Shortly after we bought our farm, I discovered to my delight this country jewel of a market just a few miles away. Our relationship began with homemade lunches and bottled water for the construction crew who worked tirelessly and diligently at building our little cabin. It quickly progressed to filling the handsome farmer's off road diesel cans and then emergency trips for bags of cat food when the strays began arriving and kettle chips whenever the sodium craven kicked in. The store possesses that laid back familiarity seldom felt in our world today. In fact, the sign on the front door might as well read: "Bless your hearts and come on in out of the rush. All ya'll family 'round here." My kind of place.
Now with Valentines Day quickly approaching, we were intertwined in yet another urgent predicament. Rather than the usual gift card to Tractor Supply or Ace Hardware, I decided to branch out and surprise the Farmer with some of those lottery scratch cards he occasionally brought home. But which ones? There were so many to choose from. Seeing that I had no gambling experience, the good-natured gals behind the counter kindly offered their assistance. "Does he like crossword puzzles?" I tried to stifle my laugh, but it still slipped out. "No ma'am, he hates them."
Once the earth shattering decisions had been made, I kept the cards wrapped in their sturdy, craft brown grocery bag and just added a few heart stickers for the occasion. Immediately after opening the package, the Farmer reached for the reading glasses now firmly back on top of my head and hunkered down at the kitchen table with a sword shaped envelope opener. Forged and ornately designed by his brother in his smithing workshop, it was always his weapon of choice for uncovering the hidden fortunes. Whether Lady Luck decided to smile on him or not, one thing was for sure, I had definitely hit the jackpot with that gift.
"Hey Babe, twenty-five bucks on this one!" I tried guessing what he got for me, but he wouldn't say. He was too busy scratching.
Perhaps it was my celebratory favorite: confetti roses and dark chocolate. I didn't know. But what I did know is what it would not be. For the first time in our married lives, it would not be a chilled bottle of champagne or a dry chardonnay.
Before I began sharing my testimony, I retraced through the years attempting to unravel the circumstances and reasoning for venturing so far off of my original flight plan. Harmful or helpful, I've never been one to accept anything at surface value. I usually dig until every nail is broken and every fingertip is bleeding in the hopes of unearthing some meaningful artifact with at least some measure of understanding into the mystery at hand. In other words, how in the tarnation did I end up here?
In hindsight and as far as I can recollect, the detour occurred during the heartbreaking summer of 2004 in the midst of my sister's all consuming battle with stage four cancer and exhausting chemotherapy treatments. It was then after those long painful days that I discovered alcohol's uncanny and sinister ability to numb pain, especially when consumed on shot nerves and an empty stomach.
I promise that I'm not blaming Kathy, cancer, or chemo. I take full responsibility for my actions. I own them. I was carrying a lot on my shoulders at the time and should have trusted for strength in Jesus and not in the bottom of a wine glass.
My purpose in sharing the origins is not to place blame but to convey rather that it is in times of great heartache, when we are not in our finest hour, that the enemy lays in wait like a predator silently stalking its prey. He looks for the tiniest crack in the door so he can leap, flinging it wide open and so welcoming destruction on top of our anguish. That's why I believe the Bible warns us continuously to guard our reborn hearts and stay diligent in our pursuit of faithfulness to God and his commandments.
And to trust him with our ferocious pain.
The exorbitant price of alcohol addiction is an indefinite crash into a dark place you never wanted to go and before the sides of that slimy pit can be grasped to heave one's weary soul upward, shackles and chains have been securely clamped around not only your self worth, but your physical and mental health as well, marking it a true painkiller.
After Kathy's death later that year, I continued to drink daily glasses of wine, never given it so much as a second thought. No one starts out to be an addict, it's like the familiar frog example. If you cast the little amphibian into a pan of boiling, hot oil, he'll hop right out. But if you set him down into a cool oil bath and ever so slightly increase the heat.... Well, I hope you enjoy your fried frog legs.
Things began to escalate drastically when I noticed that I had gained a few pounds.
Researching low carb diets and reviewing the food and beverage charts, I realized how many calories and carbohydrates I had been consuming with wine, so I decided to switch to the recommended healthy choice of vodka and diet soda.
Never even one time did I consider giving up alcohol because by then it was my life support system. I could not maintain without it.
