Daily Wholeness
These past months, I've been diving deep into the world of addiction. Not that I'm headed down that road personally, but I've been on a journey to learn all that I can about addiction, mental health, and the intersect between my favorite patient population in the neonatal world and their mothers' stories. As I've sought to learn more, my heart has grown until this pursuit of wholeness--whole recovery, whole health, whole families--has become a passion and a calling. God has stirred in amazing ways and in amazing places, and pushed me farther outside my comfort zone and into a world that is hurting.
I set out on this journey with some ideas. Some of them have proved true; many have not. The biggest misconception I brought to the table was the idea that healing from addiction happens at one point in time. The idea that once we've "resolved" that problem, we leave it in the rearview mirror and drive off into the sunset. That somehow that is the only version of "wholeness" that is truly whole.
Yesterday I attended a conference for Celebrate Recovery, a ministry program that seeks, as I like to say, to "walk with people toward healing and wholeness." I came into it with my burning passion for addiction. This is it. I'll learn all about addiction and how to help these people! It was a noble idea, but I was in for some surprises. Several of the speakers had battled addiction to alcohol or drugs. As they shared from their past, the recurring theme again and again was this: we take up the battle daily. We fight to regain ground, to claim the victory, daily. Addiction is not something that is left in the past, but victory over it is a daily accomplishment. It means re-centering our hearts on wholeness by praying, by reading the Word. It means re-aligning our steps every day, every hour, to stay on the right path. Just as my marriage would suffer and die if I didn't give it daily attention, so our old tendencies and battles creep up when they are unattended, and lead to death. We work out our recovery daily. We claim Christ's victory daily. It changed the core of how I see addiction. We make great gains, and the battle often becomes easier with time. But we never let down our guard; never stop fighting for our freedom.
As if that lesson wasn't enough, God wasn't through. Right behind my faulty thinking about recovery came another whopper of a lie: that addiction and this pursuit of wholeness was something that only "they" needed to pursue; that I was somehow standing on the only solid ground extending something to them of which I had no personal need.
What I saw instead in their stories were my own battles. Addiction may not be my battlefield, but my mind is. The crippling, debilitating fear I've struggled with most of my life still lurks--always--under the surface. Just this month a series of events and circumstances threatened to pull me back under. I've come so far, and at times I've thought I've managed to leave the panic, the feelings of terror, behind me. Why were they rearing up again? Why was I back to fighting the suffocating fear?
Because, like addiction, freedom from fear is something we have to fight for. It's a cross we take up daily, a victory we claim every hour--every minute, some days--of every day. It's a process of taking those old thoughts captive, of acknowledging that they're still there, of calling them out of the darkness and identifying them in the light so that they can again be covered in Christ's wholeness.
Am I saying that God never sets us free? No, absolutely I'm not! But freedom in this world is something for which we have to fight. The work here is not complete; the battle rages on. When an army takes a section of land in the course of a war, they continue to defend it. Without a strong defense, the land can be reconquered by the enemy, taken back. Without being vigilant, they can quickly lose the ground they've gained. Why, then, do we assume our battles are any different? On an active battleground, how can we assume the ground we've gained is secure without a defense?
This daily claiming victory, this acknowledgment of the hang-up and bringing it to Christ, this is our way of holding onto the ground we've won. We shouldn't be discouraged, then, when we find ourselves amidst the same struggles and temptations. We shouldn't despair when the old ugly enemy again rears its head. Neither should we be careless or let our guard down. Instead, we should be building up our defenses in these areas every day. We should be watching for signs of trouble, and bringing these issues to Christ on our knees.
There are a number of verses that I recite regularly--sometimes almost compulsively--as the fear begins to rise. They are my fortress. These words are my bricks and mortar as I build my defense against this enemy. As I speak the words into the darkness, they stake my claim, they reassert my victory over this area. But I have to be intentional. I have to call out the darkness, identify it for what it is, and deliberately fight back. I have to choose, daily, to hold onto the ground he's helped me to conquer.
Beginning now, I approach addiction with a little more humility. I'm not somehow exempt from the struggles they are fighting; rather, I'm in the midst of my own war as well. And it's because I am fighting alongside them, because I'm always aware that my own weaknesses continue to threaten me, that I can walk alongside and live out what lifelong recovery means. Forgiveness is instantaneous. but the "working out of our salvation" that Paul talked about, that is a daily venture. When we walk with others--when we, ourselves walk--toward wholeness and healing, it means taking a step each day, holding our ground each day, for as long as we remain on this battleground. It means building our strong defense against the enemy and keeping up our guard. It means claiming victory in every minute, every hour, every day of our lives.
