victorious failure.

Addiction is a funny thing.

Just when you think you've beaten it, just when you think you've distance yourself just enough it comes back at a barreling and untameable force. I mean, I guess I should have known quitting cold turkey is not exactly normal. But, it seems great doesn't it? To just one day decide you're not going to do it and never do it again? It's all very appealing.

But it doesn't really work like that. It never has, and probably never will.

But this morning, after a week of total relapse, I got this sense that I was going to be ok. That maybe it'll take a while, and take a few falls, but I'm gonna get through this. I'm slowly learning to accept grace. If there was no grace, what Jesus am I following anyway? If there was no grace why would I even quit drinking in the first place? An unforgiving God is not the God I came to know and love. So I'm going to try and trust His grace. For some reason, it's hard. A set of rules seems easier than to forgive myself when I feel like a total irresponsible, unworthy, failure.

But, I'm going to get through this.

I have to. Sure, right now the very thought of never having another drink again in my whole life sents me into immediate panic. But, the thought of not having a drink today ain't so bad. I just have to think that everyday. And I'll fall. And I'll give in.

But, sometimes I'll fight it. And have victory.

Regardless of what happens I'm doing this with God, in this beautiful community.

I'm going to get through this.

I don't have much to say other than I am very blessed to have the friends I do. Tonight, God met me where I was at. Like He always does. This time, though, I let Him.

Back to getting a hold of my life. It was a big night for me.

I am very much loved and cared about. Even though I'm an addict. And struggle. I'm loved. Cool.

Goodnight.

the past few days have felt a lot like watching a star die.

My night last night felt like a huge tragic plane crash that made the sound of a moth fluttering around a light bulb.

I settled for feeling content in my unwillingness to process life, when in reality I was attempting to tight rope the wire between keeping it all together and completely losing it. And when you're running you're bound to trip over the line. I tripped all over it. I took the entire line with me when I went down, too. I tore apart the entire mechanism.

A huge part of me wants to just stay curled up in the fetal position at the bottom and wait till it's all over. I sort of just want to dig a hole in the sand and lay in it and feel the ocean tide pull in and carry me away forever. I could kind of just close my eyes and wait till it's over.

The relentless rebel in me wants to run the fuck away. Far, far, far away. Run where mountains dominate the landscape and you can actually see stars (dying or not). I often fantasize about becoming a true vagabond. All the freedom, none of the responsibility. Just me and my dirty bag pack. And a knife in my boots.

The alcoholic in me...well...you know what the alcoholic in me wants to do.

And I have to wonder- again? Why is this happening again? I had almost three solid tearless weeks. The sun was putting freckles on my face, people were outside making music, I didn't really have to wear shoes.

I should be happy, dammit.

I didn't mean to trip. It just sort of happened. I need to pull myself together. Seriously.

The saddest part in all of this is that God provided me this perfectly comfortable landing space among uneven concrete with rusty nails sticking up from it. I chose the concrete. I chose the freaking concrete. Almost every time I choose the concrete.

Why did I choose the concrete?

Again.

And it seems like every time I land hard on the concrete, I wake up the next morning to rain.

For some reason, it's a whole hell of a lot harder to accept grace to a grey sky.


I just pray that God keeps the safe landing there for me even when I refuse to fix my eyes on it. So at least when I trip and fall, I'm not landing on concrete. I just want to be ok. I'm tired of throwing darts at the map and always having it land in the middle of the ocean.

So, I'm not giving into any of the aforementioned options. I'm back to losing my life to Him again. All over again. It's a difficult thing, you know. Sometimes it feels like walking uphill through sand. And thankfully, God is making it impossible for me to keep ignoring Him. He's all up in my grill. Telling me once again to quit walking the line and to quit choosing broken bones over a soft heart.

Lord, stay close to me. Stay obvious to me. And bring me out of the desert...again.

Beautiful Joy, Brutal Pain. Beautiful Pain, Brutal Joy.

I got to spend my Easter weekend with a dear friend, Katie. It was a beautiful, full yet relaxing weekend. Nice to get out of flat Bowling Green. Did you guys know Cincinatti has HILLS? Hills, you guys.

Katie and I got to play outside lots, going to the parks with the puppies and to play on the swingsets. We had a picnick, and watched the sunset at her secret sunset spot. We went to a cute little vintage shop. We got Graeter's....twice. We also had a campfire with her brother and made hotdogs. (I ate three. and about a million marshmellows.) I ate dinner with her family and had my toes painted by a five year old. All around it was pretty great.

But, now that I am home and writing I'm finding it difficult to figure out what my first Easter meant for me. I guess when I really think about it, the whole ressurection thing sort of got lost. For some reason the fact that he died on the cross for us, completley consumes my mind and I forget the He rose from the grave. Just has He said he would.

Lately, I'm having a difficult time deciphering weather or not I've been really dead to Christ since I've come back from India or if I'm just content. If my severe winter blues and borderline psychotic emotions have leveled out as the sun comes out. It's sort of confusing that I haven't cried in three weeks. (With the exception of the time I watched Steel Magnolias. Sally Fields after the funeral....holy shit.) I sort of feel as if I need a really good cry but, it just wont come out. Or I've been too busy. Or I'm deadened. Or If I'm really just content with my God these days.

Who knows. But I'm going to chose content with this one and run with it. This weekend I couldn't stop thinking....how great is it that I get to spend my first easter with my beautiful, sweet sister in Christ?

This. This crazy realm of beautiful joy, brutal pain, beautiful pain, and brutal joy. This life. This living God that you can see in my eyes would not even be existant without the ressurection. I know my thoughts seem a bit scatterbrained right now but, I'm having a really hard time wrapping my head around this. I try to imagine our beautiful amazing God coming to life. I can't because it starts to get really zombie like and sort of ridiculous. Instead, I'm trying to focus on the early morning of August 10th. When I became alive. When Jesus came to life inside of my heart. And people saw it in my eyes. and I felt it in my soul.

I think of my brothers and sisters. How Christ not only lives in me but, my whole family, too. The whole thing. The whole body. Just living in us. Breathing air into our lungs. Quenching our thirst. Feeding our hunger. Loving us.

Jesus came back to life so I could come to life and I think that's such an exciting part of things. I'm so content in the Lord right now. Sure, I'm not used to the lack of winter blues. The extreame crying fits. The screaming. The anger. The plate breaking. But, the Lord is just chillin' with me in the sunshine and that makes my heart jump.



"He has risen, just as He said"




p.s.....even with all that said, I sort of, just a little bit, wish I got an easter basket this morning.