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The pulsating headache does nothing to change me. I know another drink is not what I need. Yet, another drink is what I pour. But it’s not just my addiction to alcohol that has me playing hide and seek from God. No, my issues go much deeper than a gene that demands fermented, malted barley. My self-destructive behavior stems from a “what-about-me” attitude. Many suffer from it. I’ve got it bad.
I see others in need. Sometimes I help. More often, I choose to look inward. Drinking the devil’s brew, I ponder the truth. I’m not afraid of failure to do what’s right; I’m terrified of a successful venture down the righteous path. God needs doers, motivators, and innovators; much easier to pour another mind-number. The path I could go down might create more responsibility than I believe I’m ready to deal with. Stepping from the passageway of truth gave me the breathing room I felt I needed. Not something to brag about.
But God doesn’t give up. No, he’s always in the room, usually within earshot. His voice is distinct. He’s ready to help me. That’s where the fear comes from. I mean think about it. The creator of a universe tens of billions of light years wide wants me to work for him. He needs a man engulfed in slothfulness and anxiety to find his feet. He wants me to get busy, and I want another drink. I raise the glass to my lips. It’s empty. Strange, I thought I had just filled it.
“It will always end up empty,” the voice of wisdom announced.
And he’s right. He always is. The glasses I fill always end up empty. The excuses I make fade off into endless sunsets. The itinerary I flee from is still on my desk. The fallen world needs soldiers of endurance to assemble. I am one who is called to use my gifts. The empty glass is gone now, shattered against the floor, pieces of false happiness with sharp edges that cut not only me but the others who enter my room.
I contemplate the millions of others in their rooms, their glasses filling and emptying, their gifts wafting at the edge of abyss. God has such patience with his creation, waiting for us to stop hiding and start seeking. Stepping over the broken glass before me, I make my way out into the midday sun. Squinting out part of the brightness, I see the path is not as scary as I thought it to be. I would not be found in that room again. And if you need to find me, look first to the path of truth and life. I’ll be walking there day and night, and I will be asking others to break their glasses and walk with me.
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