Testimony Tuesday: The Alcohol Debate

Lately, it continues to come up. In random conversation...in my thoughts…in my time on my knees. Perhaps it is my upcoming birthday into adulthood or maybe it’s just time to tackle it. Either way, it is frustrating beyond belief—and not something I ever thought would become such a burden.

Growing up, there was always alcohol around me. Both of my parents have battled alcoholism much of my life—and it is very much still a battle today. When I think about what alcohol has represented to me, nothing good ever comes to mind. In fact, some of the most painful memories of my childhood stem from consequences of this ugly addiction.

Anger. Fighting. Abuse. Neglect. Drunkenness. Partying. Sleeping around. Pornography. Fear. Forgetfulness. Numbness. Risk. Depression. Addiction. Pain. So much pain. These are what alcohol has always (and partially continues to) represent to me. I have seen the misery in both of my parents eyes—the wild eyes, the blank stare, the hopeless gaze. It is all too real, even today. I refuse to be enslaved to it—my children will not suffer the consequences of such an addiction in my life—ever.

I see this two ways. Coming from generations of alcoholics on both sides of my family, it would only make sense that it could easily consume my life as well. I know how sin works. I am surrendered to Christ—I know alcoholism is not the life I am pursuing—for that reason, is it airing on the side of legalism for me to abstain from alcohol all together? Would it cause non-believers to stumble if I stood firm in my pledge thus far to not drink at all?

There is another part of me that fears if I started, I couldn’t (or wouldn’t want) to stop. There is this thought in my head that like so many other addictions I have struggled with, my ‘all or nothing’ mindset could hinder the fruit of self-control in my life when it comes to alcohol. While this is legitimate, I don’t want to live enslaved to fear—or enslaved to the generational curse of alcoholism or the consequences of it which have already and may continue to rear their ugly head in my life, as a result of others’ decisions.  

I do not ever want my life to represent any of those words I associate with alcohol. But does that mean the curse is broken through Christ in me by abstaining from it all together or does that mean the curse is broken by the display of self-control while drinking? Do I take a firm stance in drinking nothing at all—or do I drink while refusing to go all the way to drunkenness? Am I being legalistic—or just straight up foolish? Is one worse then the other--or can I avoid both all together?

The battle wars on in my heart and mind, as I approach the day where the pain of my childhood clashes with the decisions of adulthood—oh, glorious day.

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.

-1 Corinthians 10:31  

Testimony Tuesday: Grace and Mercy

This video is a horrific account of the pain and torment caused to one precious girl as a result of the sinfulness and depravity of man. As I watched it last night, my heart broke for her as I began to fume with anger and disgust towards the men and women who forced her to live through this hell. That was when it hit me—apart from Jesus Christ, that is me. Praise Him for His grace and mercy that are lavished upon us as we approach His throne with boldness in our time of need.  

It is so easy for me to forget who I am apart from Jesus Christ. How often I forget to recall just how unworthy I am--how hopeless I am--how depraved I am apart from Him. Here I am, a twenty-year old college student, intern for a non-profit, part of a discipleship program, surrounded by precious friends and family who love me. I love the Lord with all of my heart. I want to devote my life to fighting for enslaved, trafficked, and underprivileged women. I have dreams and visions. I love to serve and bless others. I know that apart from God's abundant and gentle grace and mercy in my short life, this is not where I would be at right now. But in His faithfulness, here I am...right?

In all reality, I am desire to be identified with all of these characteristics...smart, giving, sweet, helpful, selfless, loving, devoted, steadfast...and yet it is so rare that my flesh behaves in a manner worthy of such descriptions. I have to stinking nail my flesh into submission to even begin to possess these qualities much of the time. No, all the time. It rarely comes naturally, though I would often like to believe it does. I mean, I'm a pretty good person…right?

WRONG. Really, I'm not. No one ever had to teach me how to lie...to not share...to talk back to my parents. There's really nothing good in me. I am capable of anything and everything.

