I woke this morning to my ninetieth day of sobriety. It is a day that I wish were marked by the morning melody of the robin or the cardinal—the staple songbirds of the Ozarks—but they’ve all flown the coop for the winter. Outside there is only a soft wind and the quiet cold.
I light the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, watch the star of promise reflecting again. For unto us a child was born, is being born, will be born again! He is Emmanuel, God with us, and he came to walk as humans walk; he came to show us the path to peace. Thirty-six years into life, and I wonder whether I’ve finally found him, whether I’ve finally found his road by being born into a forgiving heart.
I peek through the door to Titus’s room, and he is lying with Jude on the bottom bunk. They are asleep to the world—its prospective pains and joys alike—and their faces are free of care. Titus has stripped his shirt off in the night, and I see his exposed ribs. He is still rail thin and gaunt, still without healing. He is making it through, though, and each day his eyes grow a little brighter, shining like the coming Christmas star. By his sickness, I have been drawn closer to the Christ who was swaddled in the manger—Emmanuel, God with us.
Sobriety has become second nature these days. Though on occasion, the thirst for whiskey or gin comes calling. On occasion, the pit of my stomach leaps at the thought of supple red wine. I don’t suspect this will stop anytime soon. Life will do what life does, and some stressor will rear its head. This world is quite adept at triggering pain. I’ll be tempted to allow the mocking voices back into the cave of my soul, back into the place reserved for communion with God, but I hope I’ll remember the way of inner sobriety. It’s the way of bending my will to the mystery of God, of facing pain, of forgiving those who’ve inflicted wounds and will inflict wounds in the future.
Yes, this is the way of our Christ.
There is a powerful peace in the reconciliation of Christ. There is peace for the taking, and peace for the making. There is an end to the mocking voices. There is a quantum reckoning. I know. My Lord told me so.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. . . . Rise, let us go from here” (John 14:27–31 ESV).