About two years ago, I lost my husband to liver cirrhosis. He had celebrated 4 months sobriety shortly before his passing. It was a beautiful four months. When he died, I wasn’t angry with my husband; I understood the nature of the disease and that he never meant to hurt me. But I was angry at the disease that left me a widow.
Alcoholism took my husband from me and “daddy” away from my boys. Alcoholism robbed Brett and I of years of a loving, joyful marriage. It stole my creativity and friendships, as I poured my energy and time into a codependent relationship. After Brett died, I was so angry at alcoholism. And when I witnessed others caught in the snare of the disease, I just wanted to take them by the shoulders and shake them awake, to scream at the top of my lungs at the disease robbing them and their families of what could be.
Anger and fear are blocks to love. And I wasn’t just angry, I was raging. How could I love those in the grip of the disease while stuck in my own anger? How could I serve when the love within me was blocked?
I couldn’t. In order to serve, I needed to be healed.
Unexpected Blessing
About a month ago, a friend of mine invited me to attend their sobriety anniversary, to hear them speak at their AA home group. I agreed to go, in order to support them. Well, to be clear, I went because I felt the Holy Spirit tell me to go. I just assumed the reason was to support them.
That night, it quickly became apparent that the Holy Spirit hadn’t sent me to the meeting for them. I was sent for me. God had hand-picked this night for my healing. As my friend spoke, I finally felt heard for all the pain that I experienced for years. The “suckiness” of the whole situation was acknowledged, how my life had fallen to shambles, how deeply it had hurt. This was something that Brett and I never spoke of, as I wanted to give him a fresh start when he was finally making his journey of sobriety. And yet, I needed those words spoken. I needed someone to “hear” me and acknowledge how hard those years were.
I also needed to see the other side of things. As I heard each of those beautiful souls within the home group speak their truth, I saw the gifts of alcoholism, how healing from the disease left many of these people more whole than they were before they picked up their first drink. By the end of the meeting, as we recited the Lord’s Prayer, I was choking back tears, unable to speak the familiar words. I was simply overcome with emotion, both with joy at the deep spirituality of those in the room and with the release of the pain that I held deep within, unacknowledged, for years.
Releasing the Anger
A few days later, I was talking to another friend whose son is currently sick with alcoholism. Her son appears unlikely to seek treatment in time to save his life. As she shared her pain, I felt the anger at the disease rise up within me once more. This time, however, with awareness. It was time to fully release my anger…but how?
The Gifts of Alcoholism
As I prayed for help in this transformation, God opened my eyes to see that, though alcoholism had taken so much from me, it had given me so much more.
If it weren’t for the disease and the journey it took me on, I would not have gotten to witness my husband’s healing. Because of the subsequent path of healing, I met so many beautiful souls whom I would not have otherwise. I deepened other relationships that would have stayed on the surface level. My closest, most life-giving relationships would be absent from my life were it not for the disease. Without alcoholism, my faith and the faith of my children would not be as strong. Without the disease, I would not get to walk with my husband so intimately through the veil. Finally, without alcoholism, I would not have spiritually awakened and been able to serve as I do.
When I look at myself and my family, some may argue that there was a net loss. But when I look at both the impact our healing journey has had on our lives and the influence our family has on the world at large as a result of this healing, I see net gain.
Realizing this, my relationship with the disease has shifted. Now, instead of seeing it as an enemy, I can see it neutrally and even come face to face with it with a smile, willing and able to see the blessings it has given me. Armed with forgiveness and devoid of fear and anger at the disease, I can now serve where God had called me. I can reach out to those still in the grips of addiction and their family members.
God has healed me for service.
Eyes of Love
Shortly after this healing, I had the opportunity to come face to face with someone who is still stuck in the darkness of addiction. This time, instead of feeling the familiar anger rise up, I just witnessed the beauty of my friend’s soul from a place of love. As a result, we both opened up to each other in a life-giving conversation that lasted for hours.
As MLK Jr. said,
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”
Because of my new relationship with the disease, the healing power of light and love could once again flow through me.
The Wheat and The Tares
In Matthew 13:24-43, Jesus tells of a farmer who plants wheat in a field and whose enemy planted weeds that grew up among the wheat. Because the roots intertwined as they grew, the farmer chose to allow the weeds to remain. If he were to uproot the weeds, the wheat would be damaged.
Why is alcoholism not gone? Because, just as the wheat and weeds have intertwining roots, so too do the blessings and tragedies that stem from alcoholism. Take away the tragedy, and, because the roots grow together, the blessings too will disappear.
Addiction is at the root of many tragedies, but those roots are intertwined with those of blessing and growth. In this world, they coexist.
Gathered into the Fire
For now, the positive and negative impacts of the disease grow together. Daily, I see the pain in my students, my children, my family, pain that stems from addiction. Seeing the scars left behind on those I care about cuts me to the core. However, thanks to the grace of God, more often I see the gifts. As Jesus promises in the parable of the wheat and tares, one day we will reach the other side and the weeds will be gathered and burned away. All that will be left are the lessons learned, the beauty the disease gave us.
And so, I refuse to let my eyes linger on what I previously believed alcoholism took from me. Instead, I choose to turn my gaze to the gifts that I was given on my healing journey, let peace and joy fill my heart, and say “thank you.” And then, my heart full, I will carry that light and love out to the hurting. Perhaps, by shining my light, I will help them to see the gifts and light in their own journey.