I easily lavish mercy and empathy upon victims of human sex-trafficking, itching to take her hands in mine, get uncomfortably close to her face, glaring directly into her eyes to tell her that she is loved intimately, selflessly, unconditionally, forever by the Almighty Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To shake her and tell her He is enough...that He is the ONLY way to freedom. That He can save her, redeem her, and cleanse even her deepest wounds. To tell just tell her that she is forgiven and free. It is glorifying...it is powerful...it makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense is that I would behave in the same manner to share the gospel with the man who abused his little girl all those years, with the mom who sold her niece to feed the family, with the owner of the brothel from which the victim was rescued, with the lost cop who forgot about the 12 year old tied to the bed downstairs when offered an hour with her for free. Have I forgotten the depth of Christ's love for us sinners? Can I not remember that apart from Him, I am capable of making the same decisions? The craziest part of it all is that I continue to find myself battling some of the very same issues as the individuals whom I peg as the ‘worst of the worst’ sinners…as if there are some sins less bad then others. 

Without Jesus that is who I am...consumed by wounds from past abuse, addicted to pornography, enslaved to an eating disorder, and ready to give up on life. I am so far from perfect that I wouldn't recognize perfection if it hit me on the head. Recently, the desire to go back to some of those old ways has reared its hideous head once again. As I continue to trudge my way through the battle, I am graciously reminded of my sick, ugly, incomprehensible depravity in this flesh. And yet, this painful realization and confession brings me to the throne of grace with boldness, for He suffered in every way that we do, yet was without sin.

Hebrews 4:14-16 says, "Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."

Wow. This means He not only sees me and knows me, but He can empathize with my hurt and fleshly desires. In the midst of my complete depravity, I don’t have to feel condemned and ridden by guilt from my choices. Instead, I get to approach Christ with confidence because I KNOW that He does not convict me of guilt nor shame, but of my righteousness…my right-standing with Him. I am learning that nothing compares to falling into His mercy and grace in my time of need. And this very same mercy and grace in which He lavishes upon me in my fleshliness and sinfulness is the exact same grace and mercy He offers to all who believe that Jesus is the way, the Truth and the life—even the abuser, the addict, the brothel owner, the pimp, and the murderer. I am in need of His grace and mercy just as much as they are.

Testimony Tuesday: What am I Missing?

Upon arriving at Cardinal Glennon Hospital, something went off in me as I soon realized I was in fact not going to wake up from this nightmare. This was really happening and there was nothing I could do about it. The smell of sickness and anti-disinfectant flooded my nostrils, causing my stomach to churn in dread. Over the next several hours, I was questioned, poked, and prodded by an overwhelmingly steady flow of doctors, nurses, techs, and treatment teams, not much more then a blur of faces I would soon hope to forget. Eventually I made it through the seemingly endless admission process and was moved a room on the third floor.

After awhile, my head fell back slowly, as the bristly dirty-blonde mess on my head brushed the pillow. I breathed. In and out. In and out. Oddly aware of the way my body was functioning in that moment, I watched as my stomach moved up and down. After a bit, I reached down with one hand. My palm rested on the full of my stomach. Wow, am I really still alive? I watched as my hand moved up and down, up and down with the beat of my heart, consistency of my breathing, it just hit me—I was still alive. As I gazed upon the wall and watched the little hand jump from one dash to the next, my body began to relax.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

I heard the voices whispering back and forth. I could have depicted the whole conversation, word for word. The tone heightened at times, in exasperation, lowered in times of defeat. Eventually, I heard the shuffling of a chair, a jacket maybe. The swing of the door and a clash as it shut. She needed some air. Back and forth they went, for hours. I wasn’t listening though.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

What did it matter anyway? I mean, whatever little plan they were scheming over there, wasn’t going to fix me. Just because it didn’t work this time, do they really think I wouldn’t try it again?

The mind is a crazy thing. There is no guidebook, no map to help you trek through it with. Maybe that’s why I spent so much time lost in mine. Regardless, I had made my mind up about six months ago. I knew what my life had become. I refused to continue to live if this was all my life was going to be forever. Death was the only escape from the hell that had become my reality.

“Well, how are you feeling?” asked Dr. Guerra as she glided into my room as if she owned the place. 

