My Biggest Pit to Date…

I had an interesting experience with my son the other day.  The kids and I had just finished breakfast.  I was cleaning up while they were playing.  A peaceful Saturday morning was interrupted with a scream, and the familiar cry of, “Mom!  Nicky hit me!”  I turned around, not having witnessed the offense.  “Nick, did you hit Caitlyn?”  And my always honest son, “I did.  I did hit Caitlyn.”  I promptly sent him to time-out, set two minutes on the timer, and reprimanded my daughter for gloating.

Time-out doesn’t usually have much an effect on my mischievous 2 ½ year old.  It’s not uncommon to hear him singing or babbling to himself while isolated in the corner.  But this time, it was a tantrum of massive proportions.  Sobbing, screaming, wailing.  Two minutes couldn’t pass fast enough.

When the buzzer went off, I called out in my best stern mom voice, “Nick, come on out.  I want you to apologize to your sister.”  He kicked up the volume a notch, and continued his impressive performance.  “Nick, if you don’t stop screaming, you’ll have to stay in time-out.”  To make a long story less long, this went on for every bit of 30 minutes. 

Finally, I went over to my son, sat down next to him, and waited.  Five more minutes of crying, and he finally turned around for a hug.  “Nicky,” I said, loving this precious boy so much I could scarcely bear it.  “Nicky, I’m not mad at you.  But you can’t hit your sister.  You have to tell her you’re sorry.”  “I’m sawee, mommy.  I sawee.”

My friends, I am nothing more than a spiritual 2 ½ year old.  I have spent some serious time in pits.  I’ve climbed out of some them.  Let the Lord beckon me out of others.  But there was one pit…one particular pit…that the Lord had to climb down into with me.  And He sat there, patiently, until I had sobbed myself dry and worn myself out, and spoke to me just like I did with my son.  “Rebecca, I’m not mad at you.  I love you.  But you can’t continue to live this way.  You have to turn from this sin.  I will lift you out of this pit.  But you have to hold onto Me.  I’ve already done the work.  You’re forgiven.  Now hold on…we’re climbing out.”

This is the story of how I stopped drinking. 

I come from a fun bunch.  Growing up, the adults always had the cocktails flowing by 5 o’clock anytime the relatives were in town.  My initial association with alcohol was laughter, loud voices, and a funny smell when I went to kiss everyone good night.  The first time I ever really drank (aside from a sip at holidays) was when I was 14 years old.  That ended in an ambulance…and waking up with vomit in my hair.  I should’ve nipped it in the bud.

We moved from Minnesota to Denver when I was 15.  All I wanted out of life was to be popular.  I wanted to go where the cool kids went, and do what the cool kids did.  I never learned how to have a casual drink, but I sure could bong a beer with the best of them.  High school graduation passed in a Bud-light induced blur, and college only fed the fire.  By the time I finished my degree, I couldn’t imagine not drinking on a night out.  And we only drank for one reason…to get drunk.

By my 22nd birthday I knew I was drinking too much.  I would make rules for myself.  “Okay, I drank Friday, Saturday and Sunday, so I have to stay in Monday and Tuesday.”  I moved to Texas when I was 24, and got a job at a radio station working overnights.  That curbed it quite a bit.  But the urge never went away.  And when I did drink…I DRANK.

No one ever knew I had a problem.  I didn’t make a fool of myself that often, so when I did, people excused it.  Once I started working mornings, I drank even less.  A demanding schedule meant an early bed-time.  Then I met Mike, and the bars lost their appeal.  But I was still drinking, and when I wasn’t, I was thinking about it.  I would start worrying on Tuesday whether or not I was going to drink on Saturday.  I would tell myself, no more than two glasses of wine.  Three at the most.  But by the time I finished that first glass, all inhibitions were lost. 

