It is no secret that I was a fall down, pass out in his own puke, urinated on by dogs,frozen to the sidewalk drunk.
That about sums it up...
Early on, I spent a lot of time bouncing in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous. I would walk thru its doors, generally in the basement of a Church and sit at the back table, quietly waiting for the moment I dreaded; the time in the meeting when they would ask if anyone is here for their first time, or coming back after relapse. Then they would give you a chip, white in color, to signify surrender to the disease and commitment to try sobriety again, one day at a time.
In a few years, I had quite a collection of those "White chips". Sometimes I used them to play poker. I had made a month sober a few times and ninety days once, I think. I had so many that once the old guy running the meeting that night refused to give me one. He said " Why waste it on him, he's just going to go back out again". He was right. I did.
I was cursed at that time with the one thing that will torture an active alcoholics life more than anything else, anywhere, in this world.
Hope.
Somewhere deep inside was a fragment of hope that I could change, that someday I might WANT to change...
Wanting to want to change; an alcoholic Hell.
Don't worry. It does get better.
About six months later I was stationed at Norfolk, Virginia. It had been just over ninety days since my last drink. I had read most of the books, had the " One day at a time" bumper sticker on my Volkswagen van and was doing pretty darn good. I was attending meetings three or four times a week and sometimes shared at those meetings. I had heard of miracles, those times " God remains anonymous" as we liked to say. Stories of people on the brink having someone show up out of the blue and say something that changed their mind, touched their soul and gave them the strength enough to stay sober that particular one more day..
Great stories, but that had never happened to me.
I awoke one night about eleven o'clock at night and knew I was going to drink again. No rush, I thought, the bars would be closing in three hours. I would do it tommorow, sleep in to prepare.
The next afternoon I was in my van, driving down the main drag, heading for my old man style drinking hole called The Green Wheel Inn. I thought of those times that they had talked about and I spoke to God as I continued my drive to the bar. " I've heard the stories so here's the deal. If someone from A.A. flags me down on the way to the bar, I won't drink". It was a suckers bet, I had about half a mile left before the turn into the parking lot.
Crazy thing is God is NOT a sucker. Seconds after I made this deal, a car on my left honked his horn. I looked over and a man was rolling down his passenger side electric window and waving, trying to get my attention...
Frustrated, this was the only time in my life I hoped it was some gay guy trying to pick me up. I wanted to drink, damn it!
He continued this game of charades until I rolled down my drivers side window. At the red light he yelled over " Are you a friend of Bill Wilson"?
This is the way someone from A.A. asks if you are a member. Bill Wilson started A.A. so they ask if you are his friend. The A.A. secret handshake thing..
I looked over at his smiling, concerned face and quietly said "Yes".
" I was driving down the road and noticed your bumper sticker. Out of the blue something told me to stop you and say hello, let you know I'm in A.A." he said.
" Yes, I'm in A.A. . Thanks for letting me know" I told him. He smiled, rolled up his window and drove away. I changed lanes then pulled into a parking lot. Instead of turning around I stopped the van, got out and went to the back bumper and proceeded to rip off the Mylar " One day at a time" bumper sticker. " This will never happen again" I said and walked into the bar. I drank there until they closed...
The Burning Bush. God had not only put The Burning Bush in front of me, He basically made it a forest fire. At that moment two things happened inside of me. The first was the distinct realization that I could never blame God again for my drinking. That was abundantly clear. He created a miracle and I rejected it. God would no longer be my scapegoat.
The second thing actually gave me some comfort. I had lost all hope. I knew that my choice was made, un changeable , undeniable. Even if my heart did change, I had read The Bible and knew what happened when Moses lacked faith and hit the rock twice for water. He was denied seeing the promised land.
It didn't matter. I was at peace. God took my last excuse. The torment of doubt was over and I could go on in that peace..
I may have remembered Moses, but I evidently forgot about Jesus.
Six months later, after a series of nights drinking bourbon, eating slices of bread to keep down the booze and puking up that mixture with my own blood into a pail in my lap, I passed out for the last time.
This time God did not show me a Burning Bush. He sent one of his own precious children with a simple choice. Die a meaningless death after a meaningless life or accept the Salvation Jesus freely offered. That fragment of hope returned, turning out to be The Holy Spirit. It grew inside and changed the man who rejected Gods miracle months before. The new man accepted, repented and changed.
I told you it got better..
Second chances...thousandth chances...last chances..
He gives them to us all and Graces us with the vision to see them.
I missed the Burning Bush. I was meant to. God had much more to teach and I had much more to learn. When He was ready, He made me ready.
I guess it is just as simple as that..
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