God Doesn't Need Back Seat Drivers

I really wish me and God could get back on the same page where He is in the driver’s seat and I am sitting beside Him letting Him navigate.  I say this like God is being defiant or something—like He is asleep and won’t drive or something. And yes, I know...I am the defiant one. I am often a back seat driver which must be so annoying to Him. And sometimes I put Him in the backseat and take the wheel, which is even more ridiculous.  

I can look back at the past three years and clearly see God working in my life. I can see that when I am aligning my will with His that life is easier; it makes sense; things fall into place; I’m not forcing anything; I’m typically pretty calm and there is a peacefulness to my life. The ride isn't always exciting but it's a smooth one. 

Sounds pretty great, right? Well, it is. But here lately I have been trying to make God align His will with mine—as if I know a short cut He isn’t privy to. As I write this, I know how ridiculous this is. I mean, I knew before I wrote it but for some reason putting it on paper makes me realize even more of just how absurd it sounds.

You see, ever since I got sober, I’ve been pretty compliant with turning my will over to the care of God on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. I let Him drive. Early on, it wasn’t too hard to figure out what God’s will for my life was. It was to stay sober. Recovery comes first so anything that would take me closer to a drink was most likely not God’s will for my life. Well, this still holds true but three years into sobriety, I am living again and it’s a little more complicated than just staying sober. There are more stops and turns and road blocks that come my way and when I am in the driver’s seat these obstacles seem even more daunting and problematic.

A few weeks ago I realized I had stopped praying for God’s will. I put Him in the back seat. I knew what I was doing. I knew how I wanted certain things to turn out and I didn’t want His advice on it and if His will wasn’t what mine was, then I was willing to take that chance and force it.

Oh my Lord, do you know how miserable that is? I don’t stand a chance when this is my thought process. I have run out of gas, if you will, leaving me stranded on the side of the road. The crazy part is that I know I’m not alone. God’s just hanging out waiting for me to ask Him to take back over. You see…my God is such a gentleman like that. He’s going to let me take over when I want to but always there to help me out when I ask Him. 

Most of my life has been a great and often tragic example of self will run riot. I had taken God out of the driver’s seat, duct taped his mouth shut and put Him in the trunk of the car for a good portion of my journey. Three years ago I released Him and asked Him take the driver’s seat, but from time to time I want to drive because I think I know this exciting off-the-map-route that will be fun and sometimes it is, but I usually end up breaking down, running out of gas, or crashing--leaving me with a mess of a situation. And who do I turn to? God, no doubt. Poor guy gladly takes back over and helps me get back on the right path but I have usually gotten myself into some sort of mess that needs some attention.

I started writing this post last week as I was stranded on the side of the road feeling a little defeated by own self will. But I woke up today and got on my knees and asked God to take back over. He isn’t quite back in the driver’s seat just yet but we are walking hand in hand to get gas now. It will be no time before we are back on the road…I am sure of that. 

Roger Hudson: No Ordinary Dad

Roger Hudson is no ordinary dad but having him for a dad always seemed normal. What some people saw as aggressive and unruly, I saw as passionate and standing up for what’s right even when that means standing alone or sometimes getting arrested if you’re Roger Hudson. 

My dad was born to mill workers in a poor southern town in the early 1950s. His father couldn’t read or write. He was one of six kids who grew up in a small two bedroom house. He graduated second from the bottom of his high school class and was put into a category to fail by most teachers. He didn’t go to college, but instead he got a job building swimming pools. He saved his money and bought a backhoe and started a business.  

I thought we were poor when I was little because he was always working and we lived a very modest lifestyle. As a kid, I wanted my dad to be like other dads and wear collared shirts ,play golf and show up at my dance recitals. As an adult, there is no one on earth I have more admiration and respect for that he wasn’t your average dad.

The thing I admire most about my dad is that he has always remained true to who he is. He stands up for what is right and often ignores consequences for doing so. He could care less if people like him yet everyone loves him. He always pulls for the underdog because he himself was an underdog. He doesn’t care about appearances or try to keep them up. He gives everyone he meets a fair shot. He can go from Jesus Christ to Clint Eastwood is 2 seconds flat if you mess with someone he loves. He is fiercely loyal. He is a trail blazer who pushes the limits and views rules as a mere suggestion. He is a brilliant business man who holds no degrees. He sees misfortune and mistakes as lessons learned. He keeps an open mind and is open to accepting new ideas and opinions. He can express his thoughts without having to argue and he doesn’t hold grudges. However, when he calls someone “partner” or “cowboy” you better watch out because the situation is about to get real.  

There is a running joke in my family that my dad always wanted a son just like him but got a daughter instead. That would be me. I am somewhat the “Roger Whisperer” in the family and for no other reason than I am so much like him. Being like Roger Hudson hasn’t always been the easier-softer way but it sure does keep life interesting.

So, here’s to you Dad. Thanks for not being a collared shirt wearing, golf playing, bourbon drinking Dad, but instead a hardworking, crocs wearing, old pick-up truck driving Dad who is my very own super hero! You are like the most badass person I know. 

