A Praise Post

This is a praise post. When the Lord has handed me two neat miracles, I've got to boast about Him.

I was asked to preach at a local church last Sunday morning. It has been 15 to 20 years since I've had that opportunity. And when asked, I didn't jump for it. My first reaction was negative. This past year my stuttering has taken a significant nose dive and there are times I get so stuck on a word it doesn't come out as hard and long as I try. But after praying about it, I accepted. It seemed God was saying, "Go for it, Ray."

My journal reads, "Father, I'd sure appreciate not stuttering much when I preach Sunday. For fluency, I ask. However, not my will but yours. If I'm more productive for You stuttering - so be it. I'd like to be used by You to 'set the captives free.' Anoint me as You see fit. Bind the Evil One from his destructive ways. Prepare hearts." I called my son for prayer.

Monday's journal entry reads, "Wow, God you were awesome. Very little stuttering. Felt empowered. Had fun. Theresa thought it went well." But, I liked what seemed to be a greater miracle. My son!

He called Sunday afternoon and asked how it went. I gave him the report and he started to weep. My journal reports his words. "Dad, Holly and I went to the prayer chapel after church and I told the man in charge that I wanted to pray for my dad. He's preaching this morning and he stutters real badly. I'd like God to give dad my voice during that preaching time. The man told me that God would like to give him His voice, would stand behind him in the pulpit and I'd be standing behind Him. Ray also wanted to sacifice for me so he gave up talking during that hour."

This is the young man who has been a prodigal, into some very destructive ways, who has been turning it around the past couple months. As we wept for joy together I just couldn't help praising God for how He has drawn my son to Himself and how we can now share together the most important thing in life - our walk with Christ.

Ray closed our phone conversation with, "Dad, that's the first mystical miracle I've ever experienced. This is so exciting."

Thank you God for two very special miracles.

Reconstruction

Run through a new home subdivision and often see the street filled with red clay from the land as bulldozers clear it to lay a foundation. The job site is littered with lumber, all sorts of trash from workers -usually a mess.

The house looks ugly; it has all its insides exposed as it is being pieced together, yet this process is necessary to get to the finished product. When completed, the home is beautiful. The landscaping looks like it came out of a home-design magazine. Everything is clean and perfect in order for the new homeowner to move in.

Our walk with God is much the same process. Often we must go through a messy period of our lives in which all aspects of it are in disarray. It is in these times that God builds a new structure. He might remove some structural timbers in our lives and replace them with new ones. He might even add on another room. And unless this process takes place, we will never see the end product.

The goal is more Christlikeness. In order to achieve this in us, He requires a period of removing all that is not of Him. It can be a painful process. God may be allowing a mess in order to ensure a fruitful harvest in your life.

Eight years ago, Ann and I felt God calling us to leave the comfort of our horse ranch and counseling practice in Birmingham to go minister to students at a small Christian college. What a mess in preparation for and involvement in selling all and relocating. Three months later Ann died. More disarray and pain. Personal upheaval continued with being fired (in my opinion, very unjustifiably). Vocational doors were soundly blocked for me. Reconstruction took place and I'm now enjoying a peace, contentment, fulfillment and joy at a depth I've never experienced before.

Painful process but what a great product.

adapted from Os Hillman

salt and light

The beatitudes of Matthew five are followed by Christ's challenge to His disciples to be salt and light. I am studying that now and am not prepared to enter the info in my blog. If any who read this has an interesting slant to "salt and light", please email me at rburwick@mindspring.com. I'm endeavoring to do a rather thorough study on the topic. Thanks in advance!

Beatitudes: Discipleship Through Brokenness - 5

Summarizing our study of discipleship through brokenness:

the Beatitudes begin with a pre-requisite. We cannot experience the blessed’s of Matthew 5 without seeing ourselves as we really are: bankrupt apart from Him, helpless and impotent without the life of His Son. To those who face this and realize the poverty in spirit, a spirit of mourning is produced - a godly sorrow over sinfulness and falling short.

This leads to an attitude of meekness. We know our weakness and failure, but we also know our Resource, leading to a hunger and thirst for righteousness.

Living by the power of the Resource, we exchange our need, emptiness, and failure for His joy, patience, peace and love for others. We convey a merciful attitude, not grudge-holding, not judgmental, but giving mercy as we have been given God's mercy.

We want to keep our hearts pure in grateful response to what God has given: forgiveness, restoration, resources for righteousness and mercy.

Reconciliation, peace-making, is a natural by-product of one with a pure heart.

But take heed, those who typify the beatitudes will be ridiculed, misunderstood, slandered. Yet even in persecution, we can experience the “blessed’s,” the enjoyment of God, because we know He is working everything for our good and His glory.

Beatitudes: Discipleship through the Beatitudes - 4

I have previously looked at the beatitudes as attributes of a weak person. I didn't go far enough. Not weak, but broken. Characteristics of a disciple of Jesus. Continuing our series on brokenness based on the Beatitudes we look at: “Blessed are the broken who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”

The desire for fulfillment is basic to each of us. Our tendency is to hunger and thirst for things of the world or from relationships. We think that more possessions, a new house, a new wife or the approval of others will satisfy us. Instead, this passage is telling us to look in the right direction for satisfaction, seeking resources from and receiving from God - His joy, patience, peace and love for others. His Word and Holy Spirit accomplish righteousness. The Message reads: You are blessed when you work up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat. Hunger and thirst – a deep passion for the Christ-life rather than the self-life.

Blessed are the broken who are merciful. They give mercy and forgiveness as they have received it. They are filled with godly compassion that overflows to those around. Those who are merciful experience God's mercy.

Blessed are the broken who are pure in heart. They keep their hearts pure in grateful response to the forgiveness and restoration God has given them. They allow God’s Word to purify them as they walk out their sainthood by obedience and in the power of the Holy Spirit. A believer in Christ is really a saint. We are to think like a saint – act like a saint. Pure in heart.

Blessed are the broken who are peacemakers. With humility, gentleness, mercy and obedience they can reconcile man with man and man with God. They model transparency. They honestly confront barriers in relationships.

Blessed are the broken who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness. Those who typify the beatitudes will be ridiculed, misunderstood, slandered. They march to a different drum than the world. Their light will expose darkness. And for those walking in darkness, the light is uncomfortable.

