Monte was only 26 when he died. He was way too young, but ten years of addiction to alcohol and pills took their toll, and that fateful night, he lost his mind. His girlfriend’s father had called the cops on him, leading to a high-speed chase all over two counties. Somehow, he had eluded the police and gotten back to his house—but he couldn’t escape the demons that tortured his mind. Reality had caught up with him, and he couldn’t escape the consequences of his behavior.
Despite or perhaps because of his attempt at recovery, Monte had reached the “jumping off place,” where he couldn’t imagine life with alcohol, or without it. Looking around him, he saw the faces of the hideous Four Horsemen—Terror, Bewilderment, Frustration, and Despair—and feeling hopeless and helpless, he’d wished for the end. How sad it was that he felt like he had no other choice. And how very sad that his terrified and equally intoxicated girlfriend had to witness his demise. But now it was all over, and as I stood next to his closed casket talking to his mother, I marveled at her insight. “It wasn’t the gun that killed him,” she said. “It was the booze.”
Monte was a bright young man, full of life—and a fair amount of mischief. In fact, he still acted about half his age most of the time. He was certainly a case of arrested development, but that would have been easily fixed, had he chosen to walk the path of recovery. But because he either could not or would not give himself over to the care of God, he felt compelled to make the supreme sacrifice and end his own life.
Yes, recovery has a painful side. I’ve attended many funerals over the years—and would have attended many more if I’d not lost track of those who simply stopped coming around. Most alcoholics die from this illness. Many of them make a good start, are eager to change, but then come up on a “sticking point”—something they just can’t let go of.
Of course, alcoholics and addicts are not the only ones that deal with sticking points. We all do. I challenge you to think of something you know you should surrender but haven’t done so yet—and I doubt that you can go 30 seconds without thinking of something you either refuse to let go, or haven’t let go of completely.
The Apostle Paul put it this way, “For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want.… Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?” Romans 7:19, 24 (NASB).
Yes. I can relate. And I’m sure you can, too—if you’re honest about it. But to an alcoholic or an addict, these words ring especially true, because despite his best efforts, he simply cannot stop his addiction on his own, no matter how hard he tries. If he’s gone beyond the reach of human aid, he must seek God’s help.
At first, the alcoholic is excited to find others who struggled as they did. They are thrilled that they’re not alone anymore! But although they’ve found their tribe, they will soon start feeling that old “anxious apartness” and wonder, What is wrong with me?
The key is being willing to have God change them. And that’s not easy. They say that there are three things that are indispensable for recovery: honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness—but for some, finding the willingness to change is the hardest of them all. I know many who have continually relapsed and then come back, hoping to achieve sobriety by osmosis. But it doesn’t work that way. “You gotta wanna…” And that means going to any lengths.
All of us die, eventually, and I go to every funeral I can. I remember being shocked as I approached my first one. The man had died sober, and I could hear laughter coming from inside as I approached the funeral home! What on earth are they laughing about? I wondered, and soon I found out. His friends were remembering the funny moments of that man’s recovery. The stories he’d told, the lessons he’d learned—all of it was wrapped in laughter as they celebrated a life well lived and a man well loved.
In contrast, the funerals of those who die drunk, or commit suicide because they are too afraid to let God change them, are very sorrowful events. I try my best to comfort those who are grieving, and then I grieve the loss, myself—a process which may take some time.
Then I resolutely look for someone I can help—someone who wants my help. They’re there. Lurking in the corners. Trying to look invisible. I don’t want to miss them, so I ask God to open my eyes to those who are hurting and want desperately to change. I offer them my friendship, experience, strength, and hope. Some take it gladly, but others are too afraid to accept any help, so I pray for them.
It’s not easy, and I’ve shed a lot of tears. But the joy of watching them recover more than makes up for it. To see their life change, and then to watch them help others—well, that is something I don’t want to miss! Today I know that my bitter experience has uniquely qualified me to help other alcoholics and addicts, and as the old gospel song says, “I want to spend my life mending broken people.”
Only God can take the worst and turn it into the best—and He is willing to make that miracle happen—if we will let Him!
