It happened again this past weekend. God did it—and I actually caught Him at it! (I don’t think He’s trying to be sneaky—in fact, I know Him well enough to know that He is always trying to make it obvious. But I’m easily distracted, and sadly, still on the self-centered side, so I don’t always notice. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up—way up, to the days before drinking destroyed my life.
As a kid, I remember one feeling more than any other—and that was a very deep loneliness. I was incredibly lonely, although I grew up with the abundant love of my parents, family, and friends. Somehow, I grew up feeling like I was always on the outside looking in. Misunderstood. Awkward.
Then, through a cruel twist of thinking, I turned it all on myself. It’s all your fault, I’d say to myself. You’re just not worth anyone’s time, anyway.
For many years, I perfected those thoughts, alternately reviling myself, then wallowing in self-pity. (Yeah, not a pretty picture). But not once did I consider the fact that I wasn’t friend material. I honestly didn’t know how to be. And if I ever did find someone to be friends with, I inevitably would say or do something that would hurt them, or make them angry—and conflict resolution wasn’t part of my vocabulary, either. So I would just move on, wallowing in feelings of martyrdom.
Then I discovered drinking, and at first, it seemed like I could magically make as many friends as I wanted—at least until the bars closed, or the money ran out. But the next day I’d wake up hungover, hurting, scared, or defiant. I don’t need them anyway, I would think. Only weaklings need friends!
As my drinking progressed, I struggled with trying to control it for several years, but finally reached the point where I couldn’t get drunk, and I couldn’t get sober. I was caught in that terrible “jumping off place” where I cried out for help. “God, please don’t let me die like this,” I prayed. “Any other way, but not like this.”
At that moment, God moved Heaven and Earth to answer my cry for help. I was finally as desperate as a drowning man can be, and the powerful, loving hand of God was right there to lift me up and set my feet on a path that really goes somewhere.
But what about that loneliness? As the despair began to lift, my eyes were opened. Everywhere I saw people facing their problems squarely—and getting through them without a drink. No matter what came their way, they seemed to be able to plow through the waves, and even found joy in their journey. And although I wouldn’t get close enough to find out for sure, I sensed that those friends carried them when they couldn’t take another step.
As I got a little better, I also realized that my old problem was back. I didn’t know how to be a friend to anyone, and anytime my new sober friends took an interest in me, I’d back away. Even worse, the ones I thought would be great friends (read: the flashy ones) turned out to be shallow, or self-centered, for the most part. They might have had what I wanted, but they had no grounding, and eventually, I discovered they didn’t know how to be true friends, either.
I remember one rather bitter experience that drove me to cry out, “God, I can’t pick good friends, but just keep finding more and more of the same. Will You please pick my friends for me?” That was many years ago, and I can tell you that God has faithfully brought the best friends I could ever hope for into my life!
So getting back to what I said earlier, this past weekend, I caught God doing what
He does best. And I recognized it, too! (I love when that happens.) I was at a convention with hundreds of people in recovery, when I “happened” to start talking with a young man standing in front of me in the line to thank the speaker. He was a third of my age and lived quite a few hours north of me, but we might as well have known each other all our lives. Our stories had many similarities, and as he shared about his journey and how he’d gotten to this convention, I smiled.
You’re up to it again, God! I see You! I thought to myself. And I went with it. I can now actually recognize some of the people God picks to be my friends, and I’m pretty sure that Ryan from Chicago is one of them. And Ben from Cincinnati. And Denis, originally from Lithuania. New friends I hadn’t met yet. Hand-picked by God. You see, He knows who I need in my life, and He makes sure to keep them coming!
My first waking thought every day is: Good morning, God. What can I do for You today? Please put the people I need into my life, and put me into the lives of those who might need me. Then, for good measure, I ask Him to show me who some of them are (since I’m not too bright).
At different times, I got to tell each of my new friends, “I get the distinct feeling that God wants us to be friends. Let’s see if we can make that happen.” They all smiled and agreed. And I can’t wait to find out why God chose for us to be friends—before the beginning of time!
Today, I am quickly approaching the limits of my iPhone’s Contacts list—999. And yes, the majority of those men and women are in recovery. I’m grateful for every single friend both in and out of recovery who have filled the hole in my heart with love. God has changed me from a self-pitying, self-centered man, and apparently given me an endless capacity to accept and embrace every new friend He sends my way. Not only am I never alone (since He’s always there); but I’m never alone if I don’t want to be.
I remember a special verse that means a lot to me. Solomon wrote it, and he was
pretty smart. The Revised Standard Version translates it this way: “There are friends
who pretend to be friends, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother”
(Proverbs 18:24).
Yes, God sticks close, no matter what. And so do those He picks out for me. I’m so glad I
don’t have to stop with 999.
