I was in my 3rd day. I could not remember if I had slept in that time or even where I had been or what I had done. I was now sitting on the couch of the house I shared with a woman. We were not involved except as friends and shared renters. I had no idea where she might be, I had not seen her in a couple of days, I thought. This was not unusual, she often spent days on end at her latest boyfriend’s house. But as foggy as my memory was right now, she could have been here partying with me yesterday and I would not remember. So much alcohol and drugs.
Right now, on the mirror laying on the coffee table there was what looked like the remnant of an 8-ball of speed. Along side that sat a three-quarter empty fifth of Black Velvet whiskey. I felt so tired. And right now, I had a choice, stop and try to get this stuff out of my system or do that next line of speed and down that last gulp of booze.
I lay my head back and contemplated. For the first time in my adult life, I was not working as an Ironworker. Being laid off from the Satsop nuke plant, in Elma Washington, I had decided it was time for a career change and put my chef talents to the test. I was now working at a 5-star restaurant in Olympia. Since making this decision and having a 4-evening work schedule, I had found I had so much more time to party. Three-day blasts like this were becoming common place and restaurant work may be easier but the pay was lousy, and my drug debt, alimony and child support were mounting by the day. All this to say, I needed to get off the party train and get serious. But that was easier said then done.
Bottom line was that I had had this conversation with myself many times before, but I had made the same choice every time, party now and pay later. I was about to make that choice again when I heard a knock at the front door. Immediately panic swept me. Paranoiac scenarios blazed through my drug-soaked brain. Cops, enemies, ex-wife or angry drug dealer. Before I could reckon with any the door opened and in came Shelly, the bartender at the restaurant. We had been more than friends but our on again off again relationship had been messed with by my habits and sketchy behavior.
Upon seeing me I could see the disapproval and disgust spread across her face and like an avenging angel she moved from the door to where I sat with 3 strides. I thought for a minute she was going to overturn the coffee table and I made a move to protect the drugs. Instead she stopped short and shook her head, “I’ve tried calling here several times in the last few hours. I should have known you would be at it again.” Now she just stared and as she did belligerence welled up in me, “So what did you want? Are you my keeper now? Why was it so important that I quit partying to answer the phone? You know I unplug it on the weekends!” I was shaking now, mainly from the speed coursing through me but also with the unholy rage of a druggie. Glaring at her, I watched as her countenance fell and she said in an almost sympathetic voice, “Your Ex has also been calling here and just about every bar you hang out at and finally she called the restaurant.” Stopping for a moment she then almost whispered, “Your son has had an accident and needed several stitches.” She just thought you should know and maybe would want to see him.” With that my whole façade collapsed and the guilt began to crush me.
Guilt! I have experienced so much of it in my life. Most of it comes from the poor choices I made as an addict and their devastating results. None will ever top the choices or lack of them that I made about and with my son. But there were so many more. And as the layers of guilt buried me I at first blamed God. Then I became so hardened that I stopped believing there was a God at all. If there was why would he allow me to be so lost. Why couldn’t he just take these addictions away, ‘cure’ me. So, I ran from the very thing that God was seeking to do, save me.
Along the way I was forced into listening to God’s Word. If you have read this blog, you know the story. Walking 45 minutes a day, I listened. Not as a believer but as a hardened God hater. And as I did this, I heard story after story of God saving and of man messing up and of God saving again, once man confessed and surrendered to his saving power. I couldn’t believe that ‘being saved’ could be that easy and it wasn’t until I heard the gospel story of Jesus on the cross that I realized my salvation was not easy at all. But God made the choice anyway. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that anyone who believes in him may not perish but have ever lasting life.” (John 3:16) God made the hard choice and all he asked in return was for me to believe. He would not force me. I too had to make a choice. And you know what? When I finally did, he did remove my addictions. He did remove my guilt, not easily, but layer by layer. Free will God’s gift to us. In it I was saved.
That day so many years ago, I swore I would never do another line of drugs. I would cut way back on my drinking. Even though my son’s injury was minor, my guilt was heavy, at least for about a week. Then I succumb to the addictions again and the layer of guilt was applied. Each time I would swear never to do it again and each time another layer. I am guilt free today. Not because of anything I do but God promises, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us of all our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9) Layers of guilt have been laid at the foot of the cross. I have surrendered daily to him who saves me. It is the best choice I have ever made.
Blessings John,
2/27/19
