We are THAT Family…..
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It’s not fun to write this article. In fact, I would like nothing better than to be unable to have the expertise to share with you. I’m not going to tell you my name or where I live. I’m going to spare you some detail. Just know that I do know what I’m talking about. It’s not a textbook theory, it’s an every day ‘real-life expose’ of heartache – and hope. Both my spouse and myself work for the church. Both of us love Jesus. Both of us have no history of addiction. And both of us together share the pain of an alcoholic, addicted child.
This story began with joy! The entrance of this beautiful baby into our home filled our world with love and laughter and hopes and dreams. None of which included the slightest inkling that it could even be possible for our child to become….that child – The Addict. The Alcoholic. The Outcast. The Shunned. We had a great life with a lot of good things in it! Of course we had ups and downs as a family – just like every family! Of course, looking back, we wish we could parent better. I am here to testify: we honestly, prayerfully tried to do everything possible to assure that our children would have the best opportunity to choose Jesus. This beloved child grew in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man. At their absolutely incredible baptism, this thoughtful, intuitive child wrote to all the people who had helped along their journey of falling in love with Jesus, and I’m telling you – everyone loved this child.
Until the day they didn’t. Until….the day when our child left academy and then left home and went head first into the drug culture. Little by little, influences crept into this child’s life through associations at our local Adventist school. And they were heartbreaking. In the course of eight weeks this child went from loving God, loving us, loving school, to hating school, hating us, hating God. Somewhere a switch flipped. Somewhere a straw broke. Somewhere a demon laughed.
Of course you are filled with questions and assumptions as you read this. There was a time I would have been the same way. While you might say to me, “It’s not your fault – at a certain point every child makes their own choice,” at the same time you wonder, “What was their home like? They probably didn’t spend much time with their child…And I wonder if….” On and on it goes. Because we know what should happen when we put the correct change into the vending machine of life.
One of things I have learned on this journey is that my clean, safe life could be (and was) ripped from me at a moment’s notice, and sometimes there are simply no answers. And even if there are answers – they don’t matter. All that matters is that one of God’s beloved is out in the storm, and needs to be rescued by the Savior, and loved by the others still on the inside.
And because addiction affects the whole family, ours was no exception. We became the textbook example of a dysfunctional family. When this beloved child became an addict, we were still thinking/hoping/praying that a corner would be turned, a choice would be made, and behavior would be stopped….But it didn’t happen that way. Thinking we were being wise parents, we tried to step up the control. Find stuff. Destroy it. Rein in curfew times. Be more observant, give wisdom. However, this was not what our addict wanted. Although honor and obedience had been a part of life, it was now set aside by this child.
We lived in unpredictability and fear. What would this beloved addict do or say today? Would our phone ring with news we did not want to hear? Of course this created intense conflict. We desperately tried to batten down the hatches of control, trying to save the ship from capsizing. Not only was there conflict with the addict, there was conflict in our marriage over how to best deal with the sinking ship. And we suffered abuse. It was excruciating to have our child become totally disrespectful, unkind, and even demeaning. This child, who had told another friend’s mother that we, the parents, were best friends with this child and they could talk to us about anything,
And so we tried to be everything we thought we should be, to do everything we thought we should do, to no avail. Our beloved addict did not want to communicate with us, and when “communication” did happen, it was strained or totally dominated by the addict, including intense interruption, and twisting our words to make them say something we did not intend at all. Little by little, life centered around the addict. It was not pretty. It was not fun. Our ministry suffered. And we, who truly thought we had done everything possible to prevent anything like this from ever happening in our family, now lived in shame, guilt, disillusionment, and discouragement.
Finally, after nearly dying on more than one occasion, our beloved addict decided to accept help, and so we began the journey toward recovery. Not just the addict is in recovery, we are in recovery. Hard lessons have been learned. Setbacks have occurred. The road is not pothole-free, and we still ask ourselves, “How ever did we get here?” We see things we could’ve done differently. But this I know: The story is not over! The Redeemer is not finished! It is not easy to share the story. Things are fresh. Our addict deserves to share when they are ready to share, rather than to be an object lesson presented by us.
So here is my hope and dream for us, members of the Adventist church at large: 1) We must love. We must never, ever allow a single person to believe they have no worth. Never. Ever. 2) We must become better educated about addiction, and we must live, talk, and behave out of a grace-based, rather than shame-based mindset. 3) We must change our paradigm on what happens when one of our own is tripped up by the enemy. Rather than pushing them away, we must somehow find ways to show them they still have a place in the family of God. 4) We must find ways to keep our beloved addicts connected to us. Through the setbacks. Through relapse. Through pain. Through disappointment. Connection, compassion, grace. Who knows, maybe you can be the one to offer it to my beloved addict?
Anonymous