I feel an old anxiety rising up in me, as I tap at these computer keys.
Maybe this is how a recovering alcoholic would feel if she walked into a dimly lit tavern, where ice cubes clink against glass and the bartender counts out the glug-glug-glugs from a tipped bottle. Someone else will have to tell me if I’m right—if this is how a recovering alcoholic would feel in a bar. (And maybe it all depends on the day.)
I can’t say for sure, because booze isn’t my vice.
Your approval is.
All the world’s a tavern, it seems, and maybe we’re all thirsty for something that we know won’t do us any good. I don’t belly up to this bar for a whiskey. I don’t pay much attention to whether they’re serving IPAs or Pabst. I’m paying attention to the faces. Your faces. Who’s in this room today? And does what I have to say make me worth listening to?
I’m sharing the rest of this story — about my own “recovery” — with my friend Seth Haines. Seth writes occasionally about sobriety and recovery. He and I talk often how — if we really think about it — we’re all coming clean from something. And we all need Jesus to help us.
(If you’ve come by for #TellHisStory, click here to read a great article by guest writer Lisa Whittle, or to link your own story.)