Limping Forward

My wife Jodi has a picture of the two of us dancing at a wedding as the screensaver on her phone. She loves that picture. I hate it. It’s a good photo. She looks stunning. But I hate the man in it. That’s a little harsh, but it brings me back to a place of pain.

I made my decision at roughly 37,000 feet as I was flying across the Atlantic Ocean. . . It had to be done.

I never touched alcohol in high school or even college. Even as a Marine, I was boringly dry. I had seen the damage that too much alcohol could have on an individual and on a family. As long as I could remember, my grandparents were alcoholics. They were amazing, loving, funny, and high functioning. They were also addicts.

I don’t really remember how I started drinking. I do remember the occasional beer at a dive bar in Jerusalem. I remember meeting friends at Founders or New Holland Brewery for theological discussions. That was never the problem. But somewhere along the way I lost control. 

Like many others, my drinking grew during Covid. I assured myself that very few people could really understand what it was like being a pastor during the pandemic, not to mention all the stress of leading the church during the present political climate. At night, I just needed to unwind with a nice glass of bourbon–or was it three?

Somehow I slipped into the pattern of drinking every day. I was never drunk. I didn’t have that kind of a problem. But I did have a problem. I thought about drinking too much. I struggled to sleep through the night. I blamed the stress. It wasn’t the stress. I noticed myself having a shorter fuse with those closest to me. 

During my annual physical, which I do every five years or so, the doctor asked me if I did drugs: of course not. Did I smoke? Not even a puff. Did I drink alcohol? I knew I needed to lie a little on this one. I told him I did occasionally and made up a number of drinks I had per week that probably more closely reflected my daily consumption. I remember his eyes opening a little wider as he told me that even my made up amount was unhealthy. What did he know? 

He wasn’t the only one. My wife would give me sideways glances every now and then. She didn’t say anything, and yet she did. My kids, who were old enough to see what was happening, would make some jokes. I laughed on the outside, but on the inside I remembered making the same comments about my grandpa.

But more than that, more than the result of anyone else, I knew that I needed to quit. I don’t know if I was/am an alcoholic or not. I haven’t put much thought into it. What I do know is that alcohol was controlling me. I had thought about quitting for at least a year, and I kind of even wanted to. So why not just stop?

I was afraid. I was afraid of failure. If I never failed then I never had to admit that I had a problem. Could I really stop? The mountain seemed pretty steep. I was afraid of others. What would people I drank with say? Would they feel like I was judging them? Would they judge me? It seems like alcohol has become a glue that holds so many people together. What would happen when I took that away?

Let’s be honest, at least in my world, asking a guy out for a beer makes you normal. Asking a dude out just to chat and catch up on life makes you feel like a weirdo. What would people in my congregation say? Could I admit to a shortcoming? What would some of the people in my life who had told me that I should stop say? Would I get the “I told you so” from my wife, or even worse, my mother?

It didn’t matter. I needed to be done. So on that flight across the Atlantic two years ago, I made my decision. It hasn’t been easy, but my life has been so much better. Physically, I feel better than I have in years. I sleep well, my weight is down, and my eyes seem brighter. My drinking friends don’t feel judged, nor have they offered any judgment. We still hang out. Those in my congregation who were and are part of my journey have embraced me, lifting their leader up as I stumbled. My wife still gives me sideways glances but at least not for drinking. Apparently there are a few other things I need to work on.

I don’t share this looking for praise. I share this here because I have begun to tell my story. As I have told it, I have been moved by the number of people who have confided in me that they too have a problem. They are controlled by something. Food, alcohol, drugs, pornography, to name a few, are far more widespread than I ever imagined. Being vulnerable with my story has given others permission to tell me theirs. I listen intently and lovingly, not in judgment, not as a therapist, not even as a pastor, but as a fellow pilgrim limping along in God’s kingdom.

If something is controlling you, and you want it to stop, I encourage you to reach out to those around you. If you don’t have anyone, feel free to reach out to me. It’s not easy, but there is something beautiful on the other side.

A better screensaver is out there. Day by day I am still limping along, and I wouldn’t mind the company. 

Header photo by Vecteezy

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