Alcohol Abuse Advice

Jesus in the Bedroom (a love story…sort of)

It is early morning and I’m sitting in my favorite chair blinking last night’s sleep from my eyes and administering a couple of units of life-giving plasma (“good to the last drop”) when I hear my wife half stumbling down the stairs. She appears in the doorway and like a thirsty desert-dweller clawing his way toward an oasis; she heads for her cup of morning tea. Had you been sitting beside me, you might have described her journey across our living room in the following terms: “She plodded across the floor squinting through barely awakened eyes, one leg of her flannel pajama bottoms hiked half-way up her leg, mis-matched fuzzy slipper socks on her feet (one of which was barely on), her hair sticking out in a dozen different directions as she grumbled something about morning in my general direction. I, however, saw something quite different. Gliding across the floor before me was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, her “good morning” to me almost a song.

 How, you may ask, was it possible for me to transform this wild-haired, fuzzy-footed creature stumbling across my floor into the fulfillment of all my dreams? Very simply: Jesus came into our bedroom. I promise to tell you what I mean by that in a moment. But first I must confess that it hasn’t always been that way. Indeed, over time I’ve learned that it takes a serious commitment of the will to have a relationship that gives you those kinds of eyes and it takes a doubly committed love to keep them. But to be perfectly honest, I fail in my efforts more frequently then I would care to admit, and almost from the very beginning of our marriage.

 Our life as husband and wife began typically enough. That is, if by typical you mean that the wedding rings delivered to the church the day of the ceremony belonged to someone else and after several frantic phone calls and a cross town road race by the jewelry store’s owner, yours ended up arriving minutes before the ceremony, that had been delayed for over an hour because one of the bride’s two sisters was reading the map upside down and got lost.

…And when they finally did arrive the map genius broke one of the crystal toast glasses. …and you began your life of bliss less than broke because you had to borrow 0 from the best man to put flowers on the tables at the reception. …and the majority of the wedding party was either drunk or stoned, BEFORE THE CEREMONY!! …and one of your first acts as a husband and wife was to clean up after your own reception.

But hey, everybody has wedding horror stories, right? But at least there’s the honeymoon to look forward to. Ahhh yes…the honeymoon. Who could forget those magical days of glorious wedded bliss camping on beautiful Martha’s Vineyard? I can still see it in my minds eye:  the mosquitoes, the skunks, the poison ivy and all in the wrong places at the wrong time.

 In spite of that less than perfect beginning, we were crazy about each other. Or should I say:  Crazy at each other, because almost immediately we began to realize that the sexual intimacy that had knit us together when we first met was proving to be an impractical stitch for knitting us together now. Because as the harp and flute music playing in our minds gave way to the sound of crashing dishes and slamming doors, it was becoming painfully clear that we had no idea what we were doing. Like all new couples we were young and naïve and by naïve, I mean stupid. We actually believed John Lennon when he told us, “All you need is love.” It was obvious that if this marriage had any hope of surviving we were going to need a lot more than love. We were going to need the Author of that love. Unfortunately, it wasn’t obvious to us, although it should have been, because looking back now it was clear that He had been with us since we were children.

 Although neither of us were particularly religious growing up, we both believed in God. I even had an unusual little ritual for a non-Christian. It began when I was a teenager and continued into adulthood. Every Christmas Eve without fail, wherever I was, I would step out into the cold night air at midnight on the dot and talk to Jesus. First, I would wish Him a happy birthday and then tell Him how sorry I was for all my screw-ups.  Then I would sing a Christmas carol, go inside and put a candle in the window for Joseph and Mary, some hay on the steps for the donkey and a folded up blanket by the door for Baby Jesus. Clearly, I was a marked man.

 However, before you start saying, “Ahhhh…isn’t that sweet”, you should know that the rest of my year was taken up with drinking, smoking pot and the constant hunt for the next sexual encounter. At the same time I kept having serendipitous encounters with Christians. I’d be sitting in the park drinking with my friends and a busload of evangelists would empty right in front of me. My car would break down and the first person to stop would be a Christian. I would pass out completely drunk, abandoned to the gutter by my “friends” and wake up in a catholic church with a nun cleaning my wounds as the priest tries to explain to me how Jesus had led him to me. I’d get arrested for breaking windows and a pastor would give me a job so I could pay for the damage. Next thing you know he’s talked me into becoming an alter boy and joining the youth group. And this stuff happened all the time. Oh yeah…I was definitely a marked man

 In spite of God’s constant intervention, drugs and alcohol were claiming a bigger and bigger part of my life. I saw myself slipping away and knew that I had to get out of that town and away from those “friends” before I disappeared all together. I joined a local band as a “roadie”. I knew a couple of the guys from high school so I moved in with them for a while in their apartment in Westfield. Not long after that I got a job and moved in with some students I met from Westfield State College. I started hanging with a college crowd and frequenting college hangouts. It was at one such hang out that I met a girl named Ellen.

