Gravity Bound Love

True recognition of the magnitude of my sins—or if you prefer, my character defects—unlocks one of two paths.

As former drinkers we have the distinct advantage of having lived two lives more fully than many.

The vivid days of our drinking and the lives that we have now turned our back on and walked away from are still with us to varying degrees.

Not just the blurry details we barely remember or the sleepless nights we long to forget. Not just the earlier days of joy and camaraderie before we lost control.

The whole thing.

We have walked through, and fallen down in the valley of the shadow of death. But we have been given a new life and with it a well of hope that cannot run dry unless we wall ourselves off from others.

So we come to a divergence.

One path leads us toward a renewed effort at being good and loving toward others, enjoying the fruits of sobriety and the good fortune of having come out of our fog.

And we enjoy these things while allowing ourselves most of the credit.

The distant path ahead looks straight, flat, and bright. But we can’t make out exactly where it goes.

The second path leads first uphill into the rocky, self-reflective woods of regret and remorse and repentance.

It hurts more in the beginning, not less. Our need of God and our acknowledgement of how far lost we had become is paralyzing.

But we accept that he will provide a way, and that our best thinking got us here. We begin to follow him through the thicket and we usually need a loving friend to kick our butts into action at this point.

This is where love is born.

We are now realizing that nothing, even our own sober happiness, accounts for much of anything beyond fleeting pleasure. This is the same result as our drinking.

So we look for how love can pour out of us. Our salvation should be evidenced by this.

Sin cut us, and many bled out. Thank God it didn’t kill us.

The defects of character we were ashamed of now mark the trail for others.

God, use my wounds to show others the path.