Widowish: A Memoir(29)

“Stay tuned, and Joel will be right back with another message of inspiration for an empowered and spirit-filled life!”

Had I been driving, I would have crashed the car. My heart started racing and tears were pouring down my face.

“Hun?!” I cried out. “Is that you? Oh my God, Joel?! I’m here, honey. I’m staying tuned. Oh my God, come back!”

I rolled up the windows in the car, and I turned up the volume. I gripped the steering wheel, tap-tap-tapped my foot anxiously awaiting Joel’s return; I was careful to avoid the brake and gas pedals. My body couldn’t contain my excitement. I wanted to hear Joel’s message! It couldn’t have been more clear—Joel was trying to reach me!

A million thoughts swirled in my mind. He was going to tell me something. Maybe that Sophie would be OK, that she was doing great. Or maybe it was about our dog Daisy, who was sick. Or maybe he wanted to tell me that he missed me, too. I wiped away my tears, waiting, waiting, waiting for Joel’s message.

Finally, finally! Joel came back on air. “God bless you. It’s a joy to come into your home. Thanks so much for tuning in and coming out today.”

Hmmmm, I thought. God bless you?

The message continued. “I like to start with something funny.” Yup, that’s my Joel!

And then Joel went on to tell a story about an old man who ran into his doctor at a park. The man was with an attractive young woman. He tells his doctor, “I did what you told me and got myself a hot mama.”

The doctor says, “No, what I told you is that you’ve got a heart murmur!” OK, not my husband’s best joke but . . .

“Hold up your bible. Say it like you mean it: This is my bible. I am what it says I am. I have what it says I have . . . I boldly confess my heart is receptive . . .”

Bible? I was so confused. This didn’t really sound like my Joel. “In Jesus’s name, God bless you.”

Did Joel find Jesus?! I was intrigued. This couldn’t be my Joel, but I continued listening. I looked at my dashboard. The radio display had been blank, but now, possibly because of better reception or possibly because I was now receiving the sign I was so desperate for, the screen was lit up. And there he was, right in front of me. Joel Osteen.

I had heard of him but never heard him. A few months before, my instinct would have been Ew, evangelical preacher-man. Change the channel. But I kept listening. I found Joel’s message of love soothing. He was saying something about the goodness of God.

That we are strong, blessed. We are all God’s masterpiece.

That we are all armed with strength for every battle, and that the forces that are for me are greater than those against me.

I was in agreement with what he was saying. I found that his voice and disposition made me smile. He seemed like someone I would like.

This “new” Joel and my Joel both had dark hair. Joel Osteen had a twinkle in his blue eyes, the way my Joel had a twinkle in his green eyes. He also had the same initials as my Joel, and they even had similar sounding last names. But the thing that I took as the biggest message was this: Both Joels had the same phone number. With the exception of the area code, they were exactly the same.

“Guess what my new number is?” Joel had called to tell me many years earlier. Back when cell phones were newish. “555-JOEL. That makes it so easy to remember!” He was so excited by this. It was fun.

Some people say they found God just walking down the street and boom! They are touched and converted and become born-again or Christ loving or true believers. They get on board with the Lord, no questions asked.

That’s not what happened to me. I did not find God that day in my car, but I did find something. A connection. Just like when my Joel told me something funny about John Cougar Mellencamp in the mail room so long ago, I was now smitten with a new Joel. I didn’t take his bible and Jesus speak as proselytizing (even though it was). I simply liked his energy. His enthusiasm. His message, which was one of trusting in something bigger than ourselves. Believing that we are loved, unconditionally. He preached an attitude of gratitude. These were things I could wrap my mind around. To me, Joel Osteen is a motivational speaker who uses God and Jesus as his point of reference. I didn’t mind one bit.

When Sophie got in the car after therapy, she immediately changed the station.

“Oh, I wanted you to hear that!” I said. “It’s a message from Daddy.”

“It’s no fair!” she whined. “You always get messages, and I don’t.”

“You get them, too!” I said. “You just don’t recognize them yet.”

“So what’s the message?” she asked.

“OK. I was listening to the radio, and it said that Joel had a message for me. It was Joel Osteen. He’s, like, a preacher, but he and Daddy have the same phone number! And he tells funny stories like Daddy—”

“That’s not Dad, Mom,” she said.

“Well, I’m going to listen to him all the time now. I feel connected.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “He’s a preacher? That’s just weird. You’re being weird.”

I shrugged.

What was I going to say? We were nice Jewish girls; she had just been bat mitzvahed less than a year ago. What did we know about Jesus? Or the bible? Maybe I was being weird. But I didn’t care. The Other Joel became my obsession. I listened to him all the time. I’d pick up Sophie from school extra early just so I could sit in the car and listen to Joel’s message before she got in. I’d drive extra slowly wherever I went, just so I could tune in. I signed up for daily email messages, which would thrill me every morning when I opened my mail.