Careful What You Pray For

(Cause you'll get it)

Growing up in the Pentecostal church felt like being in the front row of live theatre. The sanctuary became a stage. Seemingly ordinary people transformed into flamboyant performers. As a boy, I was thoroughly entertained.

My coloring book couldn't compete with Mr. Jones, the mild-mannered front-door greeter. His body convulsed in spasms as he yelled nonsensical words. This display might end in a fall to the floor or a rampage around the perimeter of the church. (All of this made more sense as I became an adult)

"Special Testimony" was my favorite part of the service. My uncle, the Pastor, would open the floor to any congregation member. I was obsessed with this. There was something about church members divulging their personal lives that mesmerized me.

One night, I was particularly drawn to the testimony of an elderly lady. She recounted her life, a drawn-out saga of woe and misfortune. Near the end, she appeared to look straight at me and said, "Careful what you pray for 'cause you'll get it." She went on to add, "I asked God for patience. And just like Job, I sure got it."

(If you aren't familiar with the biblical story of Job, read here. Despite experiencing a series of unfortunate life events, he remained unshakeable. Thus, the popular phrase "she has the patience of Job").

I had no idea what she meant at the time, but it must have imprinted.

Fast forward twenty-five years. I'm hovering over my sobriety journal. The notebook was moist from sobbing. I was searching for answers, for meaning, for reasons. Moments earlier, I had launched into screaming at my son over dirty dishes. Why was I on edge? Where did this anger come from? Isn't sobriety supposed to bring peace?

I had prayed for peace throughout my entire life.

At that moment, the "Special Testimony" memory flashed into my mind. It was as if the old lady were standing over me. I paused from my writing and looked up towards the ceiling. For a moment, I was that little boy again. Chill bumps ran over my body.

"Careful what you pray for cause you'll get it."

Instantaneously, my consciousness rose above the dirty dishes, financial stress, and triggers. My life events constellated into a purposeful progression:

⚫ When I cowered in the corner, listening to my father pummel my mother;

⚫ When I stood in shame because the other kids caught me holding a doll during playtime;

⚫ When I watched everyone else dancing inside the high school gym and then snuck out unseen;

⚫ When I drove to work screaming, hoping to silence the suicidal ideations.

I had always prayed for peace.

"Careful what you pray for cause you'll get it."

"Well, hallelujah," I muttered, putting my notebook to the side.

What if my life was a highly individualized curriculum? What if there existed an undercurrent of intelligence beyond my comprehension? What if this entire experience with addiction was the answer to my prayers? What if methamphetamine dependence was the best catalyst to bring peace to my trauma?

There was something miraculous about attaching meaning to my addiction. The miracle of perspective shift. The miracle of detaching my identity from my experiences. The miracle of answered prayers.

Holding space for this lens, I looked again at my behavior toward my son. It shifted.

"You aren't mad at him; you feel shame about your role as a father. Through the eyes of guilt, the dishes are a reminder of how you've fallen short as an addict parent".

Damn.

In thirty seconds, I experienced a transformation of my worldview. The light of awareness illuminated the shadows of my psyche. I detached from shame. All superficial beliefs around the laziness of my son collapsed. And empathy opened.

I ran to him, cried on his shoulder, and asked for forgiveness. The anxiety that had taken up residence in my belly vaporized into peace. The peace I had sought after for a lifetime.

And that's when sobriety transitioned into recovery.

Before active addiction, I exhausted myself in search of peace. I tried to force it through external relationships, college degrees, and career accomplishments. Yet, after quitting the substance, life remained a daily battle:

--Stagnation;

--Bouts of hopelessness;

--Constant fear of relapse;

--Emotional dysregulation;

--Ruminating about past use;

--Dependence on others when triggered.

I still prayed for peace.

My prayer was answered in a holy instant that day while journaling. I learned how to discover peace within every moment through the miracle of perspective shift. To accept that all things are driving us toward our highest good.

Now, I give my own "Special Testimony" through social media or in-person meetings. And I pass along those sage words of advice:

"Careful what you pray for cause you'll get it."

Love, Dallas 💚

July 9, 2024