Angry Conversations with God (10 page)

We had a great honeymoon, Jesus and I. I wanted to spend all my time with him, soaking up the love I’d pushed away for so
long. I listened to Nancy’s Christian rock songs about how Jesus loved me. I sang about how I loved him back. I woke up every
morning, and before I had breakfast—which as an anorexic wasn’t much—I spent hours hanging out with God and reading the Bible
to find out what he had in store.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you

by your name; you are Mine.…Since you were

precious in My sight, you have been honored, and

I have loved you. (Isa. 43:1, 4 NKJV)

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you

with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.

(Zeph. 3:17)

I hadn’t felt that loved since my father scooped me up as a child. When you’re loved, you want to love back. My sister’s pastor
called it “discovering God’s will for your life.” I prayed, “Lord, I want to know what your will is for me every moment. I
don’t want to do anything, go anywhere, or make any decision without you. Like today: should I eat grapefruit or can I have
a muffin? Just show me!” Sometimes it took a long time to get out of the room.

But that’s how it is when you’re in love. Your senses are heightened; everything is loaded with meaning. I’d smell a gardenia
and think,
Wow, God. That is so “you“! You are such an artist!
I’d hear Elvis Costello and think,
Yeah, Lord. What
is
so funny about peace, love, and understanding?
I was no longer alone in a beige void, going nowhere. The Maker of the universe had a will for my life. All I had to do was
discover it.

I’d always loved movies. I applied to UCLA’s film school. It was a long shot, but I had to get out of UC Irvine’s beige purgatory.
One of Nancy’s Christian rock songs said that if I did my best, God would take care of the rest. I got into UCLA. This prayer
thing worked!

Film school was a blast. I loved writing scripts; I loved editing. I discovered new notes to play. Grad students asked me
to act in their thesis projects so I played the acting note too. Yes, there were geeks doing
Star Wars
takeoffs with toasters. There were Goth lesbian performance artists diving deep into their own cesspool dreams and making
art out of it. It wasn’t my kind of art, but it was art. And I wanted to make art.

“I’m so disappointed you’re a Christian,” a film-school friend said. “You’re too smart and cool for that.”

“Christians can be cool and smart!” I was lying. I hadn’t met any cool, smart Christians yet. I met some of those Crusaders
who passed out tracts. I met a Christian cheerleader, but no Christian artists. Church was packed with cheerleaders. Film
school was packed with Goth lesbians from Silver Lake. I didn’t fit anywhere. Too wild for the church, too tame for the world.
It was art versus faith all over again.

I had to find a way to play my faith note and my art note. Actually, I was playing several artistic notes. Which one was I
supposed
to play? God had a will for my life. But what was it?

Two weeks before graduation I visited my sister’s church. The pastor had us write letters to God and said he’d mail them back
to us in three months so we could see how God answered our prayers. I wrote mine:

Dear God, what am I supposed to do? Please don’t make me turn into a Goth lesbian just to do art or a Crusader cheerleader
just to keep my faith. Just show me what your will is, and I’ll do it. Whatever it is. Well, except no bad Christian drama.
Please, I beg you—don’t make me write a dorky Bible skit. Other than that, just show me your will.

Two days later, Mrs. Van Holt called my parents. My old Shakespeare coach was directing TV and wondered if I wanted to audition
for
Family Ties.

Two days after that, I was on a soundstage at Paramount Studios with a guest-starring role on
Family Tie
s, my SAG card, and an agent. Even my dad came to the taping. I was overwhelmed. God blessed me with work, and even my father’s
approval. I prayed to keep doing my best. I knew he’d take care of the rest.

Rudy: I became a Christian when Bob Dylan did. We were going to change the world. And Jesus was going to come back in like
1985.

Susan: It’s always great at the beginning. God’s answers to all my questions at first were “yes and amen.”

Rudy: Your prayer to God was a little odd. “God, I know I’ve been a jerk and you hate me; now I’m going to do everything right
so you’ll love me.” Did you really think God hated you? Did you think you had to be perfect to get him to love you?

Susan: I remember once Pastor Ingebretsen said that when God looked at me, he didn’t see
me or my sin
because Jesus stood in front of me. Which kind of turned Jesus into a Teflon shield. I worried if Jesus stepped out of the
way, I’d be toast.

Rudy: Let’s ask them. Lord?

Jesus: I’m not a Teflon shield. Let’s put that to rest.