Oblivious to the definition of proof and power punch of liquor, I quickly discovered that one good shot of vodka mixed in my Fresca did the job much more effectively and efficiently than wine. The relief was instant, knocking off the sharp, jagged edge of pain into a sea of forgetfulness and bliss. It was like shooting a drug straight into my veins. I would be good to go, good to carry on until the next crisis hit or the pain returned, which ever came first.
This basically amounted to pouring a drink by 10AM and then sipping from it and refilling it until bedtime. It is beyond humiliating to admit and write this, but it's good for me. As Pastor Jason Meyer pointed out in a recent article: "Christ will not paint on a proud canvass." And I desperately yearn for him to repaint my broken life into his stunning masterpiece.
I would occasionally see "Are you a functioning alcoholic? Take this quiz" making the rounds on my social media newsfeed. Deep in my heart I knew I was, but I had also convinced myself that it was okay for me. I was different from most people. I could handle it. After all, I made it through everyday, putting in my full work hours, never missing a beat.
Oblivious to the definition of proof and power punch of liquor, I quickly discovered that one good shot of vodka mixed in my Fresca did the job much more effectively and efficiently than wine. The relief was instant, knocking off the sharp, jagged edge of pain into a sea of forgetfulness and bliss. It was like shooting a drug straight into my veins. I would be good to go, good to carry on until the next crisis hit or the pain returned, which ever came first.
This basically amounted to pouring a drink by 10AM and then sipping from it and refilling it until bedtime. It is beyond humiliating to admit and write this, but it's good for me. As Pastor Jason Meyer pointed out in a recent article: "Christ will not paint on a proud canvass." And I desperately yearn for him to repaint my broken life into his stunning masterpiece.
I would occasionally see "Are you a functioning alcoholic? Take this quiz" making the rounds on my social media newsfeed. Deep in my heart I knew I was, but I had also convinced myself that it was okay for me. I was different from most people. I could handle it. After all, I made it through everyday, putting in my full work hours, never missing a beat.
Self-deception is deadly. I do not think the Church could address this topic enough.
If it was truly okay, why did I feel the need to hide it? Well, because others wouldn't understand. Most of my family and friends knew I drank, they just had no idea how much and how often.
I was clueless to the spiritual chaos I was creating in the world around me. The visibility down in that pit is poor at best.
Then after fourteen years of consistently drinking to knock off the edge, a gnawing sensation began to crop up during my morning walks and prayer time last summer. ( 2018 ) As Misha and Kia protectively followed the goats out to the front pasture, I would lag behind trying my best to ignore the annoying little itch.
By early fall I was still going strong, but the nagging in my soul was gaining strength as well. It proved more vigorous each day to counter as I prayed fervently for family members to be healed and saved and delivered from addictions. Yes I know, the very heights of hypocrisy. Again, pits do not come equipped with periscopes like a submarine. The field of vision deep within is murky, casting off not only the distorted perception that you are justified, but also that there is no escape route for the prisoner anyway.
If it was truly okay, why did I feel the need to hide it? Well, because others wouldn't understand. Most of my family and friends knew I drank, they just had no idea how much and how often.
I was clueless to the spiritual chaos I was creating in the world around me. The visibility down in that pit is poor at best.
Then after fourteen years of consistently drinking to knock off the edge, a gnawing sensation began to crop up during my morning walks and prayer time last summer. ( 2018 ) As Misha and Kia protectively followed the goats out to the front pasture, I would lag behind trying my best to ignore the annoying little itch.
By early fall I was still going strong, but the nagging in my soul was gaining strength as well. It proved more vigorous each day to counter as I prayed fervently for family members to be healed and saved and delivered from addictions. Yes I know, the very heights of hypocrisy. Again, pits do not come equipped with periscopes like a submarine. The field of vision deep within is murky, casting off not only the distorted perception that you are justified, but also that there is no escape route for the prisoner anyway.
Even if I wanted rescued, no one sees me, so no one is coming for me.
The devil himself was the slumlord and daily fed me a steady diet of wicked lies with guilt and accusation for distasteful side dishes. And I swallowed every one of them.
The devil himself was the slumlord and daily fed me a steady diet of wicked lies with guilt and accusation for distasteful side dishes. And I swallowed every one of them.
Even as the self-deception began to melt, I felt an immeasurable amount of hopelessness.
God wasn't going to help me because after all I had gotten myself into this mess, so I just had to get myself out. Only I knew I didn't possess that kind of power or strength, so I was trapped. There was a different life out there that I should be living, but I couldn't reach it.
