Moment of Grace
What are you trying to cut off?
God is dealing with me about my writing assignment. I want to look up scripture and word definitions, and write them down. I want to find a “cutting” story of someone else and write it down. God is leading me to write part of my story. This means I have to step back into the past which I do not want to look at, again, anymore. But, he is telling me, the writing is only going to come through obedience to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit of what to write next.
He posed the question again, “What are you trying to cut off?”
I was reading commentary on “cutting” and had a thought about how drinking would help mine and Kelly’s relationship. How was I using alcohol to “cut off” things in my life? As the story was forming in my head to answer the question, my flesh was resisting. It’s going to be painful and revealing. It’s easier to copy than to write an original. There you have it, my thought processing in real time. I would rather copy than be an original. The Holy Spirit will not let me move on until I complete what he has asked me to do. This story will not have its full impact or anointing unless I am obedient to His direction and leading. Let’s go…
What was I trying to cut off through alcohol?
I know I was trying to “cut into” and carve a relationship with my husband. He was a quiet man but talked a lot when we drank together. I craved his time and conversation. We would talk all evening. The conversation flowed. We laughed, and seemingly, at first, we had a great time.
At first the conviction was so strong to stop drinking, but I didn’t think my husband would stop. So I didn’t know how I would stop. Then the rationalizations, as Joyce Meyer would say, “Excuses stuffed with a lie,” started.
Problems: I started not remembering the conversations we had or what we did. The next morning was fierce. I would take aspirin several times a day. In order to cope I became a perfectionist with my house. Everything had to be in perfect order and clean everyday. In the mean time I was hardening my heart.
While I was cleaning I would justify my behavior, “Everyone does it (I had been asking people); my husband and I are talking; it’s not that bad; I’m not hurting anyone. Besides, I’ve had a really hard day with the kids and I won’t drink as much tomorrow.”
My heart started out as gooey dough. Every day I drank was like adding flour to it and kneading it in; eventually it becomes a hard ball.
Then one, summer morning about 9:00 am, while cleaning, I got a phone call from one of my twin-mom-friends. Our mutual twin-mom-friend sent out an e-mail that morning at 6:00 am. Ryan, her 2 ½ year old twin, suddenly, expectantly, died in the middle of the night. My knees hit the floor, my body bent over, my forehead to the ground, I cried out, “No!!!!!” After hearing the details I immediately started praying for her.
That phone call jolted me into reality, “What am I doing with my life???!!!” I began trying to curb the drinking and control it myself. Life without alcohol, at the very least social drinking, was unthinkable. For the next six months, I had been good. I had only gotten out of control a few times. By the seventh month I could not control it anymore and said, “Screw it” and I gave up. The vicious cycle was ramping up again.
Conversations with my husband were less, as was our intimacy which was becoming a glaring sore spot; full of resentment on both sides of the relationship. The children were developing more, staying up later, and not taking naps. I was more and more fearful I was bringing them up terribly. My friends were beginning to notice I drank more than they did. Little did they know? The house was less tidy; my family did not think I had a problem, only that I drank too much on occasion. The bills were barely getting paid on time.
I could not live this way anymore. I was so locked in. The alcohol seemed my only place of peace. I tried to go to God but the “accuser of the brethren” was right there, “Look at her. Your word says not to be drunk…she is a drunk. All hung over. Life out of control. She’s not good enough for you God.” On and on…me on the floor of the bedroom sick in body, desperate in heart, and tormented in my mind.
I was helpless, the accuser was right. I agreed with him. I could not go to God. Until I could get myself cleaned up and had at least a month of sobriety. Then, I could go to Him and he might help me. And, maybe accept me.
It just doesn’t work that way!!!! Since that fateful summer, I had been listening to Joyce Meyer, again. I remember crying out to God, yet listening to the accuser. “I can’t do this. I’m so sick and tormented and empty and miserable.” Thoughts of suicide and running away from my husband and family started to pervade my thoughts.
It was another gorgeous sunny morning. I had done it again, ruined another beautiful day. In my despair of, “I can’t do this anymore,” I heard God in my spirit say,
“I love you. I formed you and called you by name, you are mine.”
A beam of hope, “God loves me” in my torment and despair, “God loves me…grace…peace.” I had never experienced grace before…he loved me in my self-induced sickness. “But God, you know I’m going to do this again. I always do this again.”
I did get drunk several more times… Here’s the difference:
I had an encounter with God. He loved me in my despair.
The next few times I drank the conviction of sin was back, my heart had a single layer of moisture on top... Hope… The thawing process had begun.
Conviction is one thing, repentance is another. The last time I woke up with a hangover, it was so severe I had called in sick. I was a Sunday school teacher. In an effort to “clean” myself up I taught my children’s Sunday school class.
I did not want to ruin one more, sunny, beautiful Bay Area day. We went to the pool. I was sitting on the edge watching my children play, feeling desperate, and miserable. My time with this drinking affair had reached its climax. I had my moment of clarity… Hope… Relief… I was going for help. I was telling no one. I was going. I had hope.
Monday evening I walked into a women’s meeting. An older woman patted the chair next to her and motioned me to sit down. I did. I was so scared, and afraid, and small. Someone started to read. I listened intently. They were talking about God. Acknowledging I had a problem… There was someone, God, to help me… The tears welled up, brimmed over, streamed down my face, and would not stop. I was trying so hard to control the tears and could not. These words washed, washed, washed over me. It was hard to believe there were such warm words, acceptance, and love in a room full of strangers. I had never experienced such acceptance, not even in church. No judgement, no condemnation, acceptance right where I was.
I listened to their stories. It was my story. I was not alone. I set my mind and worked it out.
God this time to help me “cut out” the drinking and learn about my specific problems of addictive mind sets. But it was Joyce Meyer’s books, tapes and teaching programs that taught me and helped me believe Jesus came to set me free from the death trap of my wrong thinking, desires, emotions, and lead me to the renewing of my mind through the washing of the Word of God.
I completely inundated myself with her teachings. I found her program was on at the YMCA on the treadmill.
