Luke 18: 18-27

I’m having a rough evening. I won’t go into detail – it might be unfair, and I don’t like to be unfair. But when something causes an abrupt shift into confusion, shame and hurt (and anger. But mostly misery) where there used to be love and affection, it’s easier for me to panic than it is to cope.

I wasn’t going to write about it. After all, when someone hurts you – malicious intent or no – it’s better to remain stoic, isn't it? It makes me look stronger, more capable, less idiotic, to stay silent and pretend I’m not devastated by this turn of events. So, I decided to cope. Couldn’t resist a single immature gesture, and can’t say I regret it – when wounded, I think we strike out. Seems fair.

After doing that, I decided to get drunk. Now, I get tipsy easily – am a silly, happy, giggly person when I have a single glass of wine. But I’ve never been drunk – the point where you’re stumbling, unable to form clear thoughts, throwing up. That’s undignified, I think. Actually, I don’t know that it is. It’s scary, is the truth of the matter. Being out of control, uninhibited, that in touch with my baser instincts – it makes me shy away out of fear. But I’m home alone with no plans to go out tonight, so drinking one of my nice Rieslings held some appeal.

I selected one from the wine rack I got for my 21st birthday, easily found my corkscrew in the utensil draw under the pretty china I placed on shelves. It’s a wheat pattern and belonged to my Grandma. It’s likely my favorite place in the house – looking at that wall. Knowing Grandma selected those dishes, Mom carefully stored them, and now I have them in my home. So I opened my wine, wondering when it had become so simple to do when at one time it required all four roommates to destroy the cork and force the alcohol out. I put ice in a glass – I drink wine cold and this was room temperature – filled it to the top, almost spilling over the cobalt rim of my glass, and gulped.

Then I did dishes for that soothes me. I normally do them in the morning – productive and lazy simultaneously – while I stare out the kitchen window. While it was easily my least favorite childhood chore, it now reminds me of home. Hands in hot, sudsy water. Scrubbing at dishes then rinsing them and placing them strategically in the drying rack. The clinking sounds, running water, standing on the soft mat that Mom bought me. I like it. But I kept taking breaks to gulp my wine – the ice now melted – and finished the glass before returning to the living room.

I wrote email to Unnamed Friend. Confessed the entire situation, which, in hindsight, was marked by my stupidity. Shared my plan for getting drunk, sick with misery the entire time. She comforted in her reply – sometimes we’re stupid, she said. Logic clicks off and it doesn’t make me a bad person. Drink if I wanted, but stop when it ceases to be enjoyable. Cry because if often helps. And I wrote back telling her I couldn’t cry – was simply too overwhelmed by this awful feeling – and had stopped drinking after a glass a half because I was starting to feel nauseated.

I took Tylenol PM – blessed sleep would certainly help. Putting time between me and the present moment seemed ideal. But the pills take about an hour to work for me. So I watched television. Heard Sprout meow through his door so I went to check on him. Offered more food, cleaned his litter, petted him for quite some time. He wanted out when I opened the door, but hissed when Chienne was revealed.

“I just can’t.” I told him sadly. Defeated. “I’m not up for it. Tomorrow. We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

I settled myself on the couch with Chienne, then hopped up to shower. Talked to myself while trying to relax, but ended up with wet hair and the same sick feeling afterward. Came back to the couch to watch Friends. I like Friends – it got me through grad school in particularly rough times. Gentle humor. Episodes seen many times. When it ended, I switched over to Who’s Line. Mom thinks it’s hysterical, and though I laugh more at her than the show, it’s a nice memory of time at home. So I watched for 10 minutes, decided I might be sleepy, so headed to bed.

As I stared at the ceiling, rubbing my fingers over the silky sheets, I kept looping through this bad decision I’d made. All the stupid things I’d said, the timeline, the new things I’d learned. And I felt suffocated by the pain.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” I told Chienne. And I despise vomiting. I refuse to do it unless the situation is dire. The thought that I would do it now – for this – enraged me. But I slipped quickly into self-pity again.

So I got up, passed the bathroom, and headed to the loveseat. I’ve spent countless hours here since moving, after all. I haven’t felt this badly since grad school, I decided. In the days when my defense seemed hopeless. The battle was too hard to fight. I wasn't going to win. No more calls to be made or emails to send to try to fix my situation. I just had to accept and deal with the consequences. Put my head down and find some happiness elsewhere.

So I tipped my head back as I sat here tonight, laptop still plugged in on the side table, unopened. Closed my eyes. And begged.

“Please.” I said to God, for while we’re spending time together in the mornings, that mental click that indicates to me that we’re doing well together hasn’t yet occurred. “Please, please, please, please, please. Help me.”

And the tears which seemed so far away earlier started. “I need You. I can’t do this. I don’t know how. I’m hopeless and scared and I don’t know what to do. Please. Let me have peace. Make this sickness stop. I don’t deserve it. I’m sorry. I know. But please.”

And I wept as the nausea eased, the sadness stepped back from its controlling position in my heart, and the peace descended. It surrounds me now – allowing the grief to settle gently, but blanketing the anger and confusion and humiliation. They’re distant in some way I recognize yet can't quite explain. I’m sad, but I think it’s more that I strayed from God. Got so caught up in my own plans and goals that I ran to them even while it was taking me away from Him. I knew it. And did it anyway. Willfull disobedience. Even with the knowledge that the rules He’s sent have more to do with protecting than controlling me. I scoffed at them and broke some. Because I wanted to do so.

And yet, I sat where I currently sit and asked. Just for a moment. And He came. I feel Him.

I opened the laptop and instead of a desperate desire to check email, or hope for new blog entries for distraction, I opened Our Daily Bread. Clicked right to today’s scripture reading. It’s from Luke, and I’m going to type it out because I want to remember.

A certain ruler asked him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good – except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.’”

“All these I have kept since I was a boy.” he said.

“When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”

When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was a man of great wealth. Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”

Those who heard this asked, “Who then can be saved?”

Jesus replied, “What is impossible with men is possible with God.”

I have become very sad – in the distant and recent past – because following God means giving up certain things I like. Secular interests, ways of thinking, the derision and superiority with which I sometimes view other people. I like those as much as I like my romance novel collection. They’re often far more appealing than a healthy relationship with God. Pure trust that He’ll guide me and live in me and I’ll find true peace and happiness? Nah - I'd rather try it myself.

Will this evening change my life? The arrival of peace that I view as miraculous? Past experience indicates it won’t. I love God now – profoundly appreciate that I’m no longer sick, don’t ache with misery. I'm peaceful and filled with comfort and love. In no need of encouraging comments or nice emails - God fixed it already. But tomorrow the world will beckon, and I’ll likely answer. Weak and undeserving. If I were God, I’d ignore me. Shake my head and turn away – allowing the suffering because it’s exactly where my choices lead. It’s the fair result.

But He didn’t. He came. He loved. He eased. Why? I’m not sure, actually. He’s God and I don’t get it on any profound level. I couldn’t do it in His position. But, well, “What is impossible with men is possible with God.”

I wanted to note my gratitude in the moment. Make sure I articulated it through the haze of Tylenol PM, though I do feel very awake right now. It’s important - what happened tonight. And I wanted to remember – not the pain, though I did see it coming and was, admittedly, warned in some gentle and obvious ways that straying from God doesn’t lead to lasting happiness and satisfaction. For me, for some blessed reason I don’t understand, the misery I bring about in my own life eventually loops back to where I should have been all along.

Humbled before God, asking for help and peace and guidance. Then receiving all those things.