  Ellen was in her final year at Westfield State. She was studying to become a special education teacher. She was short, had straight black hair, braces on her teeth and she was the cutest girl I had ever seen in my life. Fortunately, she didn’t find me too hideous and I made her laugh. At first, we were in other relationships. But soon we found ourselves “single” and the road seemed clear. In spite of the fact we were free to date one another (if there was such a thing as dating in the early 70’s) and in spite of the fact we were living in a time of “free love” and sex on the first date was the norm, when I was around her my tongue was tied in knots and I tripped over my own feet (not exactly Don Juan). I also wasn’t quite sure how Ellen felt about me. As it turned out, she shared my feelings and doubts. So, we began the age-old ritual performed by generations of couples before us, dancing around each other instead of with each other. I kept giving her signals and leaving her clues that she missed entirely. She was also dropping hints that just bounced off my thick skull and fell unnoticed at my feet. 

 Finally we connected. I won’t go into the details of that first encounter, let’s just say that alcohol was involved…lots of alcohol. To her credit, she managed to ignore that rather messy and totally unromantic “first date” and we found ourselves in her apartment, both of us sitting cross-legged on the floor facing each other. With our eyes closed, we explored each other’s faces with our fingertips while a recording of “The Hobbit” played in the background. I know, it sounds weird and 60ish. The only things missing were some patchouli incense and a strobe light. But I never felt as connected to a woman as I felt that day. As we talked the connection strengthened. We discovered that we both loved J.R.R. Tolkein and “The Lord of the Rings” (very important), that we loved folk music and that we believed in God. Amazingly, for a couple of non-Christians, this last one sealed the deal. At last, we had found someone who wouldn’t laugh at us for believing in an invisible being, even though most of the time we ignored Him.

 Soon after our relationship began she asked me to move in with her. I thought I was living in a dream. I was completely in love and I knew that she was the one. But there was still a lot of life Ellen wanted to live and I was getting the distinct impression that to her I was merely a pleasant but temporary diversion on her way to somewhere else.  I was planning our wedding in my mind, when she made it clear that marriage was not an event she had any interest in attending. I was heart-broken as my fearful spirit saw its “dream girl” slipping away. The scared little boy inside me initiated his old defenses: fighting and yelling. Angry words and punching walls suddenly became a normal part of this once “perfect” arrangement.  It was like I was a child all over again. You see, as a child I was a victim of the foster care system. I say victim because in those days all you needed to qualify, as a foster parent, was a home and a willingness to take a child in.  A child could be placed with a pedophile or a heavy-handed drunk and nobody would know. As it turns out I managed to be placed with both (a long story for another time).  These experiences left me with a deep-seated fear of abandonment that I struggled with all my life. Ellen’s anti-marriage stand became an unsubstantiated fear that she intended to ultimately leave me for a more exciting life on the road. I could hear my heart sighing, “Here we go again.” 

 Those were really difficult times for us. Although we were unaware of it at the time, the continued presence of God kept us from losing each other. I tried to break up with her and she tried to break up with me. She was on the other side of the country and I was on the other side of hope. Still we found our way back to each other. She convinced me through her words and actions that she was indeed in love with me and I re-committed my love for her. Not long after that, at her best friend’s wedding, I proposed to her…and to my shock and joy-filled amazement she said yes!  As we planned our future together we decided there was no hurry. After all, we convinced ourselves, we were practically married. We lived together, we slept in the same bed, we paid the bills and we went on trips. There was no hurry. God had other plans, however. And we were about to find out what they were.

 I was working at a lumber company as a kitchen cabinet and counter salesman and was actually pretty good at it despite the fact that I loathed the idea of trying to convince someone to buy something that they really didn’t want. As it turned out that attitude helped me excel over the other salesmen. Customers appreciated that I gave them room to look and think without hovering around them like a mosquito looking for an unprotected area to attack. Although I was on commission, I always showed them ways to knock off a few dollars here and there. Customers were singing my praises.