Tomorrow we'll look at a summary of what we've covered in the last 4 posts.

Beatitudes: Discipleship Through Brokenness - 3

We’ve been discussing the need for brokenness in a disciple of Christ’s life. Today we examine some of the characteristics of this person. Each of the eight characteristics will be examined individually, but it is important to realize that each is a part of the life theme – brokenness. Not broken of spirit where we give up on life but broken of pride, self-sufficiency, self confidence, self striving. Self broken is replaced by Christ confidence, dependence on Gods’s empowerment. As Scripture tells us: “Not by might nor by power but by my spirit says the Lord.”

Examine with me what godly brokenness looks like. The word “blessed” begins each characteristic. The first, blessed are the poor in spirit. Some translations interpret the word “happy” instead of blessed. Neither blessed nor happy adequately define the root Greek word “makarious.” It’s a term of congratulations and recommendation. Taken from the root word “mak,” meaning large, lengthy. To me the word blessed means, “congratulations, you are full of joy, peace of mind, contentment, fullfillment times 10.” The ultimate well-being, better than riches, power and fame, is the person who is poor of spirit.

Poor in spirit – the broken, the humble, those whose spiritual pride and self sufficiency are being stripped. They see themselves as they really are: bankrupt apart from Him, helpless and impotent without the life of His Son, and they rush to Christ for the resource to live the Christian life. They do not pretend to be what they are not…“for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” – for theirs is a deepening intimacy with God. The Message Bible paraphrases poor in spirit as, “at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.” Blessed are the broken.

The first quality Christ lists of the broken is one who mourns, who is sensitive to his sinfulness, his falling short of God’s best. He doesn’t blame shift or excuse or gloss over sin but owns it and is penitent. This creates a stronger sensitivity to others, comforting those who mourn. They accept their forgiveness, healing and restoration and they pass on that comfort to others. Are you and I sensitive to the still, quiet voice of the Holy Spirit saying, “Ray, that attitude, that activity is not that of a godly person.” Repentance follows. Blessed are the broken who mourn.

Next, blessed are the broken who are meek. Or another word for meek is gentle. They know their weakness and failure but they also know their Resource. They are restrained from a position of strength (like my stallion.) The meek don’t claw or scrap for their "rights" because they trust God to meet their needs. They surprise their enemies with a gentle, confident approach; they volunteer servanthood as an equal. They give instead of grab. They look to God instead of demanding from others. The Message Paraphrase states, “content with just who you are – no more, no less. That’s when you find yourself proud owners of what can’t be bought.” Blessed are the meek.

We’ll continue the characteristics in Monday’s post.

Beatitudes: Discipleship Through Brokenness -2

In yesterday’s post we were challenged to evaluate whether we were pre-christian, a follower of Christ, or a disciple of Christ. We are emphasizing Christian discipleship. Observe with me Matthew chapter five for the beginning of instruction.

Discipleship – the demands and the blessings. Christ begins with 8 “blesseds” – eight characteristics of a disciple. To capture these eight in one word it would be “broken.”

Broken. Not a popular word, rarely spoken from the pulpit and in some circles ridiculed. As seen in one web site: “I believe that God is a GOOD God – All the time. God wants you WHOLE, complete, nothing missing nothing broken! Physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, financially, etc… That’s what I believe - and the scriptures back it up. WHOLE is the complete opposite of broken.” I have trouble with that perspective. Let me explain.

Broken. I think back to the years we raised Tennessee Walking horses. I had a black roan stallion with four white stockings and a bald face. Beautiful animal. Without being broken, his worth was only in pasture breeding. His value increased as he went through the breaking process. Not broken of spirit but broken of self will so that my will became his will. There was a lot of resistance and bucking until that happened. But the result was a horse of great value.

So also is God with us. He takes us through breaking situations. Our natual tendency is to resist, to buck against it. “Why me, God? It’s not fair.” He gently walks through the situation with us saying, “my child, I love you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll take even this painful situation and work good out of it for your sake, for your influence on others and for my glory. You’ll be much more valuable to yourself and others.” This breaking process is part of God’s plan in building a disciple.

Matthew records Christ’s last words before ascension into heaven in chapter 28: 18-20 “Then Jesus came to them and said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’"

Jesus began to prepare His disciples for the trek of moving from followers of Christ to being His disciples and on to discipling others. It’s as if Jesus were saying, “The world mistakenly thinks that happiness is found in wealth, fame, power and pleasure or basically in things going our way. Not so. True happiness and power is found in the way of brokenness, of emptying self in order to be filled with me. Let me describe how your attitude will be developing.” And He begins with the blesseds – the beatiutdes.

In tomorrow’s post we’ll examine briefly each of these characteristics of a “broken person.”

Beatitudes: Discipleship Through Brokenness

I’ve been itrigued lately with a Bibial study of the word “brokenness.” You won’t find the word in the Bible, but there is much written about the concept without naming it as such.

It is not a popular word, rarely spoken from the pulpit and in some circles ridiculed. As seen in one web site: “I believe that God is a GOOD God – All the time. God wants you WHOLE, complete, nothing missing nothing broken! Physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, financially, etc… That’s what I believe - and the scriptures back it up. WHOLE is the complete opposite of broken.”
What do you think?

Examine with me today the Beatitudes from a perspective of discipleship through brokenness. We’ll begin by taking a quick spin through Matthew chapters one through five depicting the beginnings of the life of Christ. Chapters one and two are His geneology, birth and earliest childhood. A 30 year leap in time happens between chapter two and three where He is pictured in His adult years being baptised by John.

Chapter 4 records Jesus’ temptation by satan and the beginning of his teaching ministry. The disciples are chosen. Immediately following their selection Matthew 4:23 describes Jesus indoctrinating his disciples and modeling for them. “Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people.” Teaching, preaching and healing.

It was like Jesus was saying to his disciples, “This is the life with me you’re about to experience. So let me help you prepare.” Enter Matthew chapter five, usually called the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew 5:1-2 reads, “Now when he saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them,” Notice He is not teaching the crowd. There may have been a crowd following and listening but Christ’s attention was riveted on his disciples – teaching them the attributes of being His disciple. Christianity’s first discipleship program.

