The Value of Faith
So here I am in my 40's, starting Personal Progress. I never heard back from the YW leader so I'm doing it on my own.
I'm not doing well. Early this morning I spent my OTB on illegal drugs and I'm just about to go pour myself a coffee.
I realise, of course, that that sounds absolutely terrible, and it is, but I am progressing, and that is beautiful.
In 2002 you would have run in the other direction if you'd seen me coming at you. I had track marks from my elbows to my knuckles, my lips were constantly split open from smoking drugs on hot metal or glass pipes, and I never drew a solitary sober if I could help it.
I believed in God because I hated God. Life and the filthy stinking world were all God's fault, right? Every night I'd shoot up cocaine in massive doses (I had an abcess on my arm so large it looked like there was half a grapefruit under my skin) and hope it would be the shot that killed me. Every morning I'd wake up and curse God for not having the decency to let me die, for being cruel enough to allow me to see another day.
In the early 2000's, while in jail after a fight, I came across a Catholic edition NRSV Bible. I was so bored I decided I might as well read it and I read about Job cursing the day he was born.
I related well and I did some praying but back then I had no root for my faith. When i was released I went right back to my old habits and I decided God was whimsical. I figured some days God was in a bad mood and taking it out on me, like a grumpy little kid kicking over an anthill.
That seems blasphemous to me now, but then I just didn't know. And Heavenly Father is so patient.
The real change began on Easter Saturday of 2007. I was alone in a crack house waiting for my then-boyfriend to come back from scoring dope. There was a set of rosary beads on the desk and for some reason I picked them up. I think I wanted to do something to make fun of God or religion but instead as I looked at the figurine on the crucifix I visualised Jesus on the cross for real. He looked up and directly at me but I desperately avoided his gaze. I did not want to see the judgement and condemnation he and God must have for me. I was certain that God hated me, regretted me, and condemned me. However, I finally looked back and met the gaze of Jesus from the cross and his eyes were full of love and regret. Love for me and regret that I wouldn't open my eyes and just see.
"Alright," I said out loud in the empty room. "Alright, Jesus. If you want me, you've got me. I'm never going to be your best bet."
The vision closed and I was just back in the room waiting to smoke crack but I felt a tiny bit better.
What God had in store was life-changing but that's for my next post.
I'm not doing well. Early this morning I spent my OTB on illegal drugs and I'm just about to go pour myself a coffee.
I realise, of course, that that sounds absolutely terrible, and it is, but I am progressing, and that is beautiful.
In 2002 you would have run in the other direction if you'd seen me coming at you. I had track marks from my elbows to my knuckles, my lips were constantly split open from smoking drugs on hot metal or glass pipes, and I never drew a solitary sober if I could help it.
I believed in God because I hated God. Life and the filthy stinking world were all God's fault, right? Every night I'd shoot up cocaine in massive doses (I had an abcess on my arm so large it looked like there was half a grapefruit under my skin) and hope it would be the shot that killed me. Every morning I'd wake up and curse God for not having the decency to let me die, for being cruel enough to allow me to see another day.
In the early 2000's, while in jail after a fight, I came across a Catholic edition NRSV Bible. I was so bored I decided I might as well read it and I read about Job cursing the day he was born.
I related well and I did some praying but back then I had no root for my faith. When i was released I went right back to my old habits and I decided God was whimsical. I figured some days God was in a bad mood and taking it out on me, like a grumpy little kid kicking over an anthill.
That seems blasphemous to me now, but then I just didn't know. And Heavenly Father is so patient.
The real change began on Easter Saturday of 2007. I was alone in a crack house waiting for my then-boyfriend to come back from scoring dope. There was a set of rosary beads on the desk and for some reason I picked them up. I think I wanted to do something to make fun of God or religion but instead as I looked at the figurine on the crucifix I visualised Jesus on the cross for real. He looked up and directly at me but I desperately avoided his gaze. I did not want to see the judgement and condemnation he and God must have for me. I was certain that God hated me, regretted me, and condemned me. However, I finally looked back and met the gaze of Jesus from the cross and his eyes were full of love and regret. Love for me and regret that I wouldn't open my eyes and just see.
"Alright," I said out loud in the empty room. "Alright, Jesus. If you want me, you've got me. I'm never going to be your best bet."
The vision closed and I was just back in the room waiting to smoke crack but I felt a tiny bit better.
What God had in store was life-changing but that's for my next post.
Comments
Post a Comment