Of Drugs, Drool, and Bondage to Sin

No matter what the reason is for the addiction or crime committed, the ladies in recovery come to rehab to find their way, to learn the why behind their broken choices, and to rise above the lifestyle of lost pursuits.

One girl has come back to recovery three times, her desire to change appeared real and honest. But once she left, her promises to herself and to God fell like sad teardrops into the ditch of sin.

The bed of that ditch enticed and lured her, and she relied on her own strength to conquer her past. Or possibly, she’s even played games with those who offered help, just to get free from spending time in jail. It’s complex. And only she knows the answer.

She’s led worship songs in recovery, and she’s nodded at the right places when I teach from my Bible. She’s prayed with me. And then each time, she’s assured me of her desire to win at life with God.

After her last release, I ran into her in front of the library one evening, and what looked like dried slobber coated her chin and neck. Her disheveled shirt held a spot that appeared to be caked vomit, something I didn’t ask about, but found myself staring at while talking to her.

The stains on her pants and tangled hair told me things were amiss even though I’d just worshiped with her the day before at the recovery center. She’d sung in church for the ladies, too, and made new promises, those that (now) seemed tucked into forgetfulness and a foggy mind.

She asked for a ride to a nearby Wal-Mart to meet up with a friend, swaying from side-to-side, and speaking in a slur of questions. From what I remember, her eyes allowed me to see deep inside her, a truth which told me she hadn’t conquered the call of using drugs. She was still a slave to them.

My gut reaction placed a wall between us, an invisible one, but I wasn’t giving her ride in that condition. The uneasiness in my stomach told me to let her figure out her next steps. So I prayed silently for her safety, for those she’d meet, and for God to whisper his “love-message” of redemption to her until she surrendered.

I asked if she had anyone who might come for her, but the bridges she’d burned with family and maybe even friends left her without options.

Turning, she moved to the grass, crumpling like a wad of paper without the words or sentences to make sense of her plight. She dug inside her dirty purse, and drooled on her shirt, sighing and mumbling, rocking with her legs crossed.

I moved to go inside the library to study my Bible with my homeless friend, and my heart unraveled into a shooting pain of sorrow. My chest felt like my veins were gushing with tears of blood like a power washer was exploding inside me.

I longed to solve her problems, but I knew the Lord held the answer to her questions. That I could point her to Christ, but He does the calling. And somehow, I knew she knew this, too.

Later that night, she was arrested, and not long after the incident she’d get out of jail, go to a city three hours away and be on probation.

Since then, she’s reached out to me on social media, telling me how grateful she was that I always treated her like a friend. She said I never spoke harshly to her, that I was willing to pray with her, and she thanked me for allowing her the chance to sing for the Lord in recovery.

I am believing in victory for this little friend, a dear and precious soul. May the call of Christ continue, and may she find the grace from Him, that will wash over her soul and redeem her life.

He’s great at rescuing lost people. That’s why He came! Christ is our Hope!

 

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