First question: are you part of the crowd as a follower of Christ; or, are you a disciple of Christ; or, are you possibly a pre-christian? A follower of Christ can be described as one who commits his life to Christ for what can be received – eternal life, joy, peace, contentment, etc. A disciple of Christ is one whose motivation is to allow Christ’s life to permeate his own life so that it spills over and affects everyone he touches. 2 Corinthians 2:14-16 describes it this way: “But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life.”

The disciple spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ. A disciple influences his world. How would you evaluate yourself today – a follower of Christ? A disciple of Christ? Or a pre-christian?

In tomorrow’s post we’ll begin to look at the beginning of discipleship instruction.

Becoming Free from Bondage of Alcohol

We hear the story of another Lighthouse Mission resident, John. He is one of the beautiful guys at the Mission. Listen up!

I’m an addict. Dad was a workaholic who ran two farms, a garage and a gas station and died from a heat stroke when I was seven. I’ve been told he drank. Mom was addicted to cigarettes. When I was 17, I lost her to emphysema. My brother ended up in a mental hospital as a result of alcohol. He got drunk one night and tried to kill my sister with a butcher knife.

A move across country when I was 12 revealed my shyness. Making friends was difficult. One friend and I snuck some hard liquor at an adult party. I became very relaxed and thought it was cool. Little did I know the future results.

I started working in a grocery store when I was 14 to help with the family bills. I drank every weekend. It became a way to cope instead of being social. It helped me not to worry about my mom’s health and what the future would bring.

I thought I was prepared for her death but was fooling myself. I had a lot of friends by then but the best suppport after her death was in a bottle. People complimented me on how strong I was, working full time, attending high school (with a 3.5 GPA), living by myself, and owning a home with a mortgage. They had no idea I was becoming a functional alcoholic

I started college majoring in criminal justice, wanting to be a police officer. Ironic, I’m a felon because of alcohol. Working full time and drinking daily was lethal to college work and after one and a half years I dropped out. Alcohol was lethal to my marriage also. It lasted only two years. She cheated on me. I blamed myself for driving her to do it because of my verbal and mental abuse. I not only lost my wife but also my house.

I worked various jobs until a grocery store chain hired me, starting at the bottom and working my way up to assistant manager of my own store. I lived with a woman. Got pregnant. She had early delivery complications and I was told by the doctor that I could lose both her and the baby. I turned to God and asked for His help because I was in trouble and didn’t know what else to do. My wife was in labor all day and all night. I thought, “Why hang around here? I’ll go get some beer, go home for a while and celebrate. I’m going to be a daddy.” An alcoholic mind can talk itself into anyting no matter how stupid. We had a beautiful little girl.

I was fired for drinking on the job.
A severe car accident should have woke me up. We rolled twice. A woman came to me and began praying for me like nobody I had every seen pray before. I know God was there that day because the sheriff couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Instead of flying down a 200 foot embankment to certain death, we only sustained light injury. I asked the sheriff where the lady went who was praying for me. He said he didn’t know. I’m convinced I had contact with an angel.

God was trying to get my attention but I didn’t get it. Another divorce. Three DUI’s in five years – a felony. 17 months in jail. I got out. Went to AA. Got a sponsor but that wasn’t enough to keep me sober. My probation officer didn’t give up on me and instead of sending me to prison, he found the Lighthouse Mission for me. It’s the best thing that could have happened to me.

Psalm 37:1:7-8 applies to me. “I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love for you have seen my troubles and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me to my enemies, but put me in a safe place.”

I began a walk with God and was baptized this last Father’s Day. My daughter came and saw me the following day with a father’s day card and present. First time I had seen her in 3 years. I want her to someday to be proud of me. I still have a storm raging inside of me because I can’t forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused others. But God is working on me. Change is taking place.
My goal is to complete this program so that I can help others. I desire a closer walk with God.

John

Stealing fast cars: prison

I love cars and speed. I thought the only way I could drive a hot, fast car was to steal it. I didn’t have the money to buy one. The meth and other drugs enhanced the idea to go for it. Result? Got caught. Prison.

My childhood was a bit rough. When I was about 10 years old, Mom stabbed my step-dad to death. He had been beating her. She landed in prison and we kids were shipped around to different relatives. One of which was an uncle who was a pastor. My biological dad was gone. Divorce and long haul trucking.

Nine months after the murder, Mom was acquitted on grounds of self-defense. We came to live with her. She quickly became a raging alcoholic. Mean. Beat up boyfriends and her kids. After a while she gave up the alcohol but took on meth.

In the sixth grade, my uncles provided cigarettes, then alcohol and then drugs, leading to a life of meth, pot, coke, LSD and heroin.

I became a fighter. Had to. We lived in a ghetto where there were only a couple white families. We were the minority and got beat up a lot – until I toughened up. I was in class one day and the kid in front of me was giving me a hard time. I sharpened my pencil and stabbed him in the neck. Got kicked out of school for that.

At 17, I got into the occult – black magic, devil worshipping. In 2002 I went to my uncle’s church. Demons were cast out of me and I was saved. But there was a tremendous lure back into black magic that I fought for years. It has progressively decreased in magnetisim.

My dad is back in prison. Drugs. He’s dying of Aids. I’ve forgiven him and keep in contact with him regularily.

Stealing cars, drugs and running from the cops landed me in jail. It was at that time that I began to learn the power of prayer. I was to appear before the judge to hear my sentencing. I prayed and asked God to change her mind so that I could go to the Lighthouse rehab program. I didn’t use a lawyer. I prayed. Told the judge my story. The Lighthouse was my next step. Been here for four months.

Prayer continues, not only for my own growth but for healing. Healing, not only emotionally but phsycially – for my drug-messed with brain and for herpes. A miracle has happened. The herpes is healed. I just received the report from the testing service and they say my herpes test was negative. Praise the Lord.
Robert

Spiritual Formation - what it is

After completing the "Cowsbell" recovery series, It might be wise to look at the goal of addictions recovery. Spiritual formation. What is it? Trek with me for a few moments.

Christ’s last directive before His ascension is seen in Matthew 28 verses 18-20 “… Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you…." Christ’s last words: make disciples.