Things slowed down even more with the kids…and I concentrated on being a better Christian.  Of course, drinking was putting a wedge in my relationship with God.  Let me be clear on this, though.  I don’t think God has a problem with drinking…He had a big problem with the way I drank.  He had an even bigger problem with the things I would say or do when I was drunk.  He certainly had a problem with how much I drank.  I began to realize that I had to make a choice…which side of the fence was I on?

1 Peter 4:3 – You have had enough in the past of the evil things that godless people enjoy – their immorality and lust, their feasting and drunkenness and wild parties, and their terrible worship of idols.

I had a handful of incidents over the next few years that made me want to bury myself in my shame and never come out again.  In August of this past summer, I decided it was really time to quit.  I made it three weeks.  I convinced myself that I could handle a drink now and then, no big deal.  I was only drinking about one or two nights a week on average anyway, and even then it was only a glass or so of wine.

On October 25th of 2009 my husband and I went to a Cowboy’s game.  It was my plan not to drink at all.  I had two cocktails in the parking lot, four beers in the game, and one after.  When I went to kiss my babies goodnight, I was leaning away so they couldn’t smell my breath.

The next morning I knew I was in trouble.  I couldn’t even pray for forgiveness, because I knew I would turn right around and do it again.  If not right away, eventually.  I spent that day miserable, feeling completely separated from God. 

The next morning on my way into work, I was listening to a sermon when the pastor cited 1 Peter 4:3.  On my way home, I was listening to another one.  A different pastor quoted 1 Corinthians 5:5 – How terrible that you should boast about your spirituality, and yet you let this sort of thing go on.  Don’t you realize that if even one person is allowed to go on sinning, soon all will be affected?  It was like God was talking to me through the radio.  How could I act like a Christian while I refused to repent?  What kind of witness was that?  I started to cry.  It was over.  I called my mom and told her that I was done drinking, and I needed my family to hold me accountable.  Then I told my sisters.  Then my husband.  Then my dad.  Then slowly, my friends.

I haven’t gone to AA, and I don’t plan to.  If I feel like I need it down the road, I’ll go.  Other than what you know, I don’t have big tumultuous bottoming out story.  I simply knew that I could not go on living in rebellion. 

When we believe the lies of the enemy, we are choosing to stay in the pit.  Christ has broken the chains, setting us free from our slavery to sin, yet there we sit…clutching the shackles.  I thought if I stopped drinking I wouldn’t be fun anymore.  No one would want to invite me to parties.  I wouldn’t fit in, I’d be conspicuous.  Lies.  Drinking wasn’t even fun anymore.  I agonized over whether or not I was going to drink, felt guilty while I was drinking, then awful the next day.  Even worse was the separation from God, because getting drunk is a deliberate, intentional sin.  And the enemy celebrated.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily hinders our progress.  And let us run with endurance the race that God has set before us. – Hebrews 12:1

This particular verse just leapt off the page at me this morning… and it’s the subject of an upcoming “daily bread.”  We are surrounded by witnesses, we are representatives of Christ!  And people who have not yet made decisions about their faith are watching us.  Our children are watching us.  Living out your Christianity does not meet straddling the fence and asking forgiveness later.  Are we going to sin?  Yes.  Are we forgiven?  If we ask for forgiveness and repent of our sin, Yes.  To repent is defined as follows :

1. To feel remorse, contrition, or self-reproach for what one has done or failed to do; be contrite.
2. To feel such regret for past conduct as to change one’s mind regarding it: repented of intemperate behavior.
3. To make a change for the better as a result of remorse or contrition for one’s sins.
 
True repentance always involves a change…of the mind, then the behavior.

I lived for years in unrepentance.  Miserable, sitting in my own self made pit.  The forgiveness was there, the grace mine for the taking…but just like my son in the corner…I chose to stay where I was.

As for where I am now, I can echo the words of David when he wrote Psalm 32:1-2 – “Oh what joy for those whose rebellion is forgiven, whose sin is put out of sight!  Yes, what joy for those whose record the LORD has cleared of sin, whose lives are lived in complete honesty!”  Amen to that.  One sin down…many to go…but I’m gettin’ there.