“I Think I Need Jesus”

Seven years before I surrendered my own life to Christ, I watched one of my dearest friends give her life to Jesus right beside me at a women’s Christian conference in Fort Worth.

It was extraordinary. It was beautiful. And for someone who still did not believe—and was actively resisting Jesus—it was also pretty scary.

I had known this woman for fifteen years. We had rollerbladed, walked, talked, laughed, and shared our families with one another. I stood beside her at her wedding, and she helped host my baby showers. I supported her when she became a new mother to her one beautiful son, and she showed up for every birthday celebration my children had.

Together, we were active members of Twelve Step fellowships. We gave back to the programs that had saved our lives, taught us how to live, and introduced us to a Higher Power.

But now she had Jesus.

I had watched the change in her. There was something radiant about her—something peaceful, grounded, and unmistakably alive. I was curious, but I was not ready to say I needed saving. I was not ready to surrender to Jesus or commit to following Him.

Then, in the middle of one of the most painful battles of my life, I heard Jesus tell me He loved me.

Afterward, one thought kept circling through my mind:

Was that really Jesus? Was that really Him saving me from my torment and pain?

Was He reaching into the pain I had hidden from everyone—the pain I had worked so hard to fix by myself with my Higher Power and the Twelve Steps?

The Twelve Steps had given me a new life. Meetings and conversations with my sponsor brought truth, perspective, and relief. But at this point in my journey, the relief sometimes lasted only an hour or two. Then the terrible thoughts would return, cutting at my soul and pulling me back into shame, fear, and isolation. I felt as if I were failing at the same battle over and over again.

Usually, when I am hurting or afraid, I say no to people. I isolate. I hide. I pretend everything is fine while privately suffering from a million tiny soul cuts.

But right after I began wondering whether it really had been Jesus who spoke to me, my sweet friend—the one who had found Christ seven years earlier—sent me a text inviting me to swim at her house.

It was Thursday. We made plans for Saturday, and I put it on my calendar. Then I went back to grasping tightly to the fading memory that Someone—God, my Higher Power, or possibly even Jesus—had spoken love over me and given me peace in the middle of the battle.

Whenever the thoughts began attacking again, I remembered:

Someone told me He loved me, and I felt it.

I felt the peace of being loved exactly as I was. I did not have to get good first. I did not have to fix myself or earn that love.

It was the kind of love I had longed for since I was a little girl—the love I had wanted from my earthly father but had not been able to receive because he was not able to give it. He had never received that kind of love either.

Saturday came, and I actually got ready and drove to my friend’s house. It was a hard day. The memory of that love was fading, and I was terrified of being left alone again with the thoughts that drove me toward shame and isolation.

When I arrived, I did something I almost never did: I put on my swimsuit. Usually, I would sit at the edge and put only my feet in the water. But that day, I walked out and got all the way into the pool.

My friend was floating on a tube beneath her big sun hat. She looked so beautiful. So radiant. So peaceful. So loving.

Something in me broke open.

I felt moved to make amends to her for all the ways I had not been the friend she deserved over the years—for hiding from her, keeping my distance, and running away whenever she tried to come closer.

I began to cry, and the amends poured out of me.

She did not judge me or rush me. She put her arms around me and let me say everything I needed to say. In the middle of my brokenness, pain, and shame, she gave me dignity.

She simply held me and loved me.

After our embrace, she floated back onto her tube. I looked at her and said the words that would change the direction of my life:

“I think I need Jesus.”

She beamed.

It was the kind of smile only a sister in Christ can give—the smile of someone who has been waiting for you to discover what she already knows.

Welcome home, sweet sister.

Then she began pouring truth into me. She told me what it meant to have Christ in my life, to receive Him as my Savior, and to be given a completely new identity in Him.

She taught me about spiritual warfare, something I had never heard of or understood before. The Holy Spirit seemed to carry her words and give her exactly what I needed to hear.

She told me she would disciple me. She explained what that meant, laid out a plan, and prayed over me with a strength and purpose I had never experienced.

I was so grateful to her. I was so grateful for her.

And I was falling completely in love with Jesus.

I left her house with a hope and peace I could not explain. But that afternoon in the pool was only the beginning. Following Jesus would require a kind of action I had never taken before.

Thankfully, recovery had already taught me how to take action.

The Twelve Steps taught me that transformation requires more than good intentions. I had learned to follow the path of people who were living in sobriety and sanity—to listen, become willing, practice new behaviors, and keep showing up.

Now those same spiritual muscles would help me walk a new and holy path: following Jesus.

I began pursuing Him first. I read the Bible. I listened to sermons. I met with my friend for what we joyfully called our “Jesus Is Amazing” meetings. Those conversations ended with prayers unlike any that had ever been prayed over me.

She poured truth into my spirit, and I learned how to pour truth into hers.

I was being discipled, and it was making the kind of difference only Jesus can make in a life.

I was remade.

Rearranged.

Reprioritized.

Reborn.

I was baptized in her pool—the same pool where I had first looked at her and admitted, “I think I need Jesus.”

I was washed clean. I awakened to the presence and power of the Holy Spirit.

I was on fire. I was bold. I was learning to recognize, rebuke, and cast out the enemy’s lies from my mind, body, and spirit. The battle had not disappeared, but I was no longer fighting it alone—and I was no longer fighting for victory by trying to fix myself.

Jesus had met me in my pain before I had cleaned myself up, earned His love, or figured everything out. He loved me first.

Then He used a faithful friend—one who had walked beside me for twenty years—to welcome me home and show me how to follow Him.

Recovery taught me how to surrender.

Jesus showed me who I was surrendering to.

And this was only the beginning.