My journey in recovery began with a cry for help to a God that I was very sure did not believe in me anymore. I’d made too many promises I couldn’t keep, and was convinced He was done with me.
It hadn’t always been that way. I’d loved God as a child and tried desperately to be a good boy. I’d been raised by humble Christian parents whose selflessness led them to be missionaries, showing me how a life of other-centeredness was rewarding and fulfilling. I’d had every opportunity, the best education, never suffered abuse, and a Christian community that nurtured the best in me. But I’d lost my way. Instead of running to God when I felt hurt, I began to blame Him for it. I took charge of my life—and by age 29, I’d created my own misery and lost everything worth living for. Now, in complete spiritual and moral bankruptcy, I sat in recovery meetings, wondering how I’d gotten there.
I listened and identified with their stories enough to realize I’d been suffering from an obsession that kept me constantly thinking of a drink. Then, when I took one, it immediately triggered an overwhelming physical compulsion to keep drinking until I blacked out. But after the hangover and withdrawal, I’d always fall for the lie that this time it would be different.
I drank the fun out of the bottle and was now drinking out of desperation, so I wasn’t surprised when my new friends told me I needed to be restored to sanity. But asking God for anything seemed out of the question, since my shame made it impossible.
One day, a young man asked me several questions as we walked out of a recovery meeting, and finally said, “I don’t think your God could keep me sober.”
I must have looked shocked, and I was certainly speechless—but he just kept on. “Do you think that maybe you might have picked up some wrong ideas about God along the way?”
“Well, uh… you don’t understand,” I stammered. “I was raised in church, and Mom and Dad told me stories from both the Old and the New Testament, so I’m pretty sure I know God,” I said, with maybe a twinge of condescension.
“Okay,” he grinned, “but on the off chance that you might have some wrong ideas, do you think your God would be offended if you set everything you think you know about Him aside and ask Him to show you who He really is?”
“I guess not,” I said, haltingly. “But I don’t see the sense in that.”
“Just try it,” he shot back, walking away.
I felt annoyed. No, I felt angry! But his words echoed in my mind and a few desperate weeks later, I tried it. My heart raced as I prayed, God, I hope I’m not committing the unpardonable sin, but… I’m going to set aside everything I think I know about You—and I dare You to show me who You really are!
Well, God loves a good dare, and soon my mind was opened to the truth that maybe He hadn’t beenpunishing me. Maybe He’d kept me alive and brought those two sober men (one of whom I never saw again) to the bar one night to save my life. Maybe He’d even guided me to the young man who’d challenged me!
What led me to this principle of open-mindedness that allowed me to believe that a Power greater than myself could restore me to sanity? I think it was the gift of desperation—the same desperation Jacob felt when he cried out, “I will not let You go unless You bless me!” as he wrestled with God in his darkest hour in Genesis 32:26.
I felt all the desperation of a drowning man. But what seemed to me to be a flimsy reed, soon turned out to be the powerful hand of God. “Little by slow,” I learned of His amazing love and personal concern for me. And as I lost my fear that He would reject me, I noticed the childlike faith my new friends had in a God who would keep them sober and provide what they needed. Their faith was inspiring and contagious, and oh how I wanted it!
As my mind opened more, God began showing up everywhere. I had a friend who loved to ask, “Is that odd, or is that God?” It used to irritate me, but now I smiled and acknowledged the obvious.
As I grew in my walk with God, I saw Him as the father who stays up all night after bringing his newborn son home from the hospital, making sure his baby is breathing. When I consider the longing He has in His heart for me, the lengths He’s gone to save me, or the beautiful things He’s preparing for me, I’m often moved to tears.
I’ve been restored to sanity when it comes to drinking, and I’ve not had anything more than a fleeting thought of doing that in many, many years. Even better, today I know that I don’t have to drink even if I want to! His power is sufficient to keep me sober.
Oh, sometimes I’ll run with some other temptation and hardly realize it. But He always startles me into reality, and I say that three-word prayer that saved my life.
God help me is still my go-to prayer. And it works. It really does.