Instead of shrugging off the feeling inside I had begun to address it each day as I continued to bring my prayer requests and petitions before the Lord. It seemed to have attached itself to my side like a freeloading roommate.
God wasn't going to help me because after all I had gotten myself into this mess, so I just had to get myself out. Only I knew I didn't possess that kind of power or strength, so I was trapped. There was a different life out there that I should be living, but I couldn't reach it.
Instead of shrugging off the feeling inside I had begun to address it each day as I continued to bring my prayer requests and petitions before the Lord. It seemed to have attached itself to my side like a freeloading roommate.
"Look, I know this isn't an ideal situation, but I can not stop drinking. I will collapse. I will melt. I won't be able to function. In case you haven't noticed, I have a lot depending on me, and I can't be reduced to a catatonic state. And besides even if I could quit on my own I wouldn't because I really enjoy it. It helps me."
Hypocrisy and rebellion.
And yet, his mercy and grace pursued the chase.
Right before Thanksgiving, the voice apparently called for back up. "Thanks for coming and good luck with this one. She's a tough nut to crack."
I was attempting to pray and stroll along through the narrow passage leading to the missing goat herd no doubt browsing on the last of the season's underbrush. The path was saturated with wet leaves and rain puddles from relentless downpours. Careful not to end up in the muddy mess, I reached out for a handful of the long fur on Misha's back to steady my steps. When I approached the end of the trail, I heard a clear voice inside of my soul that brought a complete halt to my feet and my prayers.
The message was simple: "It starts with you."
I knew the words were right. The Holy Spirit is never wrong. I had walked on all kinds of precarious terrain both physically and spiritually since I had given my heart to Jesus as a bratty, self-centered twenty year old, but I couldn't for all that it was worth take that first step toward sobriety.
And then the darkness came.
I had been waking up in the middle of the night for the past year with waves of panic and fear griping my whole body. Never having battled anxiety or depression, I attributed the attacks to middle age and worries over my family at the time. Seriously, my chest would be wrenched in so much pain that I thought I was having a heart attack. I would recite scriptures to myself or pray softly, and after a few minutes, the tension eased up and sleep would return. But now the fear was much more intense and accompanied by an overwhelming darkness that wasn't so easily combated.
Still unrelenting in the face of such spiritual darkness revealed the deep level of my bondage.
The new year found me already exhausted in every bodily form imaginable before it ever began. We were coming off of perhaps the rainiest weather year on record. The farm was little more than a festering muck swamp with erosion and gullies created by the heavy run-off slashing its way down the rolling hills and pooling in the livestock fields like giant mud wrestling pits that we were forced to trudge our way through each day. Four calves died as a result. One cow was stuck in the mire up to her shins. A congested cough plagued the entire sheep flock. The poor, pregnant goat herd suffered a stubborn case of hoof rot that took months to clear up, and a favorite registered breeding buck died on New Year's Eve.
Our family was dealing with another untimely loss of a cherished member, the pain of a divorce, financial set backs, estrangements, addictions, hopelessness, and mental illness. I felt I was about to reach the breaking point with alcohol. It seemed we grieved through one heartache and another would be waiting to take its place.
This was the turbulent atmosphere in which I entered our church's annual three week season of fasting and prayer.
Before our pastor had the ushers pass out the commitment cards that Sunday, I had already decided I would abstain from social media again like the prior year. I checked the box, signed on the dotted line, and tossed it in the basket at the altar, not feeling overly hopeful.
I described in detail to the Farmer about how the darkness was getting more ominous each night and harder to fight. "That sounds demonic," he said. He prayed fervently for me, but it just wasn't letting up. Frustrated, I texted my closest friend. I knew she was watching her grandchildren, and I didn't want to disturb her with a phone call.
"You know I don't ask for prayer for myself, but I need help. Something very bad is happening to me, some kind of heavy darkness is bearing down." I didn't want to text the next line, but I did anyway: "It seems to be related to my drinking."
She texted back a beautiful prayer, called me, and stood with me through the duration. "We're going to take this one day at a time, and we're making today (Tuesday) an alcohol free day." I had no idea she would say that. I would spare you the gory details, but they are pertinent to understand the chains that bound me. I trembled, was terribly antsy, couldn't focus, and just when I thought I'd lost my ever loving mind, came up with a solution: A day ended at sundown, right? Of course it did. In January the sun was setting around 5ish, so I would just suffer it out for the next couple of hours knowing the end was in sight. As soon as that last glimmering sliver of sunshine disappeared behind the mountain, my shaky hands were pouring a drink.