That’s when my boss sent me off to a workshop to learn how to maximize my sales. “Great,” I thought. “Exactly what I could care less about.” However, I was delightfully surprised by the presentation. The workshop leader’s philosophy was not unlike my own and I picked up some great tips on how to do it better. When it was over I went over to thank him and tell him how much I liked his presentation. Several other men were surrounding him so I stood outside their circle and waited. As I waited I slowly began to realize that they weren’t talking about the workshop or anything to do with cabinets. I began to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, “Wasn’t that an awesome meeting last night…the speaker was so powerful…what did you think of the worship…” and other statements.  I had no clue what they were talking about. I was slowly backing away when one of the men turned around and seeing me asked, “Are you born-again?” “Huh,” I replied brilliantly. “Are you a Christian?” he replied.

At this point it might be helpful to tell you a little about myself. Because of various childhood traumas (some of which I alluded to earlier) I never was very comfortable with who I was. In fact, I spent most of my childhood playing games of pretend by myself. I was always the hero, saving the helpless and defeating the bullies and the bad guys. In other words, I spent most of my life pretending to be someone else. When I got older that practice did not diminish, although I was no longer inventing my own characters. Instead, I was allowing whomever I was with to decide who I would be. I became a social chameleon. Whoever I was with…that’s who I was.

 With that said, let’s return to our story already in progress:

“Are you a Christian?” he asked. Naturally I answered, “Absolutely!”  They began slapping me on the back and shaking my hand and saying things like, “It’s a blessing to meet you, brother… Isn’t God good…what a privilege it is to serve the King of the Universe…What freedom and joy there is in our Lord and Savior…and on and on it went for about ten minutes. I still didn’t understand what they were talking about but I acted like I’d been a Christian all my life. Finally I made my escape and headed to my car.  However, my head was reeling as I began the trip home. Suddenly, a longing began to grow in the pit of my stomach. It continued to grow until I felt like I would burst wide open.  I had no choice. I went to my Christmas Eve friend.

 

“Jesus,” I asked, “I don’t understand all the things they were saying about you. But if you’re the reason for all their joy, then I want to know you.” That’s it… nothing fancy… no thee’s or thou’s, ‘just a simple request from an “old friend.”  All of sudden something began to happen. It’s difficult to describe. All I can say is that it felt like an intense love or a presence filling the car. It was in me and around me at the same time. Before I knew what was happening, I began to cry… but not in sadness. I was actually laughing and crying at the same time. My tears were flowing so heavily that I had to pull off the road.  Then as quickly as they had started, they stopped. I wiped the last of them from my eyes and looked out at a world that was, for me, forever changed. The sky was a little bluer, the air a little crisper and the sun a little warmer on my face. Clearly, these were no ordinary tears. I believe they were Holy, washing away the blindness within me even as they baptized me into a new life. I knew I was a different man.

 

I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Ellen. Flush with the excitement of my divine encounter, it never occurred to me that Ellen would be anything but thrilled. As a result, I was anything but tentative as I burst through the door. I must have looked like a wild man. I felt like I was ready to jump out of my skin. She knew something had happened and asked, “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing, everything is great. Guess what? I know Jesus!” And then I grabbed her by the hands and excitedly told her, “We have to pray.” As both of us kneeled together for the first time, she stated out loud what she had known in her heart since she was a child: she believed in Jesus and wanted Him in her life. When we finished praying we stood up and I delivered the shocker, “Ellen, we can’t sleep together anymore. We have to get married right away.” And amazingly, she agreed.  When people ask about our salvation experience, looking back on that day I always say with a grin, “I came to the Lord, and then Ellen came to the Lord in self-defense.”

 

Sadly, however, we let it slip away. We failed to find a church that could reinforce our newfound faith. We neglected to pray or read the Bible. And so the Rose that had been planted in our hearts began to wilt. Many of our old habits began to return. We began to drink and smoke pot again and our mutual promise of pre-marital celibacy was a distant memory as the day of our wedding drew near.