The original meaning of the word disciple is “pupil, learner.” Discipleship – the process of being a pupil, learning. The term “spiritual formation” is more in vogue now because some have deemed “discipleship” too works-oriented. Whatever terminology is used, the objective is to be transformed “into the likeness of Jesus Christ” as observed in 2 Corinthians 3:18 “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

Notice the Source of transformation, “which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” The Holy Spirit does the work in spiritual formation, not us. Philippians 1:6 tells us, “ being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Our responsibility is to place ourselves in a cooperative position, responding to the promptings of the Holy Spirit who stimulates our hunger.
(1) Hunger for God – the desire to know God is all consuming;
(2) Hunger to share the Christ-life with others; and
(3) Hunger for a pure heart – hating sin more than loving its pleasures.

Thus we may define spiritual formation as the pursuit of and continuing response to the promptings of the Holy Spirit shaping us into the likeness of Jesus Christ. The process means implementing a way of life expressed by obedience to God and marked by a humble, serving-others spirit, the kind of life that Jesus demonstrated during his earthly ministry. This is an intentional pursuit in an ongoing journey of becoming more like Christ.

Spiritual formation is not a program, or project, or course that is completed in a few weeks. Rather we as believers in Christ are being challenged to embark in a lifelong process of transformation. The ultimate recovery!!!

Cowsbell Recovery - 7 the Finish

Thanks "Cowsbell" for allowing us to peak in your kitchen window and learn about the significance of transparency from you, and now the recovery process. ray b

I found myself out-of-control, my life unmanageable, unable to follow through intentions. A month later, in desperation I called a trusted friend, briefly explaining my failure and asking him for help as I knew I wouldn’t pull out of this on my own. He asked to involve a mutual friend and I readily agreed—I needed help! He called me back in a few minutes and a meeting of the three of us was set for the next day.

I committed to doing whatever they said no matter and they agreed to call me every day, get together once a week, and ask me pointedly how I was doing with details. I accepted their terms not knowing how quickly the commitment would be tested.

With this step, a tremendous relief swept over me as though the problem had been taken care of—this was short-lived. At our first meeting, they laid out several “to do’s” all of which seemed reasonable until they got to the last point: I would attend a weekly seminar on co-dependency and addictions. I protested that all I needed was to quit doing what I was doing and that neither of those problems were mine. Even as I entered the seminar three days later, I protested but stuck to my commitment to do as told. The information was well presented and probably applied to some but not me—it was the third week as the leader talked about family dynamics in co-dependency that my shields began fall and I considered I may have issues.

I was desperate to get back to normal, to get past any of my past issues, wanted the information so I could fix it and get on with life. Since then I have seen dozens of others express the same desire with the same dismay I expressed when no one would just give me the answers. By week four I knew I was co-dependent from my earliest years, wanting to please others and depending on them to please me. I could see the desire to please in my Workaholism, that performance driven type-A personality I developed. When a support group formed out of this seminar, I attended both and then started weekly sessions with a licensed Doctor of Psychotherapy. In relatively short order, I began to see the addictions and their holds on my life.

There was a struggle though as I began to understand my addictions—as soon as I began to stop acting out and felt better, I began to convince myself this was good enough. An early writing assignments documenting early patterns and feelings reminded me shortcuts had failed me before and I needed to stay the course. That commitment was vital for almost immediately, life became more difficult. Without any of my former coping skills, I needed healthy ones but those take time to develop so I relied on my support groups to keep me honest and faithful to my goals.

In my recovery process, we used faith in God and the 12-Steps as a format. Each week I had homework, accountability, encouragement and support. I found that each was vital as I moved into steps that took me back into my hidden life, the life that I had locked into a dark, cold place of my soul, a place where others have emotions but where I only allowed coldness. As with many in recovery, the personal inventory was profoundly challenging as I worked through a lifetime of forgotten damages tied to the emotions so long suppressed. It wasn’t unusual to journal on one emotion and fill two or more pages with hurts I never had dealt with, some fifty years before.

Over the next two-and-a-half years, I struggled through the labyrinth of my emotional past while trying to live health in the present. Learning real safe places, being honest about pain, respecting others, setting relational boundaries were all new skills for me which even now after more than 7 years are daily challenges but it is so worthwhile to be living a total life, nothing hidden.

I have even learned to appreciate the emotional pains that life brings—it is good to feel honest emotions and not be controlled by the unknown past, to be living not a life conformed to the past but life in the now, unrestrained by others who once shaped me. After living so many years running from the causes and suffering the symptoms, it is good to deal with reality, to resolve the past, to live in the present.

It is good to live as my Creator designed me, whole and free, living in Him, having life renewed, having a whole and healthy soul, emotions as God intended.
I never imagined how good feelings could feel; I wouldn’t go back to who I wasn’t for anything!

I have an anonymous e-mail account if anyone from the blog wants to contact me. It is:

cowsbell@gmail.com

Cowsbell Recovery 6 - Pornography

Missing It
A new life, my spirit right with God, back with my wife, only good things before me.

That Spring I was called into ministry, went back to school, got a Bachelor of Theology degree. I worked, learned to be a husband and began to minister in a small church. I quickly grew back into the life of God I left nine years before.

Through the Eighties, I worked as a layman or as an Associate Pastor in churches. My God-given abilities brought me into leadership but I longed not to overstep my callings. Through the decade a pattern emerged: coming alongside a Pastor, helping him build leadership and ministry and then becoming either a scapegoat for any lacking or the perceived cause of any discord to save his ministry.

After a series of hurtful experiences, we moved to another group where we liked being anonymous but able to minister. Over the next seven years, we both ministered wherever needed. Eventually I became part of musicals performed several times each holiday season; my love for people, freeing them up to be fulfilled and an eye for details made this a natural. For the next several years this was me.

That changed in 1999 as in November my life began downhill. Unable to get skilled volunteers, I had to do things I lacked the ability to do well. An adult foster daughter living with us was raped. She was scheduled for surgery on another problem a couple weeks before Christmas but only my wife would be able to be with her 500 miles away. I should have seen it coming—overworked, bone-weary, helpless, failing expectations of my own, and alone—I was due.

A couple weeks of 18-20 hour days mixed between business and production left me unprepared for opening night’s personal disaster: only moments before I gave the opening cue, I was taken aside and told that “we” needed and were counting on me for excellence, that “we” knew “we” could count on me to deliver excellence. I died within. I immediately knew my failures over the last months, all the not measuring up, all the letting others down. Too tired to think, reason, correct, I simply turned off my pain as I had learned so many years before. Moments later I was on stage, acting, singing, watching, doing whatever I could for others while growing cold within. I made it through eight performances, wrapped it up, and on December 21, 1999 began to binge.

