Conviction Archives - Page 2 of 2 - call me pasturescott

Words of a Recovering Junkie.

I asked my son’s permission to copy and post this from his Facebook page. We are rejoicing in the faithfulness of God in His handling of our son. Oh, he is so good to us! How He loves prodigals and longs to see them home…

Here it is, completely unedited, as is. That’s what makes it so powerful:

Hi my name is Graham and I’m a drug addict. This is a little about me. This is coming from a recovering addict of everything I put my hands on. Meth was my drug of choice. I wish meth would’ve never been invented. I was so trapped in the chains of addiction to meth that I didn’t care about myself or anyone else. I begged borrowed stole and hustled daily to get high. I will forever be haunted by the memories of myself and the things I’ve done. Meth changed who I was. I became this “zombie” who cared nothing about anything other than the drug. Thankfully I have a God who cared enough about me to stop me before it was too late. A year ago I was cashing fake checks for a dealer of mine so that I could have money to buy whatever I wanted. Out of the thousands of dollars I stole, I have only one thing to show for it, I bought a 400 dollar cell phone a few days before I was arrested and thankfully I still have it. I also bought two cd’s: Gucci mane Back to the trap house and Outkast stankonia. (I don’t have those anymore.) The rest went to Oxycontin 80’s Roxie 30’s and meth. I was arrested 4-22-10 with 9 counts of forgery (felony) and 3 counts of theft by deception (felony) not to mention I was on first offender probation for Possession of marijuana with intent (felony). Needless to say I wasn’t getting out. I did 6 months in the county jail and six months in Coastal State Prison then Clayton County CI. God had to slow me down. I was on the path to death. I am thankful for it. I wish you would never try meth. It will destroy you. Trust me. I could tell you all this till I’m blue in the face and you’re going to do whatever you want and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop you. But for the people who are still chained to addiction, my prayers go out to you. I am not perfect in any way trust me, but I’m doing my best. I feel better about myself. I have made amends to my family and we are doing great. To all the people I stole from, robbed, cheated, and tricked, saying sorry isn’t enough, but I’m sorry. I’m not the same person, and I work daily to become a better person. This is my curse. This is what I have to deal with daily. But today I will wake up and chose to be sober. Today I chose not to be a zombie. I chose life to the fullest. Not a fake world of illusions that drugs brings but a real world. It’s funny as I was writing this; I got a call from Johnny’s Pizza. I got the job! I start tomorrow. My God is an awesome dude. He helped me break the chain of addiction in my life, granted me parole, and got a 3 time convicted felon, currently on parole, tatted to the gills, a job within a month of my release. Sweet. Thank you God.

Father Knows Best

I’ve been waiting for the question that hasn’t come. But it will, I’m sure of it.

“Scott, aren’t you even a tad jealous that Kevin Everett will likely retrieve all his bodily functions and mobility after suffering a potentially grave spinal cord injury?”

This is going to sound weird, I know, but Kevin should be jealous of me. Hear me out. Kevin Everett is the tight end for the Buffalo Bills who sustained a near-crippling injury while making a tackle in Sunday’s NFL season opener. He launched at his opponent, driving his helmet into the player’s chest and immediately crumpled to the ground. Early indications were that he would be paralyzed for life, his career in football over in seconds. Twenty-four hours later we were hearing he was voluntarily moving his arms and legs and his doctors were hopeful even of a full recovery and return to normal life.

Two roads, he and I, with two patently different outcomes.

When I blew a gust of relieved air with the rest of America, I steeled my mind on the truth of God’s sovereignty. One man’s miracle is another man’s blessing. Sure, the enemy was there with his typical suggestions: “…it’s not fair, is it, Scott? You didn’t get the same break, did you? God is so cruel! I’ve been listening to your prayers for your own healing for almost 26 years now…and what? Nothing. Still stuck in that wheelchair! And you’re a, what, preacher of the Gospel? You’d think your Father would look out for you…”

But I sit here, clacking away at these keys, a blessed man!

