Free Indeed

They knew he wouldn't be easy from the start. His mom was up nights from the time she took him home from the hospital. He didn't eat well, he didn't sleep well. He didn't gain much weight his first few weeks of life because he didn't nurse much and when they tried formula, he didn't seem to like that either. They tried goat's milk, soy milk and cool-aide but to no avail. Eventually, after months of slowly nursing him along with what little he would consume, he ate just enough Gerber's baby food and rice to actually make his parents begin to believe he just might survive. They call it the terrible twos but for him it was a nightmare. Temper tantrums and fits were the norm and spankings didn't help. They seemed to make him worse. Time out was tried but he could figure out how to get into mischief in a desolate corner all by himself. As it turned out, the twos were just practice for the threes because, if it's possible, he just got worse. His mom would dress him up and take him to town only to be embarrassed by his behavior and by the time she got him home, he would have broken something in a store and he would be filthy or his clothes in tatters. He was a bull in a china closet, the Tasmanian Devil, and a professional wrestler all rolled up into a thirty-five pound three year old. By the time he was old enough to go to school his poor mom was exhausted. Over the years she made dozens of trips to school to discuss the trials and tribulations of his teachers. He was never in serious trouble nor was he a bully or violent. But he didn't behave within the confines of rules and decorum. He talked too much in class, daydreamed to much, and distracted the other students constantly. They tried their dead level best not to label him but in the back of their minds, individually and collectively, he was a troubled child. When asked why he did one thing or another that had resulted in his most recent trip to the office in school, he would say, "I couldn't help it." As a teenager he began staying out later and later and unable to change him in any way, his father just gave up. He was so disappointed in this son of his that he became a recluse and shunned any friends or relationships from his work or community. When the boy's mother tried to talk to her husband about it he sunk even deeper into silence and frustration. The deeper into depression he retreated, the deeper into prayer she engulfed herself. She consulted the paster of her church but everything he suggested, she had already tried with little or no success. Finally, his parents settled into a survival mode hoping they could just get him graduated and out of the house. When he was sixteen, he got his drivers license, got a job working at the local stockyard, quit school, and as soon as he could he bought a second hand pickup. His parents felt like total failures as he packed his truck and drove away on his eighteenth birthday.

He spent the next several years wandering around the western United States from town to town, job to job. He rarely contacted his parents. He knew they didn't have any money to send him, he didn't want their money but he knew they'd be expecting him to ask for some so eventually he quit contacting them altogether. He bought a trailer and a horse and roped a little from time to time on the rodeo circuit along with odd jobs to keep him going. He would work in one place until the rambling fever hit and off he would go to another place, any place but where he was. He was never settled, never satisfied, never content. It was as though he was bound, literally with chains to a life of loneliness, sadness, and wandering. Every time you'd think he was settling in and staying put for a while, his self-destructive nature would seep to the top and virtually explode. Then, he would be off again, not even knowing where until he'd get there.

He had not really been a heavy drinker in his younger years, though he did drink his share, but as the years increased, so did his affinity for alcohol. He was in a bar after the rodeo in Gallup, NM one night, when a pretty young lady came up to him and, looking for conversation, he was happy to oblige her. They talked, small talk of course, then he bought her a drink, then another, then another. When he woke up, he was in the back alley, beat up and filthy laying in the mud behind a dumpster. His head was bruised and swollen, and felt like it would explode. All his money was gone, but the only good thing he had left to him was that he never parked near a bar he went to to drink and he hid his keys under the wheel well so he couldn't lose them. He knew if he could find his way down the damp, smelly back alley to the bar he came from or the street, he could find his truck. It was still dark outside but he didn't know what time it was. He wandered around the corner and got his bearings. He could see that the bar was closed and the street was quiet and dark but he knew he could remember where he parked and how to get there. When he got to his truck, he crawled inside and reeling from the pain in his head he passed out across the seat.

As the morning's bright sun and its intense heat hit him in the face he awoke to the same terrible headache he passed out from the night before. He remembered seeing a small medical clinic between the rodeo arena and the bar the night before so he decided to try and find it. Find it he did and almost crashing his truck, he recklessly got parked over the lines of two spaces. He stumbled in the door and just about the time the nurse noticed him, he collapsed.

A dark haze lifted from his eyes and he noticed a doctor standing over him, checking his pulse as a nurse was doing something on the other side of the bed with his IV. The doctor said, "Well, that's a good sign. He's alive and waking up. Sir, do you know where you are?"

He replied that he did and after checking his vitals, they were able to discern his name and get his ID from his truck. They told him he had almost died from alcohol poisoning and knockout drops, along with a concussion. The doctor could tell by the bruises and scrapes on his hands that there had been a fight. He would be here a few days for observations. He said little and laid still. Mainly because it hurt to move. When they were gone, just as he was wondering how in the world he would ever pay for this, he panicked. He did not know what day it was or how long he had been there, but he remembered his horse was in a rented stall at the rodeo grounds, or at least that's where he was supposed to be. At that second, everything turned darker, then faded to black and he was out again.

The nurse was checking his IV again when he woke up the next time. She spoke kindly and softly as she reassured him that they had found his horse and he was fed and watered and the son of one of the nurses had taken him home to their horse stalls until he got back on his feet and could make other arrangements and get on his way. Where ever that was.