And yet, his mercy and grace pursued the chase.
Right before Thanksgiving, the voice apparently called for back up. "Thanks for coming and good luck with this one. She's a tough nut to crack."
I was attempting to pray and stroll along through the narrow passage leading to the missing goat herd no doubt browsing on the last of the season's underbrush. The path was saturated with wet leaves and rain puddles from relentless downpours. Careful not to end up in the muddy mess, I reached out for a handful of the long fur on Misha's back to steady my steps. When I approached the end of the trail, I heard a clear voice inside of my soul that brought a complete halt to my feet and my prayers.
The message was simple: "It starts with you."
I knew the words were right. The Holy Spirit is never wrong. I had walked on all kinds of precarious terrain both physically and spiritually since I had given my heart to Jesus as a bratty, self-centered twenty year old, but I couldn't for all that it was worth take that first step toward sobriety.
And then the darkness came.
I had been waking up in the middle of the night for the past year with waves of panic and fear griping my whole body. Never having battled anxiety or depression, I attributed the attacks to middle age and worries over my family at the time. Seriously, my chest would be wrenched in so much pain that I thought I was having a heart attack. I would recite scriptures to myself or pray softly, and after a few minutes, the tension eased up and sleep would return. But now the fear was much more intense and accompanied by an overwhelming darkness that wasn't so easily combated.
Still unrelenting in the face of such spiritual darkness revealed the deep level of my bondage.
The new year found me already exhausted in every bodily form imaginable before it ever began. We were coming off of perhaps the rainiest weather year on record. The farm was little more than a festering muck swamp with erosion and gullies created by the heavy run-off slashing its way down the rolling hills and pooling in the livestock fields like giant mud wrestling pits that we were forced to trudge our way through each day. Four calves died as a result. One cow was stuck in the mire up to her shins. A congested cough plagued the entire sheep flock. The poor, pregnant goat herd suffered a stubborn case of hoof rot that took months to clear up, and a favorite registered breeding buck died on New Year's Eve.
Our family was dealing with another untimely loss of a cherished member, the pain of a divorce, financial set backs, estrangements, addictions, hopelessness, and mental illness. I felt I was about to reach the breaking point with alcohol. It seemed we grieved through one heartache and another would be waiting to take its place.
This was the turbulent atmosphere in which I entered our church's annual three week season of fasting and prayer.
Before our pastor had the ushers pass out the commitment cards that Sunday, I had already decided I would abstain from social media again like the prior year. I checked the box, signed on the dotted line, and tossed it in the basket at the altar, not feeling overly hopeful.
I described in detail to the Farmer about how the darkness was getting more ominous each night and harder to fight. "That sounds demonic," he said. He prayed fervently for me, but it just wasn't letting up. Frustrated, I texted my closest friend. I knew she was watching her grandchildren, and I didn't want to disturb her with a phone call.
"You know I don't ask for prayer for myself, but I need help. Something very bad is happening to me, some kind of heavy darkness is bearing down." I didn't want to text the next line, but I did anyway: "It seems to be related to my drinking."
She texted back a beautiful prayer, called me, and stood with me through the duration. "We're going to take this one day at a time, and we're making today (Tuesday) an alcohol free day." I had no idea she would say that. I would spare you the gory details, but they are pertinent to understand the chains that bound me. I trembled, was terribly antsy, couldn't focus, and just when I thought I'd lost my ever loving mind, came up with a solution: A day ended at sundown, right? Of course it did. In January the sun was setting around 5ish, so I would just suffer it out for the next couple of hours knowing the end was in sight. As soon as that last glimmering sliver of sunshine disappeared behind the mountain, my shaky hands were pouring a drink.
Yeah, I know, pathetic.
Something was stirring around me, some kind of conflict, I could feel it. And honestly it scared me because my friend's wise counsel just proved my theory: that there was no way in hades I could stop drinking and be sane. I just wanted to be left alone to quietly live out the Christian life on my own terms and in my own way without all of the spiritual drama. This was as good as it could be for me. I would have to live with that.
Except God wasn't taken no for an answer.
The darkness became heavier and heavier each night after that "sobering" Tuesday. Then Saturday I was awaken out of my sleep by the greatest fear I have ever known. I could not feel God at all. I truly felt that the darkness was going to take me out of this world. Instantly, I cried out to Jesus. "Where are you? I can't feel you! You know I can't do this. Help me - don't leave me! I need to be able to knock off the edge."
