Believe it or not, it began nearly 20 years ago — the start of my dirty, little love affair with alcohol. And it's been going strong ever since…
20 years… such a long time to keep the embers burning on a bad relationship, but I just couldn't ever seem to escape it. I was never strong enough to leave… and even when I tried to, it always drew me back in with it's intoxicating nature. 
The thing I most hated about it was the exact thing I could never seem to resist, no matter how abusive it was to me and my body.
Since the age of 14, there have been so many times in my life (too many for my memory to even permit me to recount right now) when I've become violently ill from getting hammered at some party or in latter years – at some shady, cheap bar. Too many times I've been drunk on liquor. Too many times I've neglected my body and have taken my health for granted, ingesting as much beer as possible, and spending the next day hugging the porcelain god and pleading with Papa (God) to make it go away. Each time, making empty promises to Him to quit drinking for good. I know the word "hammered" all too well. I've lived it over and over and over again. But up until 2 days ago… me and that damn word had never grown so intimate…
"Hammered" – the word spoken over me (by my squad leader) for my month in Moldova. When I heard it roll off her tongue, I was disappointed and my defenses quickly rose. Other team leaders had received words like, "anchor" or "fancied". I couldn't help but be jealous… at least just a tad. Though I knew the month in Moldova would present challenges, I was sure me and Papa could handle them – together. I was certain nothing – NOTHING – could make me feel hammered.
2 days ago, reflecting on the moment when Christy revealed that word to me, "hammered", I laughed at the thought, because even though the month had been difficult, the word "hammered" is not one I would've used to define this month. I snickered even harder at the thought of leaving Moldova in 4 days; in some strange way I felt I had escaped from the weight of the "prophetic" word – "hammered".
But within hours I became extremely sick. I had been battling illness – colds and sinus infections and tummy aches – all month, but this was vastly different. This was intolerable and debilitating. This illness… hammered me.
The left side of my neck became inflamed with severe pain. I tried to ignore it, perhaps even deny it, but then chills ran throughout my entire body. No matter what I did, I couldn't get warm — though the day had been warmer than previous days. I laid down, and from there things got progressively worse. Fever, chills, nausea, vomiting, aches all over and the neck pain/stiffness kept increasing. It made throwing up all the more difficult. My whole team surrounded me, praying over me and loving on me. If ever I had wondered what it was like to have Jesus as a nurse, I now know. They took care of me every minute – for hours upon hours. I sobbed relentlessly for most of the first 8 hours and at several different points, I voiced aloud a somber death wish. I had felt worse than I had ever felt in my entire life. And because of the pain I was in, I couldn't sleep it off. I write this to you now, as I'm 2 days into recovery, still feeling very weak, but the memories are fresh in mind. It's appears highly likely that I had viral meningitis, though, there's no way for us to know that for certain. The only thing I can say is that it was pure hell while it lasted.
I've never had the flu, and I rarely get sick aside from yearly sinus infections. The only thing I can closely liken this to are the times when I've gotten hammered – on alcohol, becoming severely sick afterwards. That's a hard and shameful thing for me to admit to you, and the thought of it is bringing tears to my eyes right now. In those moments of foolish drunkenness, I willingly and gladfully chose harm over my body. I chose destruction and death. In those moments, I chose to deny my greatest love, Jesus, and just the thought is causing me deep heartache right now.
I now know that this word – "hammered" – wasn't spoken over me by accident… or without good reason. I now understand Papa's purpose in all this… in Christy giving me that word, in getting severely ill, in having to persevere through the illness when I repeatedly pleaded for Him to take it away. And the parallel between getting hammered in the past and getting hammered just a few days ago is too uncanny to ignore.
You see, my Jesus is so amazing, so real, so loving, so beautiful, so perfect and so precious. He's so good that He's worth giving up anything and everything for. He's better than Starbuck's. He's better than American conveniences. He's better than your favorite comfort foods. He's better than chocolate cake (which is one of my most favorite things in the whole world ;). He's better than your dream house. He's better than wealth and power. He's better than achievement. He's even better than sex and alcohol – the two greatest sins I've struggled with for years… even somewhat recently.
I've been saying for months that I believe Papa is calling me to completely give up drinking alcohol. And I was able to do that for a 6-month period earlier this year, but I carelessly picked backed up the habit a few months before leaving for the Race – like a woman running sheepishly back to an abusive spouse. To be blunt, alcohol has never brought anything good into my life. It's done a lot of harm – a lot – even in recent days. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy drinking a Blue Moon on a hot, summer's day with friends, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I just believe Papa's calling me into something different… because the truth is, even giving myself the liberty to have one or two drinks here and there is enough for me to downward spiral back into getting drunk – into getting hammered. That's not something I've admitted to anyone yet… though there are some who already know this and have kept their silence on the matter.
Alcohol has always been a problem for me – always… not every time I drink, but you can be sure, if I allow myself to get comfortable with it, it will become a problem again.
The word I had spoken over myself for this month in Moldova was – "sufficient". And by being hammered – physically – I've had nowhere to run but into His great, comforting, burly arms. In being so weak, He's been so strong. In being so deficient in every way possible, His grace and love have been sufficient. And as hard as it is right now, I know it's good.
And though I'm scared… and I know I'm too weak to do it on my own, today I'm giving alcohol over to Him – for good. I'm quitting. I'm done. The ties are broken, and I'm not looking back. I'm in His hands… never to get hammered again. And because He is sufficient, through Him, I am sufficient…
Jesus – "You've got the love I need to see me through."
"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." II Corinthians 12:9
