The life of Alan, pt. 2

“I came here to Charles (base director here) for help,” Alan continued,
swallowing the lump in his throat. “He said he would help me and he did. He
sent me to rehab. I was there for five days, but I couldn’t take it any longer.
I could feel in my heart that I wasn’t going back to drugs. I made that
decision with a clear mind and dedication. I just had to get back to my
little girl and girlfriend (Alan never shared her name, but I’ll refer to her
as Maria). My heart pulled me back to them so strongly.

“So I left the rehab after five days and went back to Maria
and my daughter. They forgave me and welcomed me back and life continued as
it had before. My dad even forgave me and let me come back to work! For nine
months I was clean. I worked hard, I gave just about everything I earned
to Maria and we were happy. But one day my friend came up to me and asked what I
was doing with this girl. He said he’d seen her with my cousin and they were up
to no good. I tried not to get angry and give Maria the benefit of the doubt, so I kept my cool
and talked to Maria. She said it wasn’t true; that she loved me; that my friend
was just trying to get between us.

“A little while later Maria and I got into a fight about our
daughter. I left in a hurry, but felt badly about it so I came back to apologize. When I
walked back into the house to talk with her, I heard that she was on the phone.
She was saying all kinds of nice things that she should say to me, but I wasn’t
on the other end of the line.

“After nine months of staying clean, I broke. It began just
like before. I spent what I had and then began stealing from my dad’s business.
But sometimes that wasn’t enough. My dad found out about it and again kicked me
out. This time was much worse than before. I was just like my brother then, on
the street with almost nothing. I started selling my clothes just like him.
Anything I could find to get more drugs and more alcohol.

Alan grimaced, his face contorted as he said this. I could
see the hatred he felt for himself then. Tears fell, but his voice was steady
and laced with anger.

“People are nasty on the street at night. I was trying to
sleep one night, close to my bag of clothes, I only had a little, when some
other homeless guys came to take my bag. I got up to defend myself and what
little I had, but I was weak and skinny. They beat me up and knocked my tooth
out.” He pointed to the vacancy between his teeth and scowled again.

“I went to the hospital and my dad came to me. ‘This world
is not meant for you,’ he said. He said it would be better for me to just kill
myself like my brother. He said I meant nothing to him.” Again his voice
wavered as he revealed more of his large wound.

“This was two weeks ago. It was tempting – just ending it
all. But I couldn’t do it. I’ve been trying to walk straight, but I keep
falling down. A friend of mine opened his house to me and I’ve been staying
there when I can, but sometimes I can’t. I now have two pairs of pants and
three shirts and I leave them here with the guard if I know I’m sleeping on the
streets.

“I called my mom somewhere between then and now. She was
very grateful to hear from me. She said she’d heard about me from someone. Said
she heard I was skinny and ragged looking. Asked me if this was true. I told
her it wasn’t and that I was eating well. I told her I was filled in, fat even,
and that I was doing very well. But I couldn’t face her like this,” he said
motioning his arms open. “I do look ragged and skinny. I haven’t eaten a good
meal in a long time.

“Yesterday I felt like looking nice, so I got on my nice
pants and nice shirt and went for a walk. I was just walking down central park
thinking and talking to God when I heard someone yell my name, ‘Alan!’ I turned to the direction of the voice and saw her. It was
my little girl. She knew who I was, but she didn’t call me daddy. She started
toward me, but her mother caught her by the hand and wouldn’t let her come to
me. Maria didn’t want our daughter to have anything to do with me. ‘She’s my
daughter,’ I said to her. ‘Let me just hold her.’ We got into an argument
there, but Maria wouldn’t budge. My daughter was crying in her mother’s arms
and yelling, ‘Alan, Alan!’ as they left. I felt so terrible then.

“I walked back to my friend’s house and told him I wanted to
drink. ‘Just get me a drink,’ I told him. ‘I just want to get drunk.’ ‘No,
let’s just talk it through,’ he told me. But I wasn’t going to listen. I got as
drunk as I could yesterday.”

He stared at the ground in shame. “My life is sad. I am a
mess,” he said. Moments of silence passed as I took in what he had just told me. I hadn’t spoken in up the entire time. The situation seemed hopeless, and I couldn’t say that I would be in a different place had I been plagued by those same circumstances.

“But you will be clean. There may not seem like hope,” I
told him, “But we serve a wonderful redeemer. There is hope.”

I invited Alan to lunch that day with two other missionaries
here, Frank and Baker. He told them his story and said he wanted to start a new
life. He wanted to be free from all of this. He opened his wound for us to see,
shared with us his brokenness and asked for our help.

He said he was going to visit his mother the next morning to
talk with her a little. His voice echoed in my mind, “I couldn’t face her like
this. I do look ragged and skinny!” We welcomed him back to the base for a
quick shave and sent him on his way, physically clean and full. Emotionally and
spiritually, there is still so much to be done.

The next morning we sent him back to rehab. The first two visits to rehab were impersonal and he was given little direction. This time we have several people checking in on him and
pouring into him. Please pray with me that Alan discovers hope in Christ and
joy in life through him. And pray that the Lord guides those of us who are
trying to lead him in the way of truth.