(Nice try, Slewfoot.)

The fact I am in a wheelchair does not mean I have not been healed. Oh, I have, believe me! My paralysis is a pathway to glory and I am resting in the knowledge that my Maker has set me apart for a privileged season in His sun. He’s given me a break. You want to know Me? Your brokenness is the essential way. The same Apostle who said his own suffering was working for him an eternal weight of glory, said that in the life to come some will shine like the sun, some like the moon and others like the stars in glory. I’m after the former.

I am thrilled for Mr. Everett but I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything. Years ago I picked up a copy of Jerry Bridges’ Trusting God Even When Life Hurts and found in its pages the answer to my soul’s questions and even now, years later, find myself referring to its basic tenets time and again. Mr. Bridges says that God is sovereign, meaning He can do whatever He wants because He is God. He says He is also all-wise and His children can draw comfort from the fact that while God can do whatever He wants, He knows exactly what He is doing. Everything He does has purpose. The third truth pouring from its pages is that God is all-loving. Ah, this is the most comforting unguent of all! While God does as He chooses, He always does it in view of His own glory, and always, always, for our eternal good.

This is the God of my life and I am determined to follow Him through every vale of sorrow, every mile of struggle, and every season of loss and despair. I can do this because the broken road is the blessed road and my Savior walks it with me. Had feeling been restored to me on October 3, 1981 (the day “after”) and the next 26 years been “normal” for me, I have some doubt whether I would have known the Lord as intimately as I do tonight. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I leave even that to His sovereignty.

I praise the God who sits on the circle of the earth, over those who walk and those who don’t. Over those who succumb to disease and those who get well. Over those who serve Him and those who shake their fists at Him. Makes no difference. He is Lord.

One last thing. There was a time when I could sit down (well, of course I’d be sitting!) and write song after song. Interesting that it was in the early years of my disability and I probably wrote three dozen tunes. One of the songs that flowed out of my belly pretty much sums up how I feel about these matters. Mind you, the lyrics were written over 25 years ago and they show some youth, but they are just as real for me today as they were in the early 80’s. To the praise of His glorious grace!

HE KNOWS WHAT’S BEST FOR ME

I know I can’t walk around and at times it gets me down
But He knows and I’m kept by Jesus’ love
There’s so many things I’d like to do
Run a race and win one too
But He knows and that’s enough for me

He knows how much my spirit can stand
He’s so concerned for my good
He is so wise and He hears all my cries
He knows what’s best for me

Sometimes it’s hard to pray when He seems so far away
But He’s there and He’s listening to my heart
He reaches down in love
From His heavenly throne above
‘Cause He knows what I need the very most

And when my life is done
And my crown of life is won
Then I’ll know my pain was worth it all…

It’s my guess that the question I’m still waiting for won’t come after you read this. Oh, one more thing. Please don’t think I am being haughty and patting myself on the back. The truest thing I know is this: none of this comes from me. Only God could take a broken man’s life and give it meaning and rhyme.

And Father knows best.

A Woodshed Moment

Ah, there you are. I thought you were dead.

So I was thinking all the way through south Georgia yesterday afternoon. Actually, the ghost of my “old man” spooked me a couple times this week. Earlier in the week someone close to me spoke a hard word into my life and my self went into self-defense mode immediately. I wouldn’t even take it to the Lord to see if this was Him. I knew it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Not from this person. Flames shot from the orbs of my eyes and smoke billowed from flared nostrils. I told my wife about it and promptly opened the screen of my laptop intending to write them the mother of all emails.

“Don’t do it, Scott,” the Holy Spirit warned.

How strange that He looks a lot like Sandy, I thought to myself.

“If you can’t support me, then leave!” I commanded Him (her).

“I’m telling you, you’ll regret it.”

“No I won’t. Now leave me alone!”

