When He Was Enough For Me

It is hard to believe that a few weeks ago I felt like I had a spiritual core. Right after Halloween, I developed reactive arthritis from a virus, and I have been on prescription pain medicine off and on since then. I have had chemically induced moments of such peace and optimism that I could not help but rely on painkillers to give me relief from fear and darkness. I do not remember what it was like when God was my Higher Power and when he was enough for me. It does not seem like a relationship with God can ever be enough again.

I know what to do: pray, go to meetings, talk to people and let go. I also know that the feelings I want to escape from – fear, loneliness, sadness and shame - will trouble me until I let them surface. There is one more thing that I know, and it is probably the hardest part to accept. I know that I cannot control when I will feel better. I can pray, I can live in the solution, I can surrender and I can even truly want God’s will. However, I will feel better when I am supposed to, and I have no idea how long it will take for that feeling to get here.

And at a time when I need to feel a spiritual connection the most, reading and journaling cause more neck strain than I can tolerate. So as I wait to become assured of God’s care again, I cannot use the tools that I have relied on so heavily in the past. I can’t read my Emmet Fox books. I can’t read a few paragraphs of my Norman Vincent Peale books. I can’t read the story of a miraculous healing in The Miracles of John Paul II. I can’t read the daily meditations in my Al-Anon books. I can’t write in my journal about the day’s struggles or anything that gave me hope.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. That is my reality for the moment. I can’t; this will never work. I said once in an AA meeting that if I miss meetings, not only does my disease lie to me about how harmless drinking is, but it also lies to me about how good God is.

And that is the only faith I have right now. Life seems empty and bleak, I feel like I am in the world all alone, and I cannot imagine ever feeling joy again because I know that God loves me. But a tiny part of me says that this is just my disease lying to me again, kicking me while I’m down.

I hope so.