A soft whisper split through the darkness: "That's your problem, you've been knocking the edge off of your pain for so long when what you needed to do was fear not, walk straight up to the edge, and step off of it. If you'll do that, I promise I'll catch you."
Something was stirring around me, some kind of conflict, I could feel it. And honestly it scared me because my friend's wise counsel just proved my theory: that there was no way in hades I could stop drinking and be sane. I just wanted to be left alone to quietly live out the Christian life on my own terms and in my own way without all of the spiritual drama. This was as good as it could be for me. I would have to live with that.
Except God wasn't taken no for an answer.
The darkness became heavier and heavier each night after that "sobering" Tuesday. Then Saturday I was awaken out of my sleep by the greatest fear I have ever known. I could not feel God at all. I truly felt that the darkness was going to take me out of this world. Instantly, I cried out to Jesus. "Where are you? I can't feel you! You know I can't do this. Help me - don't leave me! I need to be able to knock off the edge."
A soft whisper split through the darkness: "That's your problem, you've been knocking the edge off of your pain for so long when what you needed to do was fear not, walk straight up to the edge, and step off of it. If you'll do that, I promise I'll catch you."
Jesus is so radical, isn't he?
I began to reason. If I stopped drinking I was going to be as good as dead, but if I didn't stop, the darkness was going to kill me anyway. Either choice would leave me dead, so I decided I might as well die on the good side even if it meant hitting the pavement. "Oh ye of little faith."
The last thing I remember saying was, as if I had any negotiating power at all, "Holy Spirit, you're going to have to give me something to hold onto because I'll never be able to do this on my own." And then sometime shortly after midnight on January 19, 2019, I stepped off the edge.
And Jesus caught me.
A gentle calm immediately washed over by entire body and spirit causing me to fall into a peaceful sleep. I began dreaming that I was sitting on a small innertube with my legs dangling through the center hole as I floated over white water rapids. I have never been a good swimmer, and normally would have been petrified in that situation especially without a lifejacket, but I wasn't afraid at all. The thing that I remember so vividly is that the Farmer who incidentally worked as a lifeguard in his teen years was sitting across from me. My arms were by my side and his arms were around my body in a firm grip that I could not possibly unlock. I remember feeling such security and reassurance that I would not fall off.
This was the first of many "things to hold onto" the Holy Spirit gifted to me. The beautiful thing is that all of the things actually held onto me. The dream was such a precious treasure because from the beginning of Scripture to the end of it, marriage is the symbol of Christ, our devoted Groom and his blood bought bride, the Church. I poke a lot of good fun at my husband in this farming blog along with our relationship and our differences, but make no mistake. He has loved me, cared for me, protected me, provided for me, prayed for me, and had immeasurable amounts of patience and grace for me. He has loved me as "Christ loved the church" to the best of his human and spiritual abilities for almost thirty-six years. After Jesus, he is the love of my life.
I would not trade him for all of the sheep in New Zealand.
When I awoke the next morning, I knew I was different. Still in a daze, I conveyed the dream to the Farmer as I treaded my usual, well worn path to the coffee pot with a much lighter step. A strange feeling came over me though once I had arrived in front of it and took hold of my mug. After thirty-five years of hardcore java guzzling to thrust my body into gear, I had no desire for it in the least. I write this not to make a case against caffeine or coffee, but to show that God did more than I could have ever anticipated.
Alcohol AND coffee? Wow!
Why wasn't I trembling, sweating, and being carrying off to a rehabilitation facility? Where were the headaches and withdrawal symptoms? Why didn't I pick up another habit as problems and pain continued to encircle me? Friends, how do I use words to describe a miracle?
Jesus said, "So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed." This is freedom to the very core of our being.
This is not a worldly, temporary fix. Jesus didn't just show up on the scene that dark night and tell me to grit my teeth so that he could rip off the bandaid and apply balm to my wound. No, his healing power penetrated much deeper than surface level. Jesus didn't deliver me from alcoholism or even addiction. Addiction is a noxious side shoot indicating that something isn't right below the soil. Jesus took an axe to the invasive root that was wrapping its menacing tentacles around my soul and choking the life out of me because I had failed to protect the most precious of possessions - my regenerated heart.
