I suspect that most of my friends and family members think that I'm making this up but I assure you that I'm not:  I've lived most of my adult life with the very real fear of becoming a born-again Christian and I've gone to great lengths to avoid situations that could lead to that terrifying outcome. 

Happily, after attending a weekend wedding that had an "All Jesus, All The Time" agenda, I'm 99% certain that I've finally conquered my phobia.

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I graduated from high school in 1971, at a time when a few of my pothead friends became "Jesus Freaks."  As a result of their conversion to Christ, they swore off everything that was amazing about being a single dude in pre-HIV 1971:  Readily available sex (although a better command of social skills  and less drooling might have helped), cheap and decent pot, great music, braless girls, and a belief that we collectively had influenced Lynden Johnson to not seek reelection. 

One day I was approached by a long-time friend who started talking to me about everything that the Lord had done for him.  These things included removing his desire to smoke weed, drink cheap wine, and covet his neighbor's daughter.  I found myself wanting to plug my ears and make random, loud noises until he vanished.  I didn't want him or Jesus fucking with my good times.

In addition to clinging to my hedonistic lifestyle I also feard becoming "one of those people" that become the subjects of unflattering stories such as "Did you hear that Roger Fallihee was standing on 4th and Pike yelling at strangers and passing out Jesus leaflets?"

No thanks.

During my freshman year of college I became a reporter for my college newspaper. (With Watergate as a current news story, everyone was a reporter on their college newspaper).

I was assigned to cover a speech by Seattle radio personality Frosty Fowler.  Since I was high nearly every day between 1972 and 1976, chances are that I had a toke or two before going to the event.

Fowler told a few funny stories about his early days in radio then shifted to the topic that interested him the most:  his conversion to Christianity.  Shortly into his tale of redemption I was hit with what I later found out was an anxiety attack.  I had never experienced a panic attack so in my mind the uncomfortable feeling that was flooding my brain was caused by Jesus entering my heart... and I didn't want him there.

So I did the only thing that I could think of.  I left.  Immediately.  I did not pass go, and I did not collect  two hundred dollars.  As soon as I was safely out of the building I implored Jesus to stay away.  "Get away from me and my heart.  I don't want you and I don't need you.  All you'll do is mess things up for me."  I did manage to internalize these commands rather than say them out loud, so that everyone I encountered on campus would not be aware of the level of insanity that was going on.

Over the years I've been to many weddings and funerals and I've done a pretty good job of ignoring the Christian rhetoric.  Often times I'd sit and visualize golf shots or try to figure out which woman that I dated had the most syllables in her last name.  Anything to keep intact the brick wall between me and the Lord.

Last Saturday the lovely Mrs. Fallihee and I went to a wedding that had all of the potential to be the most outwardly religious event that I had ever attended.  It was that and more.

From the moment we sat down at the service until the cake was served at the reception, it was clear that this was a wedding between two wonderful young people and Jesus.  Every sentence, every image, and every song reminded me that service to Jesus was what this marriage will be about.

I listened to every word that was said.  I didn't imagine sticking a 5-iron 3 feet from the pin or try to count the syllables in women's names that I could barely remember.  I let my guard down.  If Jesus was ever going to make his move, this was his big chance.

At one point my wife leaned over to me and whispered, "Are you okay?"  I smiled and nodded.

Nothing happened.  The event came and went and I'm still a happy heathen.

Ironically, all of the reasons that I once feared Jesus were no longer applicable.  I quit smoking pot in the 70's, my sex life happily involves only one woman, and I long ago gave up on the silly notion that we have the power to influence politicians.

Now that the Jesus thing might very well be a former phobia, maybe I can focus on curing my fear of having an odd number of coins in my pocket or my phobia that prevents me from ever eating a mushroom. (If some mushrooms can kill you how do I know if they picked the right ones)?

Oh oh.  I'm starting to feel just the slightest bit of anxiety.  Is it Jesus or am I just worried that a stray mushroom may have ended up on my pizza? 

Hard to tell but I better not take a chance. My other phobias will just have to wait.  I have to nip this Jesus thing in the bud once and for all.