bison thing passes eventually, Lewis Black really did give me a reason to live on Sunday, and I'm supposed to go to that small group tonight.

That's all for now.