As a necessary step in my recovery from alcoholism, I shared my first honest self-appraisal with another human being in the presence of God and thought I was home free. I’d somehow mustered the courage to take that important step, but slowly figured out that what I felt was relief, and nothing more. I now had knowledge of what my character flaws were, but knowing what they were didn’t take them away. Instead, I was now painfully aware of them—and they were coming up every day!
The truth was that I really didn’twant to let go of certain attitudes I knew were objectionable. After all, there always seemed to be a time for justifiable anger (self-righteousness), and sometimes I thought I really owed it to “teach someone a lesson” (bring them down a peg or two). And as far as other character defects, well, if I didn’t indulge too much in this or that, then what was the harm?
However, the next step ahead was to become entirely ready to have God remove those things from me that He found objectionable—and I wasn’t ready. My friends suggested reading about other people’s experiences with letting go, and as I did, I got the feeling that perhaps this wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do. Their stories indicated I might not be able to easily turn things over to God; especially since I’d lived a lifetime of playing God, myself.
So let the suffering begin!
Every day I became more aware of how selfishness, self-seeking, dishonesty, and fear were causing problems with nearly everyone around me. Self-righteous anger, evil thoughts, resentment, impatience, and a holier-than-thou attitude were all far more common than I’d thought. And worst of all, I always managed to excuse those things away!
Oh, I knew they weren’t God’s plan for my life, and I heard the Holy Spirit urging me to abandon myself completely to God’s care. But somehow, I felt it was my job to change those things inside of me, and all I managed to do was hide bad motives under good ones! I can honestly say that I tried to turn them over. I really did. But then I’d take my will back again. Will I ever be able to turn things over and let them go? I wondered.
I redoubled my efforts to be rid of these shortcomings, but my approach was all wrong. I thought I just had to ask God for help more often, and then try harder to stay away from the things that tempted me. But the more I tried, the worse things got. How I could relate to Paul’s words in Romans 7:19, 24: “For the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice…. O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
To say that I was puzzled is an understatement. I was distressed and ashamed. I felt like an utter failure—and that’s what I needed to feel. Why won’t God take these things away from me? I wondered. If He took away my desire to drink almost instantly, then why won’t He relieve me from the defects that hurt me and others?
Again, my friends in recovery came to my rescue. They shared how they were humbled by the terrific beating they received from alcoholism, and how they finally were willing to cry out to God for help. Then they had the nerve to tell me that the reason I couldn’t be rid of those character defects was because I still enjoyed them too much!
That seemed outrageous, but in time, I had to admit that I liked the fact that many people annoyed me because it allowed me to feel just a bit superior to them—or quite a lot superior! I would exaggerate from time to time because I thought I was bringing some color and excitement to the lives of those who lived drab and boring existences. How arrogant! Despite the emotional hangovers I got from self-righteous anger, it always gave me a rush I could get nowhere else. And I could always point to someone who was worse than me, and fear and pride quickly stepped in to justify my bad behavior.
But the lies of omission were what really got me in the end. I kept pretending that everything was fine, but grew increasingly aware that I was downright lying about how things were going, even to my closest recovery mentor.
The day came when I couldn’t go on another minute. All this had affected my attitude at work, with my friends, and especially in my relationship with God, and I finally came to the conclusion that God uses the gentlest hand possible—but the pressure was increasing!
Sitting in my friend’s truck one night, I poured out all the things I couldn’t admit to anyone else. And I was crying. There was a tremendous battle going on in my heart—a battle I couldn’t win on my own. A battle for my destiny.
My friend listened for a long time without interrupting, then begged me to take the next day off and really think about what I’d been doing. “We all try to fix ourselves,” he said gently, “and that doesn’t work. Anything we feel we have to control is out of control already, and if we could fix ourselves, we wouldn’t need God.”
On the drive home that night, a fresh coat of snow had covered the trees, the roads, and the houses along the way. It was beautiful, and suddenly Psalm 51:7 came to mind: “Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.” Oh, how I longed to feel forgiven, to feel loved, and to be whole.
That night a couple of thoughts came to me. The first was that I couldn’t change much about myself—not the things that mattered, anyway. Second, I realized that the only thing I really could change was my mind. I could choose God’s will instead of my own.
I also realized that in order to win, I would have to aim for God’s perfect will for me, and not just enough goodness to get me by. It makes no sense to take up a bow and arrow, look at the target, and think, It doesn’t matter where I shoot. Let me close my eyes, spin around three times and shoot up in the air. It might hit the target. It might!
I must look carefully at the perfect goal—the bullseye—and aim at the center of God’s will. Will I hit the target every time? No. But if I keep practicing, I will, eventually. As my old English teacher used to tell me, “Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent.”
At this stage of my recovery I had to choose between the pains of trying and the certain pains of failing to do so—and that still holds true today. Surrender to God’s will is still the greatest battle of my life, and some days I’m a lot more willing than others. However, I have practiced aiming at God’s perfect will for many years now, and I’m happy to say that much of the time, by His grace, I’ve been able to surrender the things He finds objectionable and enjoy His perfect peace. I just raise my eyes toward God’s perfect goal and walk in that direction, no matter how haltingly. And every time I do, it gets easier to surrender at a deeper level.
Oh, I can hang onto anything I want to. But as the old saying goes, “Let go, or be dragged!”
