He sat in a red chair and watched while I was raped. I was only four, but I knew who he was. Jesus didn’t do anything but speak into my mind, over and over, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be OK.” And I believed him as I slid into darkness from pain and suffocation.
The incest went on for years, and Jesus stayed with me, more like a stray dog than God. He followed
me into ...