Out she walked. I fumed. Pecking out a string of words, I could feel the evil rise up in me. A mirror of sorts materialized and I saw my old self grinning devilishly, egging me on. Oh, he’ll pay, it said. And you will feel so much better. That gave inspiration for another phrase or two and yet another niggling unsettledness prompting me to go “Pac-Man” on them with my backspace key. Y’ever get so mad you don’t know who you’re mad at? That’s the place I was in. Although I never sent the email my mirrored image was dying for me to send, my heart was wrong. And the anger only festered. Yeah, I ‘obeyed’ the Spirit, but there was no life in it. The Lord had me dead to rights and was setting me up.

I suppose that ire was bubbling away inside me still as I came upon the shaved-headed so-and-so in the red car outside of Tifton, Georgia yesterday afternoon. He was in the left lane and traveling slower than Christmas so I flashed him. Immediately I saw his fist go to the air and watched it sprout a middle digit. About this time, Sandy looked up from her book when she heard me snort. Just in time, I add ruefully, to see the middle finger and me hitched to his rear bumper. It was then she looked over at me and gave me the finger, albeit with her stare.

“What are you doing?”

“I want this…this…JERK to get out of the way. Can you believe him?” my voice shrilled, looking for sympathy from my beloved.

Alas, there was none.

“Stop it, Scott!”

“What?!?” I could see immediately it was going to be my issue.

“Slow down, you’re going to get us all killed!”

“All? I think this bozo needs to die.” The words came out like toothpaste from a tube. Too late.

Sandy went back to her book. I sulked. I fumed. God bided His time. No one was speaking, not for the longest time. I’d turn to God in my thoughts with a C’mon, give me a break! Can’t you see how crappy this week has been? And I’m the innocent one in all this, but I could feel Him looking down at whatever He was reading too.

A few hours ago, the Lord summoned me. They were the first words I’d heard Him speak in my direction for some time, so I was glad. What I didn’t know was He had opened the door to a woodshed and invited me in. I was so delighted with the attention I gaited merrily inside, thinking it’s about time. I opened my journal and began pouring out my heart to him, defending myself from the get go, reminding Him I was His man and this must be persecution and all that. Instantly, He went into silent mode again. I wasn’t listening. I was doing all the talking and defending, so He quietly shut the door behind Him and cleared His throat.

I stopped. Looking around, I could tell I didn’t like this room at all. Then I had the strange sensation I’d been here before. Many times. I sat still as a stone, knowing I’d best listen as what I was about to hear was going to be the answer to my cry for so long: Lord, whatever is in me that needs to die, painful as it is, do it. Do me, Lord!

The one thing about God, He doesn’t tap dance very often. Mostly, He gets right to the point.

“You were wrong, Scott.”

“You mean, the other day? Well, I know I was yesterday. But, Lord…”

“You were wrong. I sent My servant to tell you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“If you continue to reject his word, you reject Me.”

He showed me this in the context of 1 Samuel 2:30 (the very end of the passage). The clarity was unmistakable.

“I’m sorry, Lord.”

“Not that easy. Not to Me. To him.”

He told me I was to write this person, humiliating myself in the process, telling him I was wrong, he was right and (gulp) asking his forgiveness. He also told me what to say, no more, no less. But still I found a way to obey God and get an old man ‘dig’ in as well. That should do it, I thought somewhat satisfactorily. I wanted to save a little face at least, to hold onto some measure of dignity. Ah, but that’s the stuff of self.

(There you are, you old codger. I thought you were dead.)

“Take that out,” the Lord said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Yes, Lord.” And I took it out.

Did it hurt to do it? Oh my, and how. But I could never want to be on the other side of God’s holiness. The woodshed is as far as I want to ever go. Funny thing how it is also such a grace-filled room. There’s some real one-on-one attention in the woodshed, some real heart-to hearts in there.

Even still, I think I’ll steer clear of it for awhile, thank you very much.