To this day, when it comes to my recovery, there’s nothing easy about surrendering. Everything in me fights it, and whatever I let go of usually has claw marks all over it. So why did I think it would be easy to let go of the character defects I’d clung to for so long?
I’d taken a fearless look at myself, catalogued those things I knew were making my life miserable, confessed my faults to God in the presence of another human being, and suffered through many attempts to get rid of them, myself. But I knew a day of surrender was inevitable.
As I looked at those objectionable traits, I realized that some were defensive tactics I’d adopted after being hurt repeatedly, while others were just cherished sins. But all of them had to go if I was to avoid being dragged back into a life of drinking and certain death. I was caught between the pain of giving them up and the certain pain of failing to do so. And I was miserable. In fact, I’d struggled so hard to change myself, that I had just about given up. I felt like a failure, and in the past, the only way to be rid of those feelings was to drink.
My closest friend in recovery had urged me to take a day off and surrender it all to God, and finally, I gave in. That morning I woke up and immediately started cleaning my kitchen. Then I cleaned the fish tank, the bathrooms, the garage, and anything else I could find, whether it needed cleaning or not. As I furiously moved the vacuum around, my cat darted out from under each piece of furniture she could hide under, but I hardly noticed her. She had seen me through the worst of my drinking and I’m ashamed to admit that she had every right to be afraid of me, since my moods had been so unpredictable.
It had been a while since I’d had a drink, and as I watered the plants (that I could now keep alive), I noticed the dracaena plant, it’s stalk sturdy at the base, then oddly thin, and thick again as it grew through the lean years when watering plants was maybe a monthly thing. It made me sad to realize that plants—and other living creatures—had suffered due to my alcoholism.
I wiped down the walls, polished every piece of furniture, and cleaned all the shades and light fixtures. Finally, I collapsed on the couch, exhausted and wondering what had gotten into me. I’d been on a mission. A cleaning mission. And suddenly I realized that I’d felt so disgusted with myself and my life that I’d been trying to clean it up—literally. Now my house was cleaner than it probably had ever been, but my heart and conscience were not—and I knew it.
With a deep sigh, I knelt down in my living room, folding my hands and leaning my elbows on my coffee table. I didn’t know where to start, but finally, I spoke aloud. “God, I don’t know if I will ever be truly willing to let you have all of me, but I’m trying.” My voice trailed off for a minute, then I spoke again. “My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that You now remove from me every defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to You and my fellows. Grant me strength as I go out from here to do Your bidding. Amen.”
The room was quiet, except for the soft trickle of water in my aquarium and the hum of the air pump. I remained on my knees, with my eyes closed… waiting for something to happen.
Nothing’s happening, I thought. I don’t feel anything.
More silence.
God, I don’t feel anything.
Then it struck me. I was expecting to feel something. Anything. But all I felt was quiet—something I would grow to know as serenity, although I didn’t have a word for it at the time.
With my eyes still closed, I raised my head up and smiled. Oh God, You know me! Always trying to get a rush out of everything! God, please, I want to believe that You’ve heard and answered my prayer, even though I’m not getting any “warm fuzzies” out of this!
Meanwhile, my cat had jumped up on the coffee table. Wrapped up in my own thoughts, I was vaguely aware that she was sitting there, looking at me, and… purring. And just as I asked God to reassure me that He’d heard my prayer despite the lack of warm fuzzies, my cat did something she’d never done before. She touched my face with one of her paws!
In that moment, I felt God’s soft touch, and I laughed and cried at the same time. A warm glow flowed over me and God wrapped His strong arms around me and pulled me close.
Thank you, God. Thank you, God! I repeated over and over, as I opened my eyes and hugged my cat in my arms. She didn’t squirm or fuss, but continued to purr for a long time.
Sometimes I’ve hesitated to tell this story, fearing that people would think I was being overly dramatic about it all. But I have no doubt that my Heavenly Father used the only living creature that could have possibly touched me, to assure me that He had heard my prayer and accepted my surrender that night.
Yes, God uses whatever He can to reach a heart that is struggling to be sincere. He touched mine that night, and life has never been the same.