A 3rd Birthday In Heaven and On Earth

Today would be my brother’s 33rd birthday, and the day after that marks my 3rd anniversary in sobriety. You see, Will died right before his 30th birthday from a drug overdose. My family held a birthday party in his memory to celebrate his life on June 10, 2012, which I only remember as my last drunk.  The event was on a Sunday afternoon and I was in a fully functioning black out by the time the hundreds of guests started arriving around 2pm. I woke up the next morning and found myself standing over my parent’s bed asking them to keep my dog because I needed to go to rehab. Today, I can only credit this to the grace of God because I know it wasn’t me who made that decision. It was like an outer body experience and God was doing for me what I couldn’t do for myself. So, off to rehab I went and I got sober. 

This time of year has proven to be hard for me. My head space gets even funkier than usual during the seven week period between the anniversary of my brother’s death and me getting sober. I mean, I get it…those 49 days were the darkest most hopeless days of my life--my brother was gone and I wanted to be with him. I wanted to be anywhere but present, so I used alcohol to escape my reality. It was as if I went to sleep the day my brother died and didn’t wake up until the day after his 30th birthday, also known as my sobriety date. 

For the most part, I am usually pretty good at finding gratitude and acceptance, which keeps me pretty calm and content, but here lately I have been anything but. Some days I just want my brother back. Some days it’s harder to find acceptance but I know it’s the key to my peace of mind and I am eventually going to have to let go of wanting things to be different and focus on what can be changed.

In a perfect world I would have gotten sober before Will died and he would have followed suit and we would both be living this amazing life in recovery together. We would share that and life would be great. But the truth is,I don’t’ know what life would look like for either of us if he wouldn’t have died. I’m not sure I would be sober because Will’s death gave me permission to finally admit that I had a problem and to not be ashamed of that. And I can honestly say that I have never been ashamed or embarrassed to admit that I am an alcoholic because I was never ashamed or embarrassed of my brother.

I have often said that I like to think of Will’s death like this…

God came down to Will that night on April 22nd and in this vision of mine, God is Will Smith's character from The Legend of Bagger Vance. He gives Will two options. He can go with him and he shows him all these amazing things that will happen—the domino effect of all the people who have gotten and continue to get sober as a result of his death. Or…he could stay and maybe he showed him what that life would look like. Will would have no doubt chosen to go with Baggar Vance that night. I often wonder what Will’s death saved him from and that brings me some peace when I need it. I also wonder about all the people who have been impacted by his death and I can always find gratitude in that.

But it still hurts. It still sucks. I still cry. I still miss my brother. I still say his name and think of him many times on the daily. I still pick up shoes that I know he would love and for an instant will think I should buy them for his next birthday. I still want to text him when Mean Girls is on. I still pause and smile when I see Honey Bunches of O’s on the cereal aisle. I still buy marshmallow peeps at Easter because Will loved them. I still get sad when I sit in a meeting and someone says “Hi, my name is Will. I’m an alcoholic,” because I would give anything if that was my brother sitting there.

Most days I accept that Will is gone and I use his memory to motivate me to help those who still suffer from addiction, but some days I just have to accept that missing him still makes it hard for me to breathe and outburst of tears are okay. Recovery has taught me “just for today.” Just for today I will stay sober and just for today I accept that my brother isn’t here. Tomorrow I will do the same. 

Once Upon a Time, My Mom Was a Little Girl

I grew up my entire life believing that my mother’s life started the day she had me (save your jokes…I realize how self-centered this is). Well, okay…maybe the day she had my older brother, Matthew. But “mom” was all we knew her to be. She was our mom and that was her role. After me, she had my younger brother, Will. A few years later, Suzanne arrived and completed our family of six.

Most people call my mom, Darl or Darlene, but she was born Emma Darlene Biles on May 28, 1953. That’s what I tend to forget sometimes, or honestly didn't realize until I got sober and realized the world doesn't revolve around me (big shocker for me too). My mom had a life before she ever had kids. That's what I tend to forget sometimes. 

She lived 24 years without any of us being a thought. I mean, sure…she probably imagined having kids one day, but she had 24 years of being Emma Darlene; a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a friend, a wife, a niece, a student, and a teacher. She was a little girl who played with dolls and sang in the church choir. She had dreams and fears and hopes of what her future would be like. She was smart, like really smart. She skipped second grade she was so smart. She started UNC Greensboro in 1970 and graduated in 1973. She got ready for first dates. She met my dad and fell in love. She planned a wedding and she was beautiful bride. She was a school teacher. She had a first day of being “Ms. Biles” to a classroom full of kids who adored her. She got pregnant and had a baby shower, and eventually she became a mom to four kids who think she hung the moon.

All of this…this is what I sometimes forget . I need to remember that my mom’s life didn’t begin with the birth of her children. I need to remember that we are not the only purpose God put her on this earth, but we are four of many. I need to remember that while my mom doesn’t always ask for help and probably isn’t going to, she sometimes needs it and appreciates it when it’s offered. I need to remember that my mom was a little girl with hopes and dreams who probably didn’t think this was how her life was going to turn out either. I need to remember that sometimes my mom might just need to be reminded that she is appreciated and loved on a random Tuesday with some flowers. Because, let's face it...most amazing mother's like mine tend to put their needs behind a long list of others, their children being at the front of that list,  and never cause fuss about it.

I didn’t know the little girl in the picture holding her baby doll or the young woman in the car with my dad heading out on their honeymoon, but I need to because they make me realize all the plans she probably had for her future in those times and of all the sacrifices she made once  she became a mom so she could be the best mom we could ever ask for.

So, here’s to you Mom…and all the other wonderful mothers out there who sometimes just need to be remembered as the little girl inside of you. 

                    My mom with her mom & dad and brother.