In the Kingdom of God, it's all or it's nothing. It's hot or it's cold. There is no middle ground in the battle for the wayward heart. Jesus served my death sentence freeing me from all of my sins for the restructuring of its stubborn, self-centered affections, and he requires all of its faithfulness and loyalty in return. It never works having one boot trying to march for the Kingdom while the other one follows orders in the world.
In Ezekiel 36:26 God foretells of his coming remedy for the human condition through the life and shed blood and resurrection of his Son Jesus: "And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules."
God promises not only to give us a new heart and a new spirit, but to give us his Spirit in addition to Jesus who will help us obey him. Isn't that so freeing? Have you ever become frustrated and just thrown your hands up in the air because you couldn't be "good" no matter how hard you tried? You knew deep down, but you just couldn't seem to pull it off?
Today you can believe that I am depending on God to help me fiercely protect my heart as I tenaciously cling to him.
After apologizing from the depths of my being to God and everyone in my family and begging their forgiveness, I resumed my morning walks and prayers around the farm. I could not believe the change in my life. It was so supernatural as I huddled amongst the new mother goats all of us now relived of the heavy burdens we had bore for so long while newborn baby goats skipped and leaped all around us.
For the first two weeks, I could barely speak. I would just cry and thank him. One day soon after I just lifted my head in the middle of the herd and said, "Jesus, what did you do to me?"
"I came after you." Honestly, I was a total mess for awhile. That will happen when Jesus comes for his prodigal lamb, and when God the Father opens wide his arms and showers the pitiful creature with immeasurable amounts of mercy at the homecoming she never could have ever dreamed of having.
God promises "never to leave us nor forsake us," but he let me feel that he had left. He actually used the darkness for my good. He can do that - he's God. He alone knew what circumstance it would take for me to step, to bring me home. That's how much he loves me - and you. The Scriptures tells us that we cannot even seek for God on our own. ( Romans 3 ) But he seeks for us.
Why am I sharing all of this? And why am I still talking? There are several reasons, but I'm concentrating on one:
What is that thing in your life? The demoralizing, ugly giant, the one that is taunting you day after day? What is that thing with its controlling grip around your soul, keeping you from living the abundant life Jesus suffered to give to you? Fear? Addiction? Insecurity? Anger? Unforgiveness? Bitterness? Jealousy? Rejection? Hopelessness? It could even be a good thing that you've carved into an idol like your children or your career that you just can't live without, controlling all you do. There are literally innumerable amounts of things it could be. Or it could be a lethal combination - it doesn't matter.
If Jesus delivered me, he can deliver anyone.
If you are a believer in Jesus, you know he nailed all those giants to the cross. If you are not a believer, and today if you hear his voice calling you, do not harden your hearts, but come, repent, and receive, enter into His rest. ( Hebrew 3 ) Repentance is the most beautiful message in all of scripture - it means that there is still hope. Repentance is for all of us, everyday as we walk through this broken world, and Jesus promises to catch us, not just right now, but every time we fall.
He is not mad at you - he died for you.
When Peter walked on water, he began to look at the wind and the waves, taking his eyes off of Jesus. This filled him with fear, and he began to sink into the raging sea. This will happen when we change our focus from the Savior to the savage conditions plaguing this fallen world. When this happened Peter didn't try to fix things himself, as if he could anyway, but he cried out to the one he knew held the power, "Lord save me!" "Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and took hold of him," (Matthew 14:31)
He may heal you instantaneously, or in small steps over time. He created us all differently with unique purposes and plans for each of us, so he will not meet us all in the same way. Just trust him. Believe me, he knows what's best for all of us. Before I posted this blog, I had been praying for everyone who would ever read it, and I am continuing to pray. Even if we've never met, God knows your name and your need. He created you for his glory. He placed you in your mother's womb. He know you way better than you know yourself. ( Isaiah 43:7 ) ( Psalm 139 ) ( Philippians 1 )
My commitment is to never drink alcohol again. I understand people can enjoy it in moderation and in a proper setting, but that's not me or my history. Truly though, my passion goes miles deeper than this. Jesus mercifully rescued me from my sin, setting me wholly free, and in honor of his great love I have vowed to keep Healing Brook alcohol free and never to drink it again myself until I am seated at his table for the glorious wedding feast of the Lamb.
And that new wine will taste like nothing this world will ever have to offer.
I can't possibly convey all the Lord has done for me over the past months in one blog post, nor the insights my spiritual eyes continue to absorb each passing day now that I'm free from the darkness and walking in his "marvelous light." I've had a difficult time keeping this concise. Not only has my life taken a new direction, but also my writings. I look forward to weaving their colorful, healing threads throughout my work.
