Post by majestyjo on Apr 29, 2018 21:34:49 GMT -5
More Language Of Letting Go
Ask God what to do
I was in treatment for chemical dependency. All I wanted to do was get high, cop some dope,do what I’d done for the past twelve years–obliterate myself. As a last ditch, almost hopeless gesture, I looked at the ceiling in my stark room, the place I had been assigned to sleep. I prayed, God, if there is a program to help me stop using, please help me get it. Twelve days later, sobriety fell down upon me, changing me at the very core of my being, altering the entire course of my life.
I divorced my husband and took on the single-parenting and single-financing role, continuing to pursue my dream of being a writer. My kitchen cupboards were nearly bare of food. I’m not that hungry, but the children are, I prayed. “Don’t worry,” an angelic voice whispered in my ear. “Soon you’ll never have to worry about money again– unless you want to.” An immutable peace settled over me. No food or money fell from the sky. But the peace, a peace as tangible and thick as butter and as healing as the oils of heaven themselves, spread throughout my life.
Years later, my son was stapped to a hospital bed. I touched his foot, his hand. I knew, despite the whooshing of the breathing apparatus, that he was not in that shell anymore. Then the plug got pulled. “No hope, no hope, no hope,” are the only words I can remember. Now, the whooshing sound turns to silence. I say good-bye, walk out of the room, just put one foot in front and walk.
“Just pick me up, and get me some drugs,” I say to a friend, three days later. “I’ve got to have some relief from this pain.” Driving around in the car, hours later, I look at the fresh box of syringes on the seat next to me. “Tell me what you want to put in them,” he says. “Cocaine? Dilaudid? What?” His irritation is as obvious as my hopelessness. My mind runs through the routine. Dilaudid? A medical prescription. If I needed it, legitimately needed it, a doctor would prescribe it for me. No prayers. No hopes. Just simple words came out, this time. “Just take me home,” I said. “I don’t really want to get high.”
Prayer changes things. Prayer changes us. Prayer changes life. Sometimes an event has been manifested that needs to be stopped, midair. Don’t pray just when you’re in trouble. Pray every day. Surround yourself with prayer. You never know when you might need an extra miracle.
Today, if I’ve tried everything else, I’ll try prayer,too.
Ask God what to do
I was in treatment for chemical dependency. All I wanted to do was get high, cop some dope,do what I’d done for the past twelve years–obliterate myself. As a last ditch, almost hopeless gesture, I looked at the ceiling in my stark room, the place I had been assigned to sleep. I prayed, God, if there is a program to help me stop using, please help me get it. Twelve days later, sobriety fell down upon me, changing me at the very core of my being, altering the entire course of my life.
I divorced my husband and took on the single-parenting and single-financing role, continuing to pursue my dream of being a writer. My kitchen cupboards were nearly bare of food. I’m not that hungry, but the children are, I prayed. “Don’t worry,” an angelic voice whispered in my ear. “Soon you’ll never have to worry about money again– unless you want to.” An immutable peace settled over me. No food or money fell from the sky. But the peace, a peace as tangible and thick as butter and as healing as the oils of heaven themselves, spread throughout my life.
Years later, my son was stapped to a hospital bed. I touched his foot, his hand. I knew, despite the whooshing of the breathing apparatus, that he was not in that shell anymore. Then the plug got pulled. “No hope, no hope, no hope,” are the only words I can remember. Now, the whooshing sound turns to silence. I say good-bye, walk out of the room, just put one foot in front and walk.
“Just pick me up, and get me some drugs,” I say to a friend, three days later. “I’ve got to have some relief from this pain.” Driving around in the car, hours later, I look at the fresh box of syringes on the seat next to me. “Tell me what you want to put in them,” he says. “Cocaine? Dilaudid? What?” His irritation is as obvious as my hopelessness. My mind runs through the routine. Dilaudid? A medical prescription. If I needed it, legitimately needed it, a doctor would prescribe it for me. No prayers. No hopes. Just simple words came out, this time. “Just take me home,” I said. “I don’t really want to get high.”
Prayer changes things. Prayer changes us. Prayer changes life. Sometimes an event has been manifested that needs to be stopped, midair. Don’t pray just when you’re in trouble. Pray every day. Surround yourself with prayer. You never know when you might need an extra miracle.
Today, if I’ve tried everything else, I’ll try prayer,too.
. I will be back looking for Lin and others.