Sometimes life has this way of defeating the volume of all the chaos, and in that tranquility we can get a clear glimpse of what really matters. One of these moments happened in my life last month.
It was a quiet January night just a few days before the president took office. I was lying in bed in the middle of the night with the six-year-old Echo, and after the night terror woke her up, I gently calmed her down. When she finally returned to sleep, I felt the thick, choking weight settle on me, like the air before the storm. It pressed against my chest, which is not like weight, but rather a presence. At that moment I could only think that I would bow my head, close my eyes and give a quiet prayer to God.
Valley of the Shadows of Death
In September 2024, our family suffered a heartbreaking loss. I'm not ready to talk about the details yet, but when the time is right, I will. Shortly after the tragedy, I met an incredible woman named Diane, Bishop. He was the first to pray with me after my loss and ask me if I wanted to be saved. (I'm still getting a hang of jargon. Some people say pastors, preachers, or pastors depending on the church, but I know Diane as a deep faithful soul who helped me get closer to Jesus. That's why I'm forever grateful.)
I first crossed the path with Diane through masseuse Ade – Mayasia immigrants pronounced “ah-day.” Ade is a kind and quiet Christian who whispers prayers for me while he works never let go. It wasn't a few months later that he told me about it. To this day, he remembers when we first met and how worried he was about me. I came out of my previous marriage and was thin, fragile, completely worn and suffered.
Faith is not about having all the answers, but about trusting those who do so.
One day, his prayers attacked me with a deep tissue massage that healed me more than ever before, in order to heal me. As we were putting together the session, I asked: Basically exorcism. “Ade looked at me, paused, and simply said, “Yes – when you're ready.”
A few weeks after the loss of our family, I saw ADE again. But this time it was different. I bowed my head, dropped my tears, and asked for God's help. At that time, ADE had connected me to Diane.
Water and blood
The next morning in January, I called Diane. Diane had texted me before. This felt like a final confirmation of what I already knew. That was time. I called her then and we decided on Sunday (the day before President Trump's inauguration) that she and her husband Peter would baptize me in my backyard.
I was struck by her presence as she pulled into my driveway. Like me, she is a mixed race woman from Auckland. With blue eyes and curly black hair, she is a grandmother in her 70s and has a quiet strength about her. I quickly learned that she wasn't a regular pastor, but in fact she was the leading pastor at Santa Rita Prison, the fifth largest prison in the country.
Image source: Nicole Shanahan
During that meeting, Diane opened her worn, beloved Bible. A book I've studied and prayed for thousands of times. She moved it with laser accuracy and led me after the poem as I struggled to read my blurry, tearful eyes. The pain of life can consume your entire reality, and its injustice, loss, and its extreme nature can all feel unbearable. The weight of the world, perpetuated by greed, lies, and indifference, can often feel hopeless. Diane looked at me and said with absolute certainty that Jesus could save me – his blood could wash away sin and defeat the darkness that bothers the innocent.
The pain of that moment, the hopeless need for hope, and the unshakable strength of Diane's eyes required unshakable strength to finally break through the last, most stubborn skeptic of me. I think so. When Diane asked if I wanted to be baptized, I didn't hesitate – I said yes.
The whole armor of God
I have always believed in God, but I have never fully grasped the reality of the devil. Growing up with my father who appears to have been defeated by the devil, I try to avoid “bad energy.” He became obsessed with alcohol, fell into man disease, and cried out a fan of the blasphemy at the wall. He will scream, laugh, cry, cry, cry alone, alone in the night, downstairs at our house in Auckland. My father was taught to be a “sick” person, but until recently I had never seriously considered whether the devil was real or not. Honestly, my politics last year changed that. Learning how far I can go to inflict cruelty on innocent Americans has awakened me. Other inexplainable events forced us to reconsider whether we were fighting a war with not only flesh and blood but spiritual power.
Many people are embarrassed to acknowledge the reality of spiritual warfare. But whoever has seen addiction or has overcome deep trauma and witnessed how evil traverses in this world, that the battle between good and evil is not merely theoretical. I know.
The devil certainly exists, and Jesus is our covenant with God to fight them. When I said yes to accepting Jesus as my Savior, I felt something that I could barely express. It was like being wrapped in a warm coco, becoming a grounded, weighted, immovable obelisk.
For many years I have practiced contemplative prayer, which I have been studying yoga, studying Eastern religions, and engaged in “personal development” through programs such as the Hoffman process. But now my prayers are directed towards Jesus. He is the bridge between us and heaven, and our intercessor before God's creator.
Jews for Jesus
In the summer of 2014, I converted to Judaism.
As I wrote to the rabbis at the time, “I choose to be Jewish for a number of reasons. One of the biggest aspects of Judaism that I have enjoyed is that it brings together family members. Judaism offers a great blueprint if you are trying to give future children something that was not growing up.” (I was engaged in marrying Jews at the time, and We celebrated Jewish holidays for many years.) The process was long and immersed. Once a week. I wrote a 10-page conversion statement – one of the best writings in hindsight from that chapter of my life. It drew deep into the Torah, led by the wisdom of several teachers.
For over a decade, I have identified myself as a Jew. But now, with the New Testament in my hands, I am looking at the spiritual pain of the world in ways never before. It seems that the veil is lifted and reveals a deeper understanding of the struggle between light and darkness.
Today I am Jesus' Jew.
Image source: Nicole Shanahan
When my partner Jacob heard that I was baptized, he didn't hesitate. “I want to enter – I want to be baptized too,” he said. I smiled and said, “Great, we will both become Jews for Jesus!”
Jacob comes from a rich, complicated spiritual lineage. His father is a Brooklyn-born Asikenazi Jew, and his mother is a blonde Scandinavian Lutheran from Ohio. Though growing up in American Jewish traditions, Jacob has been feeling a sought after Christianity in recent years. He also felt that something was missing in his spiritual journey.
Jesus longed more than anything to save “God's Lost Sheep.” It was the deepest and most unfulfilled desire of the sacred being to walk this earth. And I believe that aspirations exist today. It's a painful truth that we've ignored, distorted, and misunderstood. The universe itself pushes us forward like cheese through the grater, giving us the sense of the weight of God's pain, the sorrow of the Father who gave us to one son.
For those searching, those who once felt the same admiration as me, I can say this. Faith is not about having all the answers, but about trusting those who do so. And when you find him, you will finally know that you are at home.
Nisi Dominus aedificaverit Domum, vanum Laboraverunt qui aedificant eam. Amen.
