Psalm 46

"God will help her when morning dawns..."

I'm praying for a friend tonight, and I'm praying for myself.  Out of love, I'm letting someone I care about go, so that he might have a chance for himself to get well. 
I can't imagine what he's going through- this disease of addiction, of alcoholism so rampant in his family and culture, something he's always known.
But my eyes have been opened, oh so slightly, to its horrors.
It's the scary stuff you see in the movies but you can't understand as real.  It's ugly and smelly, and the unpredictability is the worst.

I've been in circles where beer and wine were fun, even Christian buddies that enjoyed a glass in the name of grace and freedom and not being under legalism.  And in all honesty, I've failed to understand the sadness and guttural reactions of other friends that couldn't withstand it.  I am now in that second category.  I don't even enjoy cooking with wine anymore.  I hate alcohol with such a passion that I never want to see it in my dwelling.  I never want to waste the money on it.  But at the same time, I understand my other friends that can handle it in moderation.  For me, the sight of it is painful and sad.  Maybe that will change, but it may take a long while. 

Hard lessons have been learned in my life lately- about helping, enabling, what love is.  I had no understanding of the true grip of addiction, and I hesitate to believe I understand it now, but I see its power and destruction with clearer vision.

I can pray.  I can get on my knees and pray for my friend.  I can encourage with my words, but my biggest act of love right now is letting him go so that he can decide for himself if his life worth fighting for.  Damn self hatred! Damn self destruction! It breaks my heart into a million pieces.  Is self hatred at the core of addiction?
I pray for healing, for help, for open hearts.

People ask me if my friend might never change.  People warn me that at mid- life, the chances of true change are dimmer and harder.  I have to accept this reality, but I can't give up hope on him.  I pray for a miracle.  I pray that his second half of life will be better and brighter than his first, and he will believe that he is worth it.  I believe God can make all things new, all things better, and all people healed and whole.  None of us are any better than another, and my heart goes out to those in bondage, but I can't save them even though I suppose I've tried my whole life. 
I can only love in a way that protects, trusts, hopes, and never gives up through God's grace.