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I have a question for you. Here's the situation:

You are an ambitious, twenty-three year-old performing arts school grad. Trained by the best and bursting with dreams, you're poised for greatness. Gonna take Hollywood and take her all the way. What would you do next?

It's obvious, right? You'd join a cult. Wouldn't you?

Here's how it all started:

I lay in the dark. My pounding heart threatens to bash its way through my rib cage. My frantic brain is sending me into a full-fledged panic attack: Eternity with God or a career in film? Eternity with God or fame and wealth? What will I choose? Heaven or Hell? If this goes on much longer, it's going to crash my hard drive.

"Please God, please." Hot tears make their way down my cheeks, pool at the base of my throat. "Help me to know if you're real. Show me if Jesus is the deal and if I'm supposed to follow Him. Please, God . . ."

With the swiftness of a sudden summer breeze, a calming sense of peace washes over me. It descends heavy, from the top of my head, running down my entire body like warm honey. All my poor, convulsed muscles relax and melt with it. I weep some more, but this time it feels more akin to joy.

And then, I sleep.I dream I am a sojourner among a peculiar people who speak in tongues of angels and practice the holy arts of casting out demons and raising the dead. I dream of wheels within wheels, fiery prophets, and a new world order. I wander in this strange Wonderland for what seems a lifetime. One day, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass . . . and I no longer recognize the face gazing back at me.

I wake up, and twenty-two years have passed.

Come, step beyond the looking glass with me and I will show you things. Hilarious and heartbreaking things, bizarre and byzantine things, weird and wonderful things. Like that time I fell down a rabbit hole and spent twenty-two years as a Bible thumping, tongue speaking, Gospel preaching, Born Again Christian. And then I woke up.