I’m pretty sure that every human being, regardless of what they seem to portray, is fearful of being vulnerable. As a child, I learned that not everyone could be trusted. And later, I came to understand that every human being—including me—had flaws. But knowing that never helped me overcome my greatest fear—the fear of what other people thought of me.
Over the years, I developed a deep mistrust of people, because in my mind, they all wanted something from me, or never had my best interest in the first place. Then, as alcoholism took over more of my brain, I fell victim to another insane notion—that the only ones I could really trust were those who drank and did drugs like I did!
Well, that was a serious mistake. But the reason I came to that conclusion was that I didn’t relate to those who didn’t drink and drug like I did. Surely, those so-called “normal” people could not understand what I was going through. If you had the problems I did, you’d drink, too, I thought.
By then, my thinking was completely distorted, my intuition was practically non-existent, and my circle of friends had shrunk to just one or two—and they were drunks, like me. So when my world came crashing down, I had no choice but to ask for help. That was terrifying, and when I finally did ask, I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone except that small circle of people in recovery who seemed to know what I was going through.
Today, I don’t hesitate to share about my alcoholism—about how I struggled with it—and sometimes still do. Oh, I’m not talking about shouting it from the mountaintops, or putting myself out there as some exceptional person who overcame this overwhelming problem and all that. But I’m not ashamed of it, either. And for those who know I suffer from alcoholic addiction, I’m fine with them sharing that information with others—one-on-one.
I am fully aware that when I share my story with anyone, I run the risk of being judged. Some have gone so far as to gossip about me—only to realize that most people knew, already. Then suddenly, their juicy gossip fell flat. On the few occasions I’ve heard about, they also were soundly scolded by my friends!
Did it all sting? Oh yes. At first. But it wasn’t long before I was well on my way to finding my self-worth, which all but cured me of the fear of what other people think. You see, there is no way for me to truly know my self-worth until I understand how much I’m worth to God! He is the one who determines whether I’m worth anything, and He has gone to great lengths to prove to me that I’m very special to Him. And when I know how much I’m worth to God, then what anybody else thinks of me matters not one bit.
At times, I’ve not only told my story, but almost relived its horrors as I try to share the hope that comes with my recovery. Today I know that my suffering uniquely qualifies me to help another alcoholic or addict—because I’ve been there. When they identify with something in my story, I know it will bring them hope that if I can do it, then they can, too.
Yes, sharing my story with others involves risk, and most of us would probably be worried about our jobs or our reputations in church or society. We might worry about what others will say (or assume) about us, too. But as I grow, I realize more deeply that God is in charge of it all. He is my Provider—and my new Employer. He will always provide everything I need—and I know He’s the only One who can take something bad and turn it into something beautiful.
For a long time, I thought the worst thing that happened to me was that I became an alcoholic. But now I realize it was the best and probably only thing that could have made me desperate enough to turn to Him!
So I take my place among the millions of people in recovery from alcohol and drug addiction, standing as a living testament of how my life has been transformed by a loving, all-powerful God who took me from the scrapheap and set my feet on solid ground. And today, I’m humbled by the fact that He trusts me enough to bring me some of His sickest kids when they’re desperately looking for help.
Many alcoholics and addicts have looked to medicine, psychiatry, and even church members for help. But perhaps because they were the true last-gaspers, He brought them to me. What a privilege it is to give someone hope, to give them a listening ear so they can discuss anything without worrying about what I might think of them.
God took murderers like Moses, David, and Paul; prostitutes like Rahab and Mary Magdalene; womanizers like Samson; thieves like Zacchaeus; and even blackout drinkers like Noah—and saved them. They stand as testaments of what God can do with a life that is surrendered to him. Those men and women have given many millions of people the hope that they are not too far gone—that God’s grace can still restore them to the men and women He always intended for them to be.
I’ll risk it. I’ll share my story. Because no matter what someone might think or say about me, I know my Heavenly Father loves me!