I no longer felt: not anger, shame or fear. Deep depression settled over me. What I failed to do 22 years before when I came back to God in spirit was to recognize that I also had a soul; for all my understanding, I absolutely missed the difference between spirit and soul. Now I was to learn.

Forty years before with no sense except to survive by not feeling, I had the first experience in the world of non-rational feelings. I had learned early to turn off emotions because they hurt—not a willful decision but a coping with what I could not deal. At the age of 12, in the midst of transitions, separations, loneliness and fear, a new emotion delivered me from my inner agony. One day, wholly unprovoked and unanticipated, I awoke to the laughter of two girls, standing in the doorway naked, exposing themselves and laughing at me. In shock, I chased them away, closing them out but the image remained, the first of many over the next 40 years. I felt something unidentifiable, back deep in my soul where I hadn’t allowed feelings--a warm, alive, feeling different from my detachment.

The next four decades, gathered images brought warmth in my soul; I did not set out to gather these curios but accumulate they did. In retrospect, I see that I was living a “what if” “if only” existence based in what had never been, would never be, only the moments with an illusion of acceptance.

When I collapsed into the coldness of depression in December 1999, my soul immediately knew where to find warmth—it had been there before. A pattern emerged—work, then to my place of comfort for a visit with my images. Thinking back it’s so obvious, then it seemed my only chance for survival. My despair was overwhelming, I was alone, no one knew, everyone was busy. Now I see I sought out images of my unfulfilled past, right back to where I began to lose hope. I sought a familiar desire—intelligent, bright-eyed, lively, confident, beautiful, open—her image in so many. Yes, many were vulgar, crude, vicious, even brutal but these were curiosities where I did not linger. With nightly visitations to the images of my youth, I felt the warmth as lost emotions revived briefly, then I would collapse into sleep only to rise and do it over again.

Through the holidays and into the midst of January, I binged daily trying to warm my soul wherever I could. Then something more disturbing happened: I found these friends not being faithful to my needs, ceasing to warm my soul. It took more time, more images for the same warmth. Now guilt and shame followed each venture—these were not mine, they betrayed my needs.

As the depression eased it was replaced with the reality that I was participating in something that I found repulsive to my values. Facing God was the hardest, deceiving my wife was close behind, lying to myself and justifying my deceptions was unconscionable.

After a couple weeks, I began the daily cycle that marks addiction: acting out, feeling the shame, vowing never again, piling on stress, escaping to warmth, struggling to find warmth, beginning the cycle again.
This was not who I had hoped to be.

More recovery tomorrow.

Cowsbell Recovery -5 The Hole

"Cowsbell" series continues.

I was not meant to be alone. I had been there and did not want to feel that again. Even if it was not a satisfying relationship, it was better than being alone. But my wife really was gone.

Fortunately, my Father’s best friend (alcohol) moved in with me and I could comfort myself in the warmth of his glow. He would be there for me, he wouldn’t leave me.

Something unexpected happened. As suddenly as he had befriended me, he betrayed me and inexplicably quit comforting me. Life was now unbearable. I tried to escape in work and spent all my waking hours at work to avoid the empty house, the aloneness of my life. I tried gathering the friends and going out partying but somehow the emptiness within could not be smothered.

There was an offer from a corporate comrade to come back and live with her in the Big City—she was something, beautiful, feisty, smart, almost perfect, but I knew it wouldn’t last. There was an unshakeable certainty that I could not escape, the nightmare of my past, that I would never escape being alone. I had always been alone, my first memories were of being alone, abandoned, uncared for, left to my private terrors and this was no different.

No matter where I was, who I was with, what I pursued, the inescapable truth was that I would at times be totally alone. I worked even longer days, going in before 6 a.m. and staying past closing at 10 p.m., forcing myself to stay awake and active until I collapsed into sleep but still the thought was there: I will be alone.

Finally, the answer began to coalesce in the back of my consciousness, something I had heard more than 15 years before, rather trite sounding but yet inviting: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” I ignored it but it kept coming back, haunting my awakened hours, repeating no matter how intently I tried to quiet that phrase. I could not escape it echoing through my soul, a voice from my past, “I will never abandon you.”

I could not deny the reality of what was being driven home with increasing frequency and finally on January 3, 1977 after another exhausting day of trying to escape, I gave in to that phrase God had spoken thousands of years before. I gave in to Jesus’ claim that He wouldn’t do what everyone else had done to me. That Monday night was the first true peace I had in decades. I slept the whole night but I was not alone.

Life was different Tuesday, January 4, 1977. My wife was gone, my Father’s friend had deserted me, my friends suddenly didn’t seem as supportive, but I was not alone. As word spread of my new friend, some new people came into my life, people who actually cared about me and not for what I would do for them, simply because they cared.

It wasn’t long before I told my missing mate; she was skeptical and thought it was merely a ruse to get her back. In fact, when I told her she later admitted asking herself, “But did he repent?” She knew how much I was closed to this brand of religion for one of the rules in my kingdom had been to never talk about Jesus. Less than a couple years into our marriage, she had become a Jesus-follower and when she told me, I told her that she could do what she wanted but we would never talk about it.

Shortly after moving to Montana, I had become a Jesus-follower but seven years later, determined to find my life for myself, had turned my back on God quite deliberately. It now seemed an ironic twist that God had gotten back in front of me while I was facing the other way.
Eventually my wife considered the possibility of God’s intervention in my life and agreed to see if it was real. It took over a year before she began to trust me again but that was understandable after all the emotional damage I had caused her. Slowly trust and love was reborn even though we lived together separately for much of that time while she watched me change.

Life was different now, I acted different, had different priorities, different values and soon had a different profession… I became a minister!
But even though I now had the right spirit and my body did the right things, there was an unknown hole in my soul.
More tomorrow!

Cowsbell Recovery Alcohol -4

“Cowsbell” has allowed us to peak into his kitchen window the last three posts, revealing his seven years of recovery. His addictions listed thus far are co-dependency and workahol. Today he reveals alcohol.

Marriage. The answer to all my problems… after all, marriage is about someone loving me, caring for me, being there for me, about me being happy. She was dedicated to pleasing me, satisfying me, being my friend, my lover, my companion. This would be wonderful.

