Resurrected

 

Loving an addict is watching them die daily.
The holding of breath at every phone call.  Waiting for the shoe to fall.
Loving an addict is telling yourself this is the last time.
No more rescues, no more second chances.  Lost hope over and over.
 
Loving an addict is witnessing a slow-motion train wreck.
Fearing the end result will inevitably come 

and there is nothing you can do to change it.
Loving an addict is a million muttered prayers.
Help them to see.  Help them to stop.  Help them to choose life.
 
Loving an addict is loving someone who can’t love you back.
If only your love was enough. 

 If only they’d choose anything else over the pull.
Loving an addict is questioning your own sanity.
This time.  They truly seem different.  This time maybe they’ll stay sober.
 
Loving an addict is allowing yourself to be drowned.
They pull you down further, but you can’t rescue both under water, 

even though you try.
Loving an addict is hating their actions, choices, mistakes, and flaws.
Screaming internally, wishing they would wake up, 

would hear, would stop.
 
Loving an addict is never hearing truth, 

the lies circle and swallow everything they say.
Words, you learn, can hurt and bruise more than any other weapon.
Loving an addict is a toxic cycle. 
A never-ending rollercoaster of emotions, 

hopes, dreams, pain, and sorrow. 
Broken again and again.
 
Loving an addict means losing pieces of yourself.
Giving with nothing in return.  Wishing for what could have been.  

Or what could be.
Loving an addict is watching them die daily.
Grieving the loss of who they used to be 

and who’ve they become all together.
 
Until they are no more.

 I wrote this a year ago, grieving my sister and what I surely felt was her last days.  She had relapsed and was spiraling.  I'd driven her to rehab, only to learn she checked out a few days later.  Having already lost my brother and father to this disease, I was angry and scared.

When this showed up in my memories, I was preparing to go to a NARCAN training.  Sitting in the class this week, I began to think about my sister's transformation the past year.  

God has restored her life.

Most of my reading and devotions this season have been leading to the Resurrection.  

The Bible is full of stories of broken people, void of hope until they meet the only One who can restore them.  But sometimes, God says wait.

He could have raised Lazarus from the dead the moment his sisters sent word crying for help.  But there was purpose in the waiting.  

Waiting is hard.  We live in a world of instant gratification.  And so, it is natural to question when our prayers aren't answered immediately.

Usually our pleas to God are to "fix" current situations or problems, instead of praying for complete change and restoration.   

But He is a God of Resurrection.  He's in the business of miracles and transformation.

Prior to my sister's relapse, she was questioning her beliefs.  My heart broke when I read her words that she wasn't sure she still believed in God.  Or if she ever did at all.

Though it was painful to watch her slowly fading before my eyes, it would have been harder if she'd died not knowing the Lord.  And maybe that is why she was broken.  It took shattering her life, bringing her knees-bent, to see that God was the only answer for healing.  

Nothing in this world will ever fix our hurt, emptiness or pain.  It's all temporary.  The only restoration is in believing in the One who was Resurrected.  

My prayer for you this Easter - and beyond - is that you see the hope in Jesus.  

Whatever you are facing, no matter the struggles, He can help.  

He hears your cries.  You only need to ask and believe.