I set out on this journey with some ideas. Some of them have proved true; many have not. The biggest misconception I brought to the table was the idea that healing from addiction happens at one point in time. The idea that once we've "resolved" that problem, we leave it in the rearview mirror and drive off into the sunset. That somehow that is the only version of "wholeness" that is truly whole.
Yesterday I attended a conference for Celebrate Recovery, a ministry program that seeks, as I like to say, to "walk with people toward healing and wholeness." I came into it with my burning passion for addiction. This is it. I'll learn all about addiction and how to help these people! It was a noble idea, but I was in for some surprises. Several of the speakers had battled addiction to alcohol or drugs. As they shared from their past, the recurring theme again and again was this: we take up the battle daily. We fight to regain ground, to claim the victory, daily. Addiction is not something that is left in the past, but victory over it is a daily accomplishment. It means re-centering our hearts on wholeness by praying, by reading the Word. It means re-aligning our steps every day, every hour, to stay on the right path. Just as my marriage would suffer and die if I didn't give it daily attention, so our old tendencies and battles creep up when they are unattended, and lead to death. We work out our recovery daily. We claim Christ's victory daily. It changed the core of how I see addiction. We make great gains, and the battle often becomes easier with time. But we never let down our guard; never stop fighting for our freedom.
As if that lesson wasn't enough, God wasn't through. Right behind my faulty thinking about recovery came another whopper of a lie: that addiction and this pursuit of wholeness was something that only "they" needed to pursue; that I was somehow standing on the only solid ground extending something to them of which I had no personal need.
What I saw instead in their stories were my own battles. Addiction may not be my battlefield, but my mind is. The crippling, debilitating fear I've struggled with most of my life still lurks--always--under the surface. Just this month a series of events and circumstances threatened to pull me back under. I've come so far, and at times I've thought I've managed to leave the panic, the feelings of terror, behind me. Why were they rearing up again? Why was I back to fighting the suffocating fear?
Because, like addiction, freedom from fear is something we have to fight for. It's a cross we take up daily, a victory we claim every hour--every minute, some days--of every day. It's a process of taking those old thoughts captive, of acknowledging that they're still there, of calling them out of the darkness and identifying them in the light so that they can again be covered in Christ's wholeness.
Am I saying that God never sets us free? No, absolutely I'm not! But freedom in this world is something for which we have to fight. The work here is not complete; the battle rages on. When an army takes a section of land in the course of a war, they continue to defend it. Without a strong defense, the land can be reconquered by the enemy, taken back. Without being vigilant, they can quickly lose the ground they've gained. Why, then, do we assume our battles are any different? On an active battleground, how can we assume the ground we've gained is secure without a defense?
This daily claiming victory, this acknowledgment of the hang-up and bringing it to Christ, this is our way of holding onto the ground we've won. We shouldn't be discouraged, then, when we find ourselves amidst the same struggles and temptations. We shouldn't despair when the old ugly enemy again rears its head. Neither should we be careless or let our guard down. Instead, we should be building up our defenses in these areas every day. We should be watching for signs of trouble, and bringing these issues to Christ on our knees.
There are a number of verses that I recite regularly--sometimes almost compulsively--as the fear begins to rise. They are my fortress. These words are my bricks and mortar as I build my defense against this enemy. As I speak the words into the darkness, they stake my claim, they reassert my victory over this area. But I have to be intentional. I have to call out the darkness, identify it for what it is, and deliberately fight back. I have to choose, daily, to hold onto the ground he's helped me to conquer.
Beginning now, I approach addiction with a little more humility. I'm not somehow exempt from the struggles they are fighting; rather, I'm in the midst of my own war as well. And it's because I am fighting alongside them, because I'm always aware that my own weaknesses continue to threaten me, that I can walk alongside and live out what lifelong recovery means. Forgiveness is instantaneous. but the "working out of our salvation" that Paul talked about, that is a daily venture. When we walk with others--when we, ourselves walk--toward wholeness and healing, it means taking a step each day, holding our ground each day, for as long as we remain on this battleground. It means building our strong defense against the enemy and keeping up our guard. It means claiming victory in every minute, every hour, every day of our lives.