And it was except I didn’t know what to do with love. I was feeling all sorts of emotions but they were foreign to me; I had never been close to anyone and had only dated others for a couple years. and never for long. I was unprepared and there was no guide to show the way—there had never been anyone who had talked to me about living life and I didn’t do well figuring it out with the models I had seen.

Providing, that was what I knew, being hardworking, diligent, someone to be proud of, so I set off to be the best provider she could ever have wanted. Even now as I write the words, I see the problem of whose example I followed. This was the way of my Father and step-father but I only see it from the future now and not in the present past. I set about to create perfection, to be perfect myself and having mastered that to make her perfect. I knew that if we did everything right, our lives would be perfect. I had seen the mistakes of others and would not allow that to happen to us.

I was tough on myself, pressing to perfection, for excellence, being better than any others so that no one could deny me my rightful due, that they would have to recognize and accept my success. And part of my success depended upon my wife being perfect because that would reflect well upon me. She already was good but I would encourage her to be even better. There were many tasks that I had thought more about than her and I readily shared my insights on the best way to do almost anything but she resisted and began to fall short of my quest for perfection.

I poured myself into my profession and was recognized as a comer but the failure of those nearest to me to support me made this accomplishment hollow. I didn’t feel as good as I would have if they had measured up to my expectations. This spousal betrayal forced me to withdraw back into myself lest I give too much of myself away to someone. I became aware of others who probably would want to be perfect for me but there was no way I would admit failure in my personal life by marriage. I continued on. I put more time into work and was progressing in business but found that I wasn’t satisfied.

I began to spend more time with my Father’s old friend who consoled me of my torment for not being what I felt I should be. I had occasionally drank a few beers or whiskey before I married but now it became a regular activity. Every night would be one or two beers which took off the edge of the day and helped me feel a little less. Even better was the binges. Hunting season, boys’ nights out, ball games, BBQ’s all were events where I could drink enough to feel less. I seldom felt bad even though I consumed increasingly larger quantities of whatever alcohol was available. I felt fine. It never effected my work and no one was more accepting than the group at the bar or hunting camp. This was living.

I began to look forward to special occasions for the escape from what had become mundane and common. I didn’t care that much about my wife’s failures when I was loose. Life was good again. I had real friends, real companions who wanted to spend time with me drinking. We could drink and talk and drink some more and never had any personal problems to face. Life was easy.

Escape from the common, from problems, from disappointing relationships all became easier not to feel or deal with as long as I had my Father’s old friend. I began to understand that Father hadn’t been so bad after all—he was simply living life on his terms, mellow, at peace, accepted.

Then she left me. I had been out for a couple weeks with the guys, hunting, drinking, being me and she decided to leave me. I didn’t want it—as much as I felt she had let me down by not letting me perfect her, I was satisfied with my created life and didn’t want her to leave me alone. It wasn’t fair—I had just mastered my life—but she left anyway. Abandoned me, rejected me, disrespected me. Was gone and I was alone. IT WASN’T FAIR!
More in tomorrow’s post.

Cowsbell 3 Co-dependent Recovery

Alone
As I awoke, I was terrified. All I could see was something like a shroud around me, enclosing my small space. I began screaming and kept it up until I was exhausted.
I remember the terror, the sheer aloneness and my intense desire to be rescued. I had no idea where I was or why I was so alone but I did know that, “I want my Momma!”

I was just looking at the pictures of the trip; we had been to Clear Lake in northern California and I had just turned 3 years old. My mother tells me that I had an asthma attack and had been rushed back to Oakland and placed in an oxygen tent. Amazing how after 55 years I still can feel the aloneness. That is my first memory but it is the recurring emotion of all my early memories—alone, helpless, fear, terror.

My mother was the eldest daughter of a master sergeant of the Great War. She was a wonderful caregiver but had never learned to express emotional love. I grew up longing to be what someone would want, whom someone would embrace and just be near, not just physically but emotionally.

Father was an exceptional car salesman and devoted himself to building a reputation and family. At the end of his stint in the Army, he returned to his profession and gave it his all. He prospered and eventually opened his own car lot. But Father had a flaw—he was everyone’s friend, kind and gregarious to all except himself. No matter how well he did, he couldn’t get passed a sense of inadequacy. Father had been a Master Sergeant in the Quartermasters stationed in the Pacific and had ran a business on the side. One of his trademarks was closing every deal with a drink to let customers know his appreciation. Unfortunately, he progressed to drinking whether with customers of not. Over the next 8 years, he went through cycles of excessive drinking and sobriety, times of being gone to drink and then times gone trying to recover lost business.

I was now old enough to need a family’s embrace but never found emotional security. The final memory of my early life was when I was 6 (I know it was that year because my bed had a Davy Crockett bedspread). Father was in one of those years, gone most of the time either drinking or trying to make up for lost sales. This night he came home about 7; my little brother and I were sent to bed even though it wasn’t time; I knew I had done something wrong because that was the only reason to be sent to bed early. Then I could hear the muffled voices in another part of the house arguing. I knew it was about me, that I had failed again to please them and they were fighting because of me. I had failed. I felt empty, alone, helpless, scared.

I resolved that night to do whatever it took to be good enough that they would love me, that everything would be okay if only I did whatever they expected of me. At six, I began to try with all I was to live up to their expectations even though I had no idea what they expected. I tried to be the unspoken good but never succeeded. Though I ached to be pleasing, accepted, and loved, I failed and the arguments went on, the intensity of the home escalated, Father was home less, was away so he could avoid whatever was displeasing in me. I failed, I was unacceptable, unloved.

But I tried harder, determined to please no matter what the cost. I would be what others expected on needed me to be. I would succeed. I would be loved.
Then Father died just before I turned eleven. I had failed.
But I would try again, just harder, giving more of me so someone would accept me. There would be a way to be acceptable if I just tried.

Cowsbell's story continues in Monday's post.

Cowsbell Recovery-2 Workaholic

I was twelve when Mom sold the city home and then moved all our possessions on a pickup truck to western Montana. So it was a boy from the big city moving to a small country crossroads community and beginning life again. My little brother and I were farmed out (it is a pun) to my two uncles who had dairies, hogs and Montana stuff. Having no country living experience, it was a difficult adjustment.