A few days later, the doctor reluctantly let him check himself out of the hospital. He had no idea how he would do it but he had signed papers saying he would pay the hospital bills and assured the doctor he'd come see him in one week at his office for a follow up just to make sure his concussion was better. All the other injuries were superficial. He found his truck parked nicely between the lines at the far end if the parking lot out of the way. He got in his truck, drove to the rodeo grounds, and hooked on to his trailer thinking how surprised he was it was still there. He followed the directions the nurse wrote down and went to the house where his horse was being kept. He knocked on the door but no one answered. He walked around to the back of the small adobe house to find a young boy watering several horses including his own. He asked what he owed the boy for upkeep, knowing it didn't matter because he was broke, and was relieved when the boy said, "Nothing." He made his way, trailer and horse in tow, out of town. He couldn't make it too far on the gas he had in his tank but he'd go as far as he could and find some work. He made it to Holbrook, AZ running on fumes and afraid his truck was about to overheat. When he arrived, he stopped at a feed store and asked if they knew anyone hiring. The feed store owner asked a bunch of questions and he answered every one of them to the best of his ability. Some of his answers were even the truth. In spite of it all, the man hired him,"but only 'til ya git on yer feet", he said. He kept his horse in the small pasture out back of the feed store.

He spent the next several days loading and unloading feed trucks and hay trucks in the hot sun and drinking gallons of water. He soon came to realize he was an alcoholic because he had a growing desperate need for a drink though he would not admit it out loud. Counting his short stay in the hospital, he'd been almost a week without a drink and he was getting the shakes but he had no money. His boss had a little room in the back with a sink, toilet, and a cot where he'd been staying and his wife had been sending enough lunch with her husband to share with him but he hadn't been paid yet. When Friday came and the boss paid him his wages, it was with some apprehension because he was afraid he'd never see the young man again. Much to his surprise, he hung around. The young man did buy a bottle, and by Sunday afternoon it was empty, but Monday morning, when it was time to open up, he was ready for work. The boss was pleasantly surprised but his first gut instincts turned out to be correct. As the weeks went by, he got more and more comfortable in his new surroundings which is to say he slipped slowly back into his old habits. Drinking on weekends at first, turned into a drink here and there during the week in the evenings. Then, he was hung over at work. Then, when the day came that his boss caught him drinking in the back room, he was fired on the spot. His boss did not like having to fire him but much to his dismay, he had no choice. He told the young man that if he joined AA and stayed sober for a good length of time, he could have his job back. He showed his worst side, yelling, throwing things and, in every way, proving his boss right to have fired him and now making him regret hiring him in the first place.

The young man packed his things, loaded them in his truck, hooked on to his trailer and catching his horse, loaded him and was on his way. Luckily, for him at least, it was the day after payday so he had money in his pocket. He drove until the money ran out, sold his horse and trailer and before long he had run out of that money too. Down on his "luck" one more time, he spent the last few dollars he had getting drunk again. When the bar closed the bartender made him leave and he stumbled down the street until he fell, face first into a gutter full of water. He choked and spit water as he gasped for breath. He thought to himself what a wreck he was. What a complete failure at everything. There had been nothing wrong with his parents and the life they gave him but he had rejected them at every turn. He had even found strangers who took a chance on him but he had blown that too. Bad choices had led him to desperation and desperation had led him to even more bad choices.

He could not imagine how to change things and turn himself around. Just as he sat his soaking wet frame on the curb over the filthy gutter, he heard a strange sound. It sounded like music coming from a storefront down the street. Lights streamed into the otherwise dark street from the pane glass windows into the night. As if he had no control on himself or his movements, he felt himself being compelled toward the sound. The closer he got to the light, and the louder the music, the more intent he was on seeing what was behind those walls. As he entered the double doors he was greeted with smiles and outstretched hands. He sat and listened as they sang. The audience was a ragtag bunch of people just like him. They were men and women. Young and old. Some looked homeless, others just alone. They all, like him, were at the end of their rope. The music drew them in and held them captive for a moment of peace. As the music ended, a man in jeans and a sweatshirt stood up and began to tell a story. A story of a young man who had it all. Home, family, you name it, he had it. He took all that was his from his family and wasted it all. Finding himself all alone and destitute, he realized what he had done and returned to a loving and forgiving father who took him back. He realized that he was that young man. As the man on the small wooden stage continued, he told the crowd of nearly fifty people from all backgrounds and walks of life that we are all the young man.

God is the father and He truly does love us and is calling us home. Home to Him, His love, His forgiveness, and a new life. If we trust Him and surrender our broken lives to Him, He can fix it all. He gave us His own son to die on a cross for us so we could live with Him. It all sounded so surreal and unbelievable to the young man but he found himself believing every word. Tears poured down his filthy cheeks making streaks all the way to his chin. As the offer was made, he accepted the invitation to come to the front. He fell on his face again, but this time it was by choice. As the speaker knelt down to help him up he wept like never before. He repeated a short prayer the man lead him in and he meant every word he spoke. He surrendered everything that night to Jesus Christ. It was a long time before he was able to get his life and health straightened out but he had help in this ragtag congregation and it's unorthodox leader. He'd been sober and kept a job for nearly a year when he finally got the nerve to send a letter to his parents. After almost three years of running, he wasn't sure what their response would be but he would live with whatever it was. He had come to this place by his own choices and he would have to take it one day at a time. For his whole life, he had been in some sort of bondage. Bound and chained by shackles of his own making, but now he was free. Free from all those shackles and chains. Free indeed.

"So if the Son (Jesus)makes you free, you will be free indeed." (John 8:36 NASB)