I had the opportunity to speak in front of the recovery community at Lighthouse Church while being here in Fargo, ND. Snow was melting on the streets outside. They were honoring milestones: 1 month, 1 year, and annuals. I just hit 12 years sober, so here's what I shared:
"Over twelve years ago, I remember lying on my bathroom floor using a towel as a blanket, hungover, harassed by memories from the night before that were so embarrassing I wished they were dreams – and along with those memories flooded more from the weeks and months and years before that, along with a shame that was so deep it felt like it was being delivered via spinal tap that pushed beyond my spine all the way to my soul.
And in all of those memories, looking back now – whether it’s me blacked out in a car, or sleeping in an alley, or trying to drink enough to forget my name; I see myself as being in one spot, one prison, the whole time. Like in each of those moments I was buckling under the same set of iron shackles that had been forged by my own bitterness, my own self-hatred, my own self-obsession; I was captured in some kind of internal jailhouse.
On that first day I quit drinking twelve years ago, it’s like I can hear, now, though time, the first strike – the first clang – of an iron hammer against those shackles, and with each day I decided to stay sober there was another clang that sung the truths that slowly set me free. “I forgive myself and I am loved.” Clang. “I forgive everyone who I have been hurt by, and I will love them, too.” Clang. “I will reach for others who are drowning like I have drowned.” Clang. “Every breath that passes through my lungs is precious.” Clang.
And on and on it went until today – except it doesn’t feel like that hammer is beating me free from an internal prison any longer, it feels like those chains have fallen off of me, and I’m a blacksmith in an open field. And using that same iron that once bound me and using that same hammer, I’m somehow forging something new – like I was gifted iron in my suffering so I’d have the raw materials needed to forge whatever armor or ladder or sword I might need to step back into the dark and help others find their way to their own freedom.
I’ve been in Fargo for just a month, and I leave this Saturday, but in my short time here I’ve been in many meetings and services with many of you. And it’s like I can hear the iron clang of your own hammers against your own shackles, and I can hear the foot falls of you escaping your own prisons, sprinting through an open field along with me toward a horizon we all thought did not exist.
I may not know you, and I may not see you again, but I support you all and I love you all, and I hope you know – each day your hammer clangs is a victory, and that victory is available again if ever, whenever, you fall. And if that hammer on some days seems too heavy, I hope you know that God is with you, and he will help you lift it – and not only that, he has been with you the whole time. And like a father to his son, or a father to his daughter – he says, “Do not fear, for I am with you.” Isaiah 41:10. “I am close to the brokenhearted, and I save those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18. “Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am He. I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” Isaiah 46:4. You are not alone.
12-years free. Thank you so much. Hallelujah."
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