Montana filled me with the hope of possibilities I hadn’t failed at already. New people and circumstances, certainly I would find acceptance with family. Although the unfamiliarity was unsettling, I set about to live up to expectations and be accepted. It ought to be easy if I tried hard, worked hard, applied myself.

I quickly found I had much to learn about farming: the tractors, the animals, the chores were all foreign but I assured myself that if I worked hard, they would accept me. Almost, well almost immediately I ran into myself; not only was I city soft but my body conspired against me with allergies. I quickly found myself allergic to hay, straw, grain, dust, well just about everything farms are made of. It quickly became evident that I was no prize for my uncle or any of my other relatives. I was book smart but work poor. I determined to try all the harder, took frequent doses of medicines and sniffled and dripped. I was pathetic and I was unacceptable, suspected of being a slackard. But I kept trying.

By the end of our first year in this new place, Mom had married a new Father and I was ecstatic at the prospects of having a real dad. He was an artisan and would let me work with him and even pay me small wages if I worked hard. And try I did. I desperately wanted him to love me and gave it my all. Allergies weren’t a problem with his work so I had a clear road to happiness if only I worked hard enough to please him. I would carry more materials, be quicker, more attentive, work longer, try harder and be eager to learn from him and he would treat me like a son.

Wow. If only I could do a little better. Often I didn’t get my duties quite right and he was loving enough to discipline me. I was very frustrating to him and deserved the rebukes I received. Eventually my failures to try hard enough to improve provoked him to beat me with his fists, broom handles, straps or whatever was convenient. But it was my fault because I didn’t work hard enough or right enough; everyone in the community knew him to be an exceptional man, a leader, dependable, compassionate so there was no question who failed to measure up. But I kept trying to work harder, to be pleasing to him.

Finally, like a repeat of the previous decade, he could take me no longer and left Mom and us to fend for ourselves. I had mixed feelings—the sense of loss of possibilities but the relief of not failing and being beaten. I had also begun to learn not to feel hurt, to not show either physical or emotional pain. I also had other older friends who accepted me. I worked with a high school teacher on a research project which helped him earn a Masters degree and he had nothing but praise for me. Other older men also appreciated my work ethic of working harder and longer than many others my age.

Then college was easier for me than most because I worked so intensely at it. By mid-term I would always have all of my assignments done for the quarter so I could do more work. Work became my invitation to acceptance.

After marrying at 21, I went to work in a store as a box boy and proceeded to work up into management in three years. All of my friends were those I worked for; I learned to do all the extra projects no one else had time for and this made them look good—I worked long and hard and I was appreciated for what I got done. I was good, I was special, I was accepted.
Maybe the beatings hadn’t been so bad after all for now I was worthwhile.
If only I could keep working harder and better, I would be loved. Life was good, love was within my grasp.
Cowsbell the workaholic. Tomorrow, Cowsbell the co-dependent.

"Cowsbell - 1 Recovery

“Hi, my name is Gary and I am an addict. I like to feel good, I like to avoid feeling bad. In fact, I am willing to give up who I am to feel better.”

I have been in recovery for seven years. No, I am not always happy and I often don’t feel the way I would like but I am me now. I have made peace with the unhappiness of my life, the unfairness of my situations and the mistreatment of others and accepted that I am who I want to be becoming. After fifty years of living to measure up to the standards of everyone else, I now am at peace just being who God designed me to be. I am sorry that others expect me to be someone else but I am content with the true me.

That was not my old life. Born in the first half of the last century (1949 but doesn’t that phrase sound old?), I was the eldest son of a man accomplishing much and creating a real name for himself. Unfortunately, he never came to peace with who he was and destroyed himself before I was 10. Mom returned to her childhood home in Montana, married another fine man who proceeded to try to fix all of my faults from my flawed childhood. What anger didn’t correct, beatings failed at also. I never learned to be me and always felt like I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, popular enough, acceptable enough. No matter how hard I tried to please, I never felt worthwhile.

College, marriage, jobs—nothing made me feel acceptable but I did develop a series of coping mechanisms that helped me avoid feeling disrespected. I did excel at education, performance, and popular behaviors but while I had the appearance of success, I couldn’t feel success. If only the right persons were in my life—the right bosses, the right women, the right buddies, the right friends—I would feel acceptable, or so I thought.

It was at the turn of the Millennium that I collapsed, having lost all hope of acceptance, of worthiness, and finally began binging on whatever made me feel not bad. It took 30 days in the dead of winter before the coldness of my soul became evident to me and I called out for help. Oh, not that kind of help, just help to stop what I was doing, to get back into control. For fifty years I had been able to avoid emotional pain by simply denying the truth of my life and facing how I felt and why I felt that way.

But I was wrong. I was at that point where there was no other way than to admit the damage caused by others but accepted by me and then the futility of the ways I had masked my pains. I worked through the process of recognizing the truth about my self: others had mistreated me but I had accepted their valuation of me as my value. I let them define me.

Recovery is not so much a going back and fixing the past as recognition of what the past was and not confusing it with Now. My life today is not dependent upon the prelude but rather a resurrection of who God created me to be if I take His ultimate valuation of my life as truth and live today as a new person not anchored in past failures but in an abiding reality as defined by God. We are not who others define us as but rather ultimately who God designed us to be as we accept His truth about ourselves and live in it.

For the first time in 58 years, it is okay to be me, it is okay to have lived through the pain of the past, and it is okay to live today as who I really am.
“Cowsbell”

Beautiful Heart

The following post can be read as a sappy story or read for the inspiration and instruction.

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect.There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.

The people stared -- how can he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought? The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared.

Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges --giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting.

"So now do you see what true beauty is?" The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.

-- Author Unknown

Football star: from Crack to ministry

One early evening in Long Beach in the mid-1980’s, back when he was in the throes of a wicked addiction to crack cocaine, former Pro Bowl linebacker Isiah Robertson says he found himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun. Jerry Crowe writes his story in the Los Angeles Times.

“The weapon was locked, loaded and ready to do him harm, he says, and the drug dealer pointing it at him already had administered a near-fatal beating that left the 1971 NFL defensive rookie of the year and former Los Angeles Ram bleeding from a head wound that would require 100 stiches to close. Thirteen of his teeth lay broken in his mouth.