 

But God wasn’t ready to give up on us. As we went looking for a place to be married God started doing His thing. At first, we went to a priest because Ellen’s mother wanted us to be married in the Catholic Church.  However, he didn’t want us to use the music we selected or say our own vows (which we had already written). We reluctantly agreed to let them go. However, one of the things we wanted in our ceremony was to receive communion together. God had a hold on enough of our hearts, that this was extremely important to us. It never occurred to us that it would be a problem. One week before the wedding the priest realized I wasn’t a catholic He told us that ours was a “mixed marriage” according to the church.  And as such, communion as a couple was not allowed. We couldn’t believe our ears. A mixed marriage, what was this the 16th century?

 

With just one week to go we desperately started looking for another church. Someone told us about the Episcopal Church in town and we went to see the pastor. He was one of the most interesting characters we ever met. Our “meeting” took place in the church basement. You see, he was in the middle of an extremely important game of Boggle and needed to finish. He had an amused look on his face as we explained to him what happened to us at the Catholic Church. With mock pain he asked, “So, I’m not your first choice?” Then he told us how the local community had come to call him “Marrying John” because he performed so many weddings. Then he told us with pride, “I haven’t lost a single couple to divorce.” How he knew that we have no idea. Then without blinking an eye he asked, “So, are you living together?” At first we were shocked and then afraid that the wrong answer would blow our last chance at a church wedding. Swallowing hard we looked at each other and nervously answered, “Yes,” Laughing at our discomfort, he put a hand on each of our shoulders and with a wink said, “Well, I guess it’s my job to make an honest couple out of you. Besides even a blind man could see you’re in love. You won’t be the couple that breaks my record.” Not only did he agree to marry us, he also provided the flowers for the church ceremony and helped me land a job working for the church. This provided us with an apartment, which we also desperately needed.  It was clear that God really did have a sense of humor, and I’m sure He was laughing now. Because after slipping away from God all those years, we ended up living in a church, worshiping in that church and getting talked into being junior high youth group leaders in that same church. In addition, I was working in another church in Boston and Ellen got a job working for Head Start which was in the basement of another church. While we had been moving away from God, He had obviously been moving towards us.

 

Though we were married now, we continued to have our problems. We still got loud and angry from time to time. It turns out that the text “…and the two shall become one flesh…” that we read at our wedding was turning out to be rather complicated in our marriage. As the years went by we continued to learn a little bit more…about God and about ourselves. Yet somehow God never seemed to penetrate deeply enough into our relationship to make a difference. When a beautiful baby daughter came along, we poured our love into her, but still withheld the deepest parts of our hearts from each other. The truth is a lot of it was my fault. Wherever we went I always wheeled my past along with us, allowing it to poison our present. The fear and the anger were never very far from the surface and would boil up all too often. As a result, our marriage suffered. A few things kept eluding us; things like trust, compassion, forgiveness and sacrifice…you know, the important stuff.

The sex was always good but all those other things gave us trouble. That is, we thought the sex was good. We were about to learn otherwise.

 

We had been married for many years when the struggles of life and the weight of the world just seemed to press down on us. Both of us were coming home needing something from each other that neither of us had to give. Slowly but ever so steadily we drifted apart. One day we woke up to find that although we were living in the same house and breathing the same air, we were not living “with” each other. We didn’t talk, we didn’t kiss and we didn’t even touch…with our hands or our hearts. For each of us, it was like living with a ghost – you know someone is there; you just can’t see or touch them. 

 

What happened next was inevitable, I suppose. I never went looking but neither did I look away. Suddenly I found myself in a place that no husband has the right to go. It only lasted a few weeks and it never became sexual but the betrayal was no less severe. I had given this other woman parts of myself that were never mine to give. My touch, my time and my emotions had all been promised to another.

 

Then the day I feared, yet knew would come finally arrived. Ellen discovered the betrayal. She found a letter in the pocket of my pants. A letter that did not belong to her, but written with words of affection that did. As I saw her pain and tears I realized what a fool I had been. It was clear that Ellen loved me. And for all my bitter complaining and self-justification for seeking companionship elsewhere, she always had. Now that relationship was dead. And I was the one who had killed it. We stood at a crossroads and a decision needed to be made… to journey on alone or together. I fully expected us to go our separate ways; because to journey on together would require a brand new love…a love forged in forgiveness and baptized by the very hand of God. This was almost too much to imagine and more than I deserved to hope for. Either way I knew this decision was not mine to make. I had already given up any right to decide our future. If there was to be a future together, it now lay in the hands of a God I had ignored and a woman I had betrayed.