God: I hate sin because of the way it destroys people. I hated watching Susan’s life unravel before she had a chance to live
it.

Susan: I didn’t really think you hated me. (Not yet, anyway.)

Rudy: Susan, let’s focus on the good things for now. This was a great time in your relationship. The marriage, the honeymoon!
Why don’t you tell each other what you appreciated about this period?

Jesus: I loved how much time we spent together.

Susan: I loved feeling hopeful. I loved making God happy.

God: I appreciated that she asked for direction on everything. Of course, then she went overboard. “Lord, show me what to
eat for breakfast“?

Rudy: Did you ever tell her what to eat for breakfast?

God: Yeah. “More!”

Susan: Go ahead and make fun of me. But I didn’t have any direction growing up, except “Don’t be angry or people won’t like
you.” My parents never showed me how to choose a college or resolve conflict or how to live in the world. Is it any wonder
I hid in my room, begging you to tell me what to do?!

God: I never told you to eat grapefruit every day of your life!

Jesus: Susan, we understood: you were scared; you got caught up trying to do it perfectly; it was going take some time before
you relaxed.

God: In the meantime, I was happy to use the foghorn school of direction on you. Of course, eventually you had to grow up
and learn more subtle forms of guidance.

Susan: What’s subtle about blowtorching my career, love life, and sense of purpose all at once?

Rudy: Don’t jump ahead of the story.

Susan: It’s impossible not to jump ahead. How can I think happily on all the promises he had for me when I know how they turned
out?

God: I had lots of great plans for you, Susan. I was excited about your future. But a promise is not a guarantee. You have
to hold up your end of the bargain for a promise to work.

Susan: So I
do
have to be perfect? I’m never going to be perfect. Why bother making me a promise at all?

Jesus: Susan, your future isn’t over.

Susan: It’s hard to see that right now. (To Rudy) I feel more confused than ever. I’m letting God speak. But how much of my
idea of God is real?

Rudy: I don’t think you’d have gotten this far without some of it being real. You’ve just got to figure out what’s real and
what isn’t. Like separating the wheat from the tares.

Susan: Or more like Psyche, sifting through every single grain of wheat or corn or dust. It’s exhausting.

Rudy: I know. But it’s going to be more exhausting if you don’t.

I WAS A WORKING ACTRESS! DAVID CALLED FROM YALE TO CON
gratulate me. Even my father was proud. (Now that I’d had a success.) My film-school friends were not so excited. Didn’t I
want to schlep coffee for big-time producers like they were doing? They didn’t get it: nobody just walks onto a movie lot
with a SAG card, an agent, and a guest-starring role on a hit TV show.

The following week, I was looking for the next gig and they were still schlepping coffee for big-time producers. Their questions
stuck in my craw. What if I
had
made the wrong decision? Yes, I could act. But I could also write. Maybe the door opening wasn’t a sign from God—maybe it
was a trap from Satan.

There it was again: that paralyzing dread and self-doubt that left me unable to go forward with confidence or turn back and
be at peace, unable to say no or even to say yes. How did my friends make decisions? Julianne tried to be a writer, then gave
up and went to law school. David was driven by doubt, but doubt drove him forward. Why did my doubts paralyze me? Maybe it
was my father’s endless rants about God zapping him for every false move; maybe it was my mother’s sad, silent retreat into
church life. I needed guidance. I needed a church. I also needed help with my secret.…

I couldn’t call myself a “real” anorexic. I had ballooned back to 105 pounds: normal for Hollywood. But on the path to becoming
a “normal” anorexic, I stumbled into a brand-new disease they had mentioned in that psychobiology class: bulimia.

I first started bingeing in high school after I got sexually active. Food quelled my guilt and insecurity. Sex, binge, numb
out to forget. Sex, binge, forget. But when I turned my life over to God, I starved that greedy slut to death! Problem was:
humans, as a rule, need to eat to survive. Eventually I ate. A lot. Once I ate so much I got sick and vomited. Well, hey now:
vomiting got rid of the calories, released my anxiety, and provided a psychic punishment. I started a new cycle: starve, binge,
vomit, repent. Repeat. I hated myself every time I did it.

“God, please forgive me. I’m wasting food, I’m hurting my body—your temple! You didn’t save me so I could destroy my self.
I promise to never do it again! In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Like that ever worked.

I prayed for God to direct me toward help. I visited the UCLA health center. The counselor said everyone with an eating disorder
had been sexually abused.