“I just took a look at your most recent set of labs and ultrasound results. Your heart is holding up surprisingly well considering all you’ve put it through with the overdose. Unfortunately, your potassium is at a record low and your…” she continued her medical mumbo-jumbo  for a while, telling me all of the reasons I had to stop this behavior and all of the consequences I’d soon face if I didn’t--the most consequential being death.

I honestly didn’t care whether I lived or died, I just wanted it all to go away.  I wanted to be free; I just didn’t know how to stop. This method had become the only way I could cope through day-to-day life.  Just to get that bit of relief; to not have to feel anything for a few moments in time.  This behavior enabled me to feel in control of one thing when everything else seemed so out of control. Seven years had passed by now, since I began struggling. I had willingly given up everything good in my life to follow this addiction, never imagining I could end up in a hospital bed just waiting to die.

My first night in the hospital was spent tossing and turning, constant beeping, distant voices, wailing cries of pain, ceaseless shivering (despite all the layers of blankets) as a result of the bolus, and a lingering fear of accidentally disturbing one of the several needles lodged into my arm and wrists. And then there was the minor disturbance of a nurse coming in every hour round the clock to check my temp and vitals, making sure my heart was still pumping? After a night of more exhaustion then rest, I was woken up at five-o-clock in the morning by a shooting pain in my finger, as the nurse stood beside my bed drawing my blood. This would become my life for the next three weeks.

However, none of this compared to the pain I experienced eating six meals a day. The control I once sought in my seven-year battle with an eating disorder was being pulled away from me and I couldn’t handle it. Despite the fact the my body was on the verge of shutting down as a result of the continual restricting and purging, all I wanted was to be thin and in control, two things the doctors were robbing me of. I felt like no one could understand the pain I lived in.

I knew that when I went back home, I would simply go right back into my old behaviors, the same ones which brought me here. Believe it or not, as the nurses prepared to discharge me a few weeks later, I actually heard two of the nurses making bets on how long it would be before I ended up back here in the hospital. I had tried to stop so many times. With all of my strength, I had fought for my self. For the sake of my family, my friends, my dreams and ambitions, I wanted to stop killing myself. So why did I always go back? For many years, I had battled through this question, wondering where the disconnect was. What was I missing?

Once I realized the strength to fight for my life, to overcome battles and struggles that we all face, did not come from myself or others, I was left pondering—where does it come from? Over the years I have come to learn that strength for true and lasting freedom from any struggle, lies solely in Jesus Christ and an intimate relationship with Him. Deeply contrasted by the more common emphasis on finding one’s ‘inner strength,’ Because humans are sinners, they are always going to mess up and fall short. Rather then looking inside oneself for some sort of greater strength, it’s like there is an answer bigger then oneself, bigger then other people even.

Jesus is bigger then man; He is God! Jesus is the perfect, sinless Son of God; He will never leave anyone or let anyone down. Jesus is not temporary satisfaction, but instead He provides eternal purpose and unspeakable joy. Jesus provides a source of strength incomparable to those in which the world often attempts to implement in overcoming addictions. Hope is not some far-off desire, but an alive and motivating reality that comes naturally in knowing Christ intimately. 

Looking back, I never wanted to die, I just didn’t want to live if this was how my life was going to be forever; I was hopeless, purposeless, hurting, broken, and slowly dying. Three years ago, as I lay in that hospital bed waiting to die, I never ever could have imagined I could have the privilege of walking in such freedom and redemption today.

I still don’t know why things happen how they do. I don’t understand why painful things happened to me in my early years that led to years of torment for which I pleaded to end in death. I don’t know why sometimes, days are really hard to battle through and other days are easy.

However, I do know that in my weakness, God’s power is made perfect. I do know that apart from Him, I am just a hopeless sinner in desperate need of a Savior. I do know that I spent seven years of my life chasing death and it is solely by coming to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior that I am living life today. Not just living life, as in surviving or making it through, but experiencing all that life is intended to be! I do know that today I have a purpose and passion to love on other women who are passionately pursing death and to tell them that there is only one way to experience life, but that it is so worth it—that there is no cost too high to pursue Jesus Christ.  

“By faith Moses, when he became of age, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the passing pleasures of sin, esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt; for he looked to the reward.” — Hebrews 11:24–26

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24

“Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.” — James 4:4