I was under the false impression that it takes one time for God to reach out to us, after which, we become miraculously changed. I don’t believe that’s the case for most of us — especially if we aren’t open to receiving. Most of God’s nudges are subtle and a gift worth more than we realize in the moment. It’s amazing how God works on us over time to help us see truths and crush the lies. He’s opened my heart and my eyes. Here’s my story.
(I’ve changed the name of my ex-husband, who I refer to as my husband during this story. He’ll be called Jason. I’ve also changed the name of his female work friend. She’ll be called Sarah.)
During my infidelity filled marriage I used alcohol to cope. The only times I didn’t drink were during my pregnancies, or when I’d get on a health kick to purge myself. But whenever something profound happened, I’d reach for the bottle. Scathing feelings of shame and despair would grip me in return.
In 2016, we settled in a new town for Jason’s job. As we were driving one day, I noticed a beautiful church minutes from our apartment. I hadn’t been to church in years, but I felt compelled to go the more I drove past it. When I began attending, I’d sit through Sunday service on my high horse thinking about how much Jason would benefit from hearing the message. There I was — proud and self-righteous — thinking I wasn’t the one who needed to change.
A strong link in the chain of my slavery to alcoholism, was the clutching resentment I had towards Jason’s infidelities. I was always looking for a way to passive-aggressively punish him without taking a deeper look at myself. The realization didn’t come until later that I was comfortable with being the victim; because as long as I felt that nothing was my fault, then I had an excuse to drink.
Leading up to my alcohol-induced breakdown at our town’s Oktoberfest, I hadn’t attended church for well over a month. I was “managing” lowkey drinking habits thinking that I had everything under control. The day came for Oktoberfest. We left our kids with a babysitter and met up with Jason’s work friends at the fest. One of those work friends was a woman named Sarah. He talked about Sarah when he came home from work, and some nights he’d stay up late texting with her. Given his past with cheating, their friendship fed my insecurities. But there was no evidence that it was anything more, so I ignored my gut feeling of an impending betrayal.
I sucked down some shots and a couple huge steins of beer. My buzz took over as we were standing in line for bratwurst. We were all talking and having a good time when Sarah announces she’s off to find a porta-potty. “I’ll go with you,” Jason said, before darting after her. Forty-five minutes goes by and they’re still gone. I keep up awkward conversations with Sarah’s husband and his friends to distract myself from feeling worried. Does her husband think it’s weird that she’s been gone for this long with my husband? I glance towards the entrance of the tent before sending him a text. Minutes go by and there’s no response.
Without a word, I leave the table of acquaintances to go look for them, walking past the nearest porta-potty line. Strolling through different tents full of drunk people laughing and dancing, I choke back tears and avoid stares. My mind was sifting through memories of other occasions like this one where he’d left me in a strange and abrupt way. Whenever this happened another woman was always in the picture. I never felt like I was Jason’s valued wife, instead, I always ended up feeling like some tag along easily forgotten about.
It was much later once I crossed Jason’s path. Everyone was with him now, and they were all staring at me, worried. I walked towards the parking lot as fast as I could. Jason followed and began scolding me through his teeth, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. I just remember snapping on him. “I hate you! You disgust me!” I screamed. People walking to their cars paused to watch my rage on full display. When he took a step towards me, I shoved him backwards. His eyes widened as he approached me again, but this time I started kicking and swinging at him. He grabbed my arms and stopped my wild attempts to hurt him.
Storming off to the car was all I could do. Once we both slammed our car doors shut, I spewed every hateful phrase that came to mind. “I hate you! I can’t stand the sight of you!” Over and over again I berated him. Jason began crying the hardest I’d ever seen during our 8 years of marriage. There was no excuse for my behavior, but at that moment, I felt justified. Hurting him made me feel better.
I opened my eyes on Sunday morning feeling like my brain was minced meat in a frying pan. Searing pain intertwined with the memory of Jason crying into his lap. I tossed around in bed hoping to fall back asleep and prolong facing what I had done. Thoughts began to manifest in my mind, almost like whispers. Go to church. You need to go. The last thing I wanted to do was go to church with a horrific hangover, but the thoughts kept on pressing me. You need to go. Get up now!
Stabbing pains shot through my eyeballs as I stood up. I pressed my palms into my eye sockets hoping to relieve the pressure before heading to the closet to get dressed. If I was going to make it on time then I needed to leave straight away. In the living room, Jason and the kids were watching cartoons. “I’m going to church,” I told him. He acknowledged with a nod as I said goodbye to the kids and headed out the door.
Upon arriving at church, I forced a smile to the greeter at the entrance. The final worship song was being sung when I entered the doors of the church atrium. The atrium ceilings were high and the air was different from the air anywhere else. My emotions rose up out of my core as I walked towards the front and took an aisle seat in the third pew. I clenched my jaw trying to fight back the tears.
Pastor Jonathan came to the stage and said, “We like to mix it up here at Grace and do things a little differently at times. Today I’d like to come back to a topic that we never really talked about specifically here at Grace, and to do that I want to invite up here, Jamie Norton.” The title of the service then appeared on the screen above them, “When I Do What I Don’t Want To Do — Understanding and Overcoming Addiction”.
I couldn’t swallow down the tears anymore; they were falling down and I sobbed. Of all the times I sat in church denying my need to change and listen to the message — God wouldn’t allow me to deny this. This was for me. It was God who compelled me to be there that morning, and I felt the Holy Spirit near me in that moment of realization. All of the hair stood up on my body. I wanted to approach the stage, fall to my knees in front of the cross and shout out, Lord, You have my attention! Thank you for not giving up on me!
Jamie and pastor Jonathan continued to discuss addiction and how there’s hope in overcoming it. Jamie spoke openly about her own battle with alcoholism. With each passing minute, I felt the hold of my addiction beginning to loosen its grip on me. Like ivy being cut away from brick, my flaws and damages were exposed, but I didn’t care anymore.
I don’t remember much of the day after that, but I remember realizing for the first time in a long time that God loved me. I started going to Keys to Recovery which was a support group for addicts in our church. I felt confident that I could heal and address the deep-seated issues in my life and in my broken marriage. It took many attempts at sobriety after this before I was successful. But the hope that I found was vital, and the seed of change was planted.
Walking into church that day felt like finding my home after being lost in a forest laden with thorn bushes and dead ends. This isn’t a story I tell to persuade people to believe in God. I believe that a moment will come in everyone’s life, where God will show them that He’s there. That time is different for all of us. And it’s not up to me to decide when and if someone should believe that.
All I can say is, when you do see home in the distance, allow yourself to run towards that light. The darkness that surrounds you will grow smaller as you get closer to the door. When you open the door and embrace long awaited relief, there, you will also feel the unfailing love of your Father. He will always love you, and welcome you home. No matter what.