Be careful what you pray for.
I’ve heard it all my life – even quoted it myself. You may have used it too.
“Be careful what you pray for.”
Oh how real that statement became to me on September 4th, 2009. Lump and I (that’s my wife for those of you who didn’t get a chance to read my first post) set out late that afternoon for Tennessee. The occasion? My parent’s wedding anniversary – their 50th wedding anniversary.
The weekend was supposed to be one of celebration and relaxation.
For me and Lump, it would be neither.
About the time we rolled into the outskirts of the “Myrtle Beach moved west”, miniature golf and go-cart saturated, lights and traffic of the Smokey Mts. tourist city, Gatlinburg…Lump’s cell phone rang. In normal fashion she answered the call. By the look on her face it didn’t take me long to determine…
This call was not good.
The side door of our house had been kicked in.
The police were there – they had done the kicking.
They were executing a search warrant.
My first response was “WHAT?!” But Lump’s was “WHY?!” I didn’t have to ask why… I already knew…and I certainly had a lot of explaining to do. Needless to say, the trip was shot!
Approximately six months prior to that – I’m not exact on the date, although I certainly remember the conversation – I was driving into work, sick and shaky. Sick and shaky because the handful of prescription pain pills that I had taken about 30 minutes earlier to relieve the dope sick feeling I experienced nearly every A.M. had not yet kicked in. I was overwhelmed.
So done with allowing a chemical to control my every move. It went further than that though – I was tired of THE LIE and the lies that accompany and hold up THE LIE. The truth was…
I was not alright!
I was not okay!
Everything wasn’t good!
How could I be? I was juggling two lives – one that looked like all was well, productive and “Christian” – and another that was controlled by a physical dependency on a chemical that screamed and YELLED “Feed me and I mean NOW!”
Believe you me, I had been tired of feeding the monster of addiction for a long time; the pain pills hadn’t “worked” for quite a while now. I had, once again, reached that point – the point of being sick and tired of being sick and tired. Tired, beaten and battered… I pressed on. My PRIDE held me. I was stuck! At least I felt stuck. I couldn’t fall! I had too many people counting on me. I couldn’t admit that I had, once again, allowed myself to become physically, emotionally, and mentally dependent on pain pills. My spiritual life was in the gutter. What would people think? What would people say? THE LIE and the sustaining of THE LIE were literally killing me.
That’s when I prayed it.
That’s when - with frustration at a boiling point, stress in my voice and tears in my eyes – I pounded my hands on the steering wheel of my truck and screamed out,
“God, I wish I could just get brutally honest!!!”
I knew what I meant. Moreover, God knew what I meant and knew what I needed. However, like His timing usually works – never when we imagine it should – the answer didn’t’ come until some six months later. Specifically, September 4th, 2009. But when it came, it came…
My cry to God to be able to get brutally honest was about to be answered, and my greatest fear was about to be realized. I was about to be EXPOSED.
…from the inside…ray-ray