Читать книгу Dancing on a Razor - Kevin John White - Страница 8

Preface

The vast majority of this book was written over a course of seven months in a drug and alcohol treatment centre. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Not only that, but I’d never written anything in my life before. When I first put pencil to paper I was still in withdrawal and shaking so hard that the words I wrote were almost illegible. I was sick, depressed, utterly hopeless, and suicidal. This would be my sixteenth treatment centre over a 40-year period, and I had absolutely no reason to think this one was going to make any more difference than any of the other 15 centres (or all the other times I had done everything I could think of to stop drinking). Even people who were close to me in all sincerity had asked me more than once why I even bothered getting up any more—why I even bothered trying. I had been advised on several occasions to just take a shotgun and blow my head off—that I should put myself and everyone else out of their misery because misery was all I was capable of creating. Many times I had asked myself the same questions—in fact, many, many times. I knew of more than one way to put an end to my life: a quick heroin overdose, or maybe just one step onto the highway and into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. BAM! Done.

But I couldn’