Life had been great. The bright lights and beautiful women of California. I partied like a rock star. It was like a dream. Overwhelming. You meet one beautiful woman and the next day you meet a woman two times more beautiful than her and the next day you meet one three times more beautiful. Man, I went crazy. There was one time after football was over that I was strung out for 31 days, costing me 25 grand.

After his wife kicked him out he stopped cold turkey, but didn’t treat the disease. It was all willpower. The first time somebody ticked me off, I went looking for a high and found it. I started smoking two and three thousand dollars of cocaine a week.
His addiction had cost him his family, his businesss, his cars and 14 homes. The encounter with the drug dealer was his wake-up call – his breaking point.

This disease is like a psychological earthquake. It just sits around and then you end up in the wrong place with the wrong people and you’re right back in the same place – not working, lying, stealing, anything to keep that high.

Roberston has been sober and drug free since 1988. In 1989 he founded the House of Isaiah in Mabank, Texas, a long-term residential drug and alcholol recovery center for men. More than 1250 patients hae been treated at the 180-acre facility.

Grateful to be alive and calling this the happiest time of his life, Robertson notes that on a 10 point scale, he’s a 12 as far as happiness. ‘I am doing God’s will. I’m at peace and I’ve been forgiven. I have a plan and I’m helping people in my life every single day.’”
Gain through loss.

Fanny's Loss, Our Gain

Fanny Crosby lost her sight as an infant. It is reported that her greatest regret was that she wouldn’t have a proper education.. Yet the world has been made rich because of her 8000 poems set to music. Gain through loss? What an example!

It has been said that as a child she told her mother, “If I had a choice, I’d still choose to be blind. For when I die, the first face I’ll see is my Savior’s face.” She lived 94 years and 11 months.

One of her greatest contributions to the Christian world is “Blessed Assurance.”

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of His spirit, washed in His blood.

Perfect submission, perfect delight! Visions of rapture now burst on my sight!
Angels descending, bring from above echos of mercy, whispers of love.

Perfect subission all is at rest. I in my Savior are happy and blessed.
Watching and waiting, looking above, filled with His goodness, lost in His love.

This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song, Praising my Savior all the day long.

Motivated by Son

Another story from the Lighthouse Mission. Name is Jack.

"I’ve followed in my father’s footsteps. Drugs and alcohol, both using and selling. In fact, Dad rarely worked. He made his living selling drugs. I followed suite. He didn’t get caught. I did.

"In and out of jail for three years. Treatment centers provided temporary results. I was leary about entering the Lighthouse Mission because I heard it was a lot of Bible stuff. However, having been at the Lighthouse for six months, I’ve begun a walk in faith with Christ. There is new life. A deep inner change is taking place.

"A little background: parents fought constantly; Dad was very abusive in every way, a very angry man; parents divorced. Mom used drugs and enabled me to do the same.
At the age of 10 I stole dad’s drugs and alcohol. School was not important. I skipped a lot. Got a DUI at the age of 16. Began acid, mushrooms and LSD. I still have visual hallucinations.

"My girl friend and I got pregnant. That is not the best way to start a relationship; however, it is my son who has motivated me to change my life. I now want to be a good dad and role model. I’m planning on going to Boise State when I ‘m finished with my program at the Lighthouse. I realize I can’t live without a commitment to God."

Jack

Rejection, Anger, Drugs, Prison

I have the joy and privilege of teaching my anger workshop to the men at the Lighthouse Mission. All are ex-cons, been druggies and are striving hard to make a new life. Some have let me tell their story. This is Paul's.

I found my girlfriend in bed with my best friend. In my house! Drugs weren’t immediately available. So I robbed a store. Result? Prison.

What is a young, good looking, pleasant personality guy who was an involved church goer and Christian doing in a place like that? As I interviewed Paul, I learned that his robbery experience began at the age of 11 by stealing a pack of cigarettes from a store. Got caught and his parents paid the fine. “It’s real strange,” the 25-year-old exclaimed. “Every three to four months I just go crazy. I’m doing well. Have a great job. Thinking clearly. Got friends, money, a house and car. Walking with God. Then, bam. I self-destruct. Alcohol, drugs and sex begin to creep back in. I begin to push away relationships. As people know me I fear they’ll not like me. I get angry. They don’t meet my expectations so I run away. It’s easier that way.”

Paul describes his childhood as a product of divorce at the age of three. He reports that his mom left his dad because of his alcohol and drug abuse. He had very little contact with him until the seventh grade when he lived with him for a year. At that time his dad was a youth pastor. He described his step-dad as passive and didn’t have relationship with him until this past year.

Mother was described as a Bible college graduate, very loving and a strong intercessory prayer warrior.

What is underneath the destructive behavior? We’re speculating. As a young teenager, he lived in a rough neighborhood where he was beat up a lot. He tried everything to be liked and accepted. No one did except druggies. He didn’t have to suffer consequences of aberrant behavior until prison. There is a rebellious streak in Paul. His behavior could in part be passive aggressive – an unconscoius getting back at someone. Self discipline is lacking. The self-exploration stage is currently in vogue.

One of the most destructive activities happened after being involved in a very controlling church atmosphere. He was doing well, was liked by everyone at church. He says, “I got prideful and became lax in my commitment with God. Sex and alcohol began to enter my life again. I confessed it to the church leaders and they ostracized me. Told everyone at church that they were not to associate with me. It destroyed me. I went crazy. I tried suicide two times. Quit my job. Lost my car. Kicked out of school. Beer and meth took over. Confinement to a hospital produced various sorts of diagnoses. I was caught with a DUI as a felon and sent to prison for 5 to 10. A miracle happened. The judge gave me 10 months and recommended I go to a rehab facility. I asked him to make it mandatory so I’d have to stick it out for a year.

I’m at the Lighthouse and learning.” Paul finished the interview with these words: “This last time I chose to entirely destroy my life. I hurt and pushed away every person who cared for me and I thought I had spit in God’s face for the last time. I thought God had utterly forsaken me and I had gone too far to go over the edge to ever come back to Christ. At the end of my rope when I was all alone and I thought nobody cared, God showed up in my desperation and showed me His Agape love. I realized the intimate love and relationship I so intensly sought for only came from God. “Now my intimacy with my savior is being restored and the deep bitterness I have been harboring towards myself and others is being healed. I am finally finding freedom from my unstable lifestyle and I am finishing this program which is building a new hope for a productive future.”

Paul