 

As I wandered through this desert of my own making I assumed the worst. I had broken the heart of the woman I had promised forever to and I had broken the promise of loyalty to the God who had been with me all my life. Neither had ever abandoned me. What had I done? How could I have been so selfish? I now knew that I loved them both with all my heart. What I thought I didn’t have with them was nothing compared to what I would lose if they were no longer in my life. I knew without a doubt that Ellen was a gift to me from God. And how did I display my thanks?  I had dishonored both the Giver and the gift. I deserved whatever punishment I was given.

 

I wish I could say that I had seen my error and bailed on this wrongful relationship before Ellen’s discovery. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The only thing I can say is that faced suddenly with the choice, I knew that if
Ellen would have me, I was hers. We decided to take a few days off to discover if there was enough left to build a new future with. We did that with a drive along the Maine seashore until we came to a place we could stay that “seemed” right. That place turned out to be a little seaside motel called “The Neptune” in the town of Ogunquit. Ellen said, “This is where we’ll find out.” If it was up to me I would have shouted, “We already have! As long as you’re willing to love an idiot.” But like I said earlier…it wasn’t.

 

One morning as I lay in bed, Ellen came into the room after her early morning walk. She was smiling as she sat on the bed and looked at me. “Look what God gave me,” she said handing me a beach stone. It was a flat gray stone with two veins of white running parallel to each other until merging into one line of white on the other side. Then she said, “God told me that we have been living like two me’s.”  When I looked up she was smiling at me. “I don’t want to live like that anymore. Do you?” And almost instantaneously we reached for each other.

 

Suddenly, with a love I feared I would never see again, she gave me a forgiveness I knew I did not deserve. In an instant, God’s tender hands and Ellen’s tender heart had molded one USout of two ME’s. What could have been just a sad statistic of another failed marriage instead became a love more tender and wonderful than anything either of us had ever experienced before. God was showing us that His love and blessing was available in all areas of our life. And if we would only invite Him into our bedroom as well as our marriage and allow Him to bless our sexual intimacy, we would receive a gift beyond measure and imagination. So, that night when we went into that rented bedroom by the seashore it was like the first time. In a way it was the first time, because this time Jesus came with us.

 

“Wait a minute,” I hear you saying. “What do you mean Jesus came with you? We need a little more information than that. Did you pray…read your Bible…worship…what?”  Actually, we did none of those things, although any or all of them could be options for you. For us it started with our realization, as a couple, that Jesus was the third strand in our marriage. (“…a cord of three strands is not easily broken”). From there it is constantly living in a state of gratitude, being aware of His presence and being thankful to Him for that presence. Believe it or not, when Ellen’s head is resting on my chest and my arms are around her, I have no problem lifting my eyes and praising and thanking Jesus for blessing our lovemaking. Sometimes my heart is so full of gratitude that those holy tears I experienced when Jesus and I first met flow freely once again. I can almost see Him smiling from across room as He tells me,”Remember Song of Songs? I tried to tell you how it could be.” And exactly how is it? Well….

 

What we had told ourselves for years was great sex was forgotten in an instant, replaced by a joy-filled intimacy that words would defile.  Now, because Jesus was with us, what had been a 50/50 experience at best became two people giving 100% of themselves to the satisfaction and pleasure of the other. No longer were two people making love. We had mysteriously and miraculously become one. When we were in love’s embrace neither of us had any idea where one ended and the other began, when our fingers intertwined they were like puzzle pieces fitted perfectly together, when our lips met I could taste her love and feel her heart beat and as she filled my arms I knew that from the very beginning they had been made for her and no one else would ever fit. And that is how it has felt every time since. Ogunquit will always be special because it is the place where we found each other. But Jesus brings that same newness and wonder to our “ordinary” bedroom every time we invite Him in.

 

So, it’s “happily ever after” right?  Well, not exactly. There are many things that we must continue to work on. Forgiveness has many layers and that frightened and abused little boy cowering in my spirit still needs attention. But we both have a new strength and sense of purpose now. For we know that if we keep inviting Jesus into every area of our lives, including the bedroom, we will continue to climb toward a greater joy and more perfect peace.

 

And I know this one other thing as well:  I used to be merely married to my wife. Now I have an unquenchable love for the most beautiful and sexy creature that ever donned a miss-matched pair of fuzzy slipper socks.

 

And by God’s grace, I always will.

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