As a sober, recovering alcoholic, I have found incredible value in going back in my life and recalling the day that my life hit bottom.
I was all but dead. I had just lost my father; I had lost all but a remnant of my sanity; and I was on the verge of losing every thing and every person in my life that I had once deeply cared about. This is where the disease of alcohol addiction took me; this place where only a few ever recover from.
It is a day that I shall never forget, despite all of the wonderful blessings that have happened in the years since; remembrance of that day and all of the suffering that I put myself through, that I carelessly put others through, humbles me unlike any other thing. It compels me, day after day, to remain grateful for all that the Lord has delivered me from. And this gratitude is expressed in many ways, but none greater than in the way I try to live my life today.
A few weeks ago I slightly pulled a muscle in my lower back. I paid it very little attention, as the pain wasn’t that bad. I’ve dealt with this nagging nuisance several times in the past and gradually it would get better without me having to do much of anything on my own to manage it. But now that I’m older and less physically fit, these pulled muscles don’t recover nearly as quickly as they used to!
I was reminded of that yesterday evening when it literally took me 10 minutes of struggling to walk upstairs to go to bed. Each step had to be thought out. Deep breath. Exhale. Gasp… another stabbing pain. Oh God! Okay. Deep breath. Exhale. Wait here a couple of seconds. Okay. Another step.
Eventually I made it to my bed. And with every ounce of strength, and with every nerve within my lower back screaming out in irritating agony, somehow I lifted my feet up and shimmied under the covers. Icepacks, Tylenol, and more icepacks, and more Tylenol… Praise God I’m up walking around today, albeit cautiously.
My comfort, or a fair degree of it anyway, has returned. But not so much due to the icepacks and Tylenol, which obviously helped… but in larger part, due to another remembrance.
When the Roman guards nailed the spikes into Jesus’ hands, can we truly even begin to imagine the physical pain he endured? When they drove the spike into his feet, and then hoisted the cross up in the air where he would hang until he bled to death? When they forcefully placed the crown of thorns upon his head, as they laughed at him and mocked him? When the Roman soldier thrusted his spear into Jesus’ side?
Even in the midst of my most painful suffering yesterday evening, I couldn’t begin to remotely fathom the pain that our Savior had to endure for me that day.
Yet through our pain and suffering, whether it’s physical (as it was for me yesterday) or emotional (as it was that day that my alcoholic life hit bottom), or maybe even both, we are given opportunities to draw nearer to God.
As I contemplated ending my life that day years ago, I cried out to the Lord for help and He saved me. And as I cried out in pain last night to the Lord for comfort and ease, He once again answered.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. ~ Romans 8:28
Nothing brings us closer to Christ than relying on Him in our suffering. He is our Rock, our Shield, our Fortress. He comforts, He encourages, He heals and uplifts. Through this we have the ability to glorify Him.
Even in our most painful moments, God is with us. He never leaves our side.
Former Blackout Artist 