I began to reason. If I stopped drinking I was going to be as good as dead, but if I didn't stop, the darkness was going to kill me anyway. Either choice would leave me dead, so I decided I might as well die on the good side even if it meant hitting the pavement. "Oh ye of little faith."
The last thing I remember saying was, as if I had any negotiating power at all, "Holy Spirit, you're going to have to give me something to hold onto because I'll never be able to do this on my own." And then sometime shortly after midnight on January 19, 2019, I stepped off the edge.
And Jesus caught me.
A gentle calm immediately washed over by entire body and spirit causing me to fall into a peaceful sleep. I began dreaming that I was sitting on a small innertube with my legs dangling through the center hole as I floated over white water rapids. I have never been a good swimmer, and normally would have been petrified in that situation especially without a lifejacket, but I wasn't afraid at all. The thing that I remember so vividly is that the Farmer who incidentally worked as a lifeguard in his teen years was sitting across from me. My arms were by my side and his arms were around my body in a firm grip that I could not possibly unlock. I remember feeling such security and reassurance that I would not fall off.
This was the first of many "things to hold onto" the Holy Spirit gifted to me. The beautiful thing is that all of the things actually held onto me. The dream was such a precious treasure because from the beginning of Scripture to the end of it, marriage is the symbol of Christ, our devoted Groom and his blood bought bride, the Church. I poke a lot of good fun at my husband in this farming blog along with our relationship and our differences, but make no mistake. He has loved me, cared for me, protected me, provided for me, prayed for me, and had immeasurable amounts of patience and grace for me. He has loved me as "Christ loved the church" to the best of his human and spiritual abilities for almost thirty-six years. After Jesus, he is the love of my life.
I would not trade him for all of the sheep in New Zealand.
When I awoke the next morning, I knew I was different. Still in a daze, I conveyed the dream to the Farmer as I treaded my usual, well worn path to the coffee pot with a much lighter step. A strange feeling came over me though once I had arrived in front of it and took hold of my mug. After thirty-five years of hardcore java guzzling to thrust my body into gear, I had no desire for it in the least. I write this not to make a case against caffeine or coffee, but to show that God did more than I could have ever anticipated.
Alcohol AND coffee? Wow!
Why wasn't I trembling, sweating, and being carrying off to a rehabilitation facility? Where were the headaches and withdrawal symptoms? Why didn't I pick up another habit as problems and pain continued to encircle me? Friends, how do I use words to describe a miracle?
Jesus said, "So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed." This is freedom to the very core of our being.
This is not a worldly, temporary fix. Jesus didn't just show up on the scene that dark night and tell me to grit my teeth so that he could rip off the bandaid and apply balm to my wound. No, his healing power penetrated much deeper than surface level. Jesus didn't deliver me from alcoholism or even addiction. Addiction is a noxious side shoot indicating that something isn't right below the soil. Jesus took an axe to the invasive root that was wrapping its menacing tentacles around my soul and choking the life out of me because I had failed to protect the most precious of possessions - my regenerated heart.
In the Kingdom of God, it's all or it's nothing. It's hot or it's cold. There is no middle ground in the battle for the wayward heart. Jesus served my death sentence freeing me from all of my sins for the restructuring of its stubborn, self-centered affections, and he requires all of its faithfulness and loyalty in return. It never works having one boot trying to march for the Kingdom while the other one follows orders in the world.
In Ezekiel 36:26 God foretells of his coming remedy for the human condition through the life and shed blood and resurrection of his Son Jesus: "And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules."
God promises not only to give us a new heart and a new spirit, but to give us his Spirit in addition to Jesus who will help us obey him. Isn't that so freeing? Have you ever become frustrated and just thrown your hands up in the air because you couldn't be "good" no matter how hard you tried? You knew deep down, but you just couldn't seem to pull it off?
Today you can believe that I am depending on God to help me fiercely protect my heart as I tenaciously cling to him.
After apologizing from the depths of my being to God and everyone in my family and begging their forgiveness, I resumed my morning walks and prayers around the farm. I could not believe the change in my life. It was so supernatural as I huddled amongst the new mother goats all of us now relived of the heavy burdens we had bore for so long while newborn baby goats skipped and leaped all around us.
For the first two weeks, I could barely speak. I would just cry and thank him. One day soon after I just lifted my head in the middle of the herd and said, "Jesus, what did you do to me?"
