It’s no accident that people talk about “finding Jesus.” Few of us are born knowing him; usually we have to find our way, through pain and heartache and hopelessness, and stumble on him only just before it’s too late.

Aurelia had been a hard-core atheist her whole life. Daughter of the daughter of another atheist and a non-practicing Jew, it was only natural. She had nothing but scorn for organized religion, but fate (well, chance, as far as she was concerned) had placed her smack dab in the middle of one of the country’s most conservative Christian counties, so to get by, she kept her mouth shut.

Then she met him. They found each other on a “collaborative fiction” website (Aurelia was always so creative). For confidentiality’s sake, we’ll call him “Nestle Mosque.” Close enough — his real moniker was equally obtuse.

He did more than break her heart — he took her for everything she had and disappeared, leaving her addicted to God-knows-what… and possibly pregnant.

She found Jesus just in time.