"I came after you." Honestly, I was a total mess for awhile. That will happen when Jesus comes for his prodigal lamb, and when God the Father opens wide his arms and showers the pitiful creature with immeasurable amounts of mercy at the homecoming she never could have ever dreamed of having.
God promises "never to leave us nor forsake us," but he let me feel that he had left. He actually used the darkness for my good. He can do that - he's God. He alone knew what circumstance it would take for me to step, to bring me home. That's how much he loves me - and you. The Scriptures tells us that we cannot even seek for God on our own. ( Romans 3 ) But he seeks for us.
Why am I sharing all of this? And why am I still talking? There are several reasons, but I'm concentrating on one:
What is that thing in your life? The demoralizing, ugly giant, the one that is taunting you day after day? What is that thing with its controlling grip around your soul, keeping you from living the abundant life Jesus suffered to give to you? Fear? Addiction? Insecurity? Anger? Unforgiveness? Bitterness? Jealousy? Rejection? Hopelessness? It could even be a good thing that you've carved into an idol like your children or your career that you just can't live without, controlling all you do. There are literally innumerable amounts of things it could be. Or it could be a lethal combination - it doesn't matter.
If Jesus delivered me, he can deliver anyone.
If you are a believer in Jesus, you know he nailed all those giants to the cross. If you are not a believer, and today if you hear his voice calling you, do not harden your hearts, but come, repent, and receive, enter into His rest. ( Hebrew 3 ) Repentance is the most beautiful message in all of scripture - it means that there is still hope. Repentance is for all of us, everyday as we walk through this broken world, and Jesus promises to catch us, not just right now, but every time we fall.
He is not mad at you - he died for you.
When Peter walked on water, he began to look at the wind and the waves, taking his eyes off of Jesus. This filled him with fear, and he began to sink into the raging sea. This will happen when we change our focus from the Savior to the savage conditions plaguing this fallen world. When this happened Peter didn't try to fix things himself, as if he could anyway, but he cried out to the one he knew held the power, "Lord save me!" "Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and took hold of him," (Matthew 14:31)
He may heal you instantaneously, or in small steps over time. He created us all differently with unique purposes and plans for each of us, so he will not meet us all in the same way. Just trust him. Believe me, he knows what's best for all of us. Before I posted this blog, I had been praying for everyone who would ever read it, and I am continuing to pray. Even if we've never met, God knows your name and your need. He created you for his glory. He placed you in your mother's womb. He know you way better than you know yourself. ( Isaiah 43:7 ) ( Psalm 139 ) ( Philippians 1 )
My commitment is to never drink alcohol again. I understand people can enjoy it in moderation and in a proper setting, but that's not me or my history. Truly though, my passion goes miles deeper than this. Jesus mercifully rescued me from my sin, setting me wholly free, and in honor of his great love I have vowed to keep Healing Brook alcohol free and never to drink it again myself until I am seated at his table for the glorious wedding feast of the Lamb.
And that new wine will taste like nothing this world will ever have to offer.
I can't possibly convey all the Lord has done for me over the past months in one blog post, nor the insights my spiritual eyes continue to absorb each passing day now that I'm free from the darkness and walking in his "marvelous light." I've had a difficult time keeping this concise. Not only has my life taken a new direction, but also my writings. I look forward to weaving their colorful, healing threads throughout my work.
My prayers for my family and friends have greatly deepened.
It started with me.
It started with me.
Because it first started with Jesus.
Oh, you're still wondering what the handsome Farmer gave me for Valentines Day? Well, actually I received two very romantic gifts. One, a new seat for my ATV since Shasta ate the other one when she was a rambunctious, little puppy, and also a new monitor for my livestock scale in the barn. The baby goats chewed through the wires on the old one. Yeah I know, those crazy animals. Good thing he won some lotto money.
Thank you for listening. 💜
Oh, you're still wondering what the handsome Farmer gave me for Valentines Day? Well, actually I received two very romantic gifts. One, a new seat for my ATV since Shasta ate the other one when she was a rambunctious, little puppy, and also a new monitor for my livestock scale in the barn. The baby goats chewed through the wires on the old one. Yeah I know, those crazy animals. Good thing he won some lotto money.
Thank you for listening. 💜
 |
| I was baptized as an infant in the church my family attended when I was growing up, but I wanted to be fully submerged in baptism like Jesus. My Pastor and friend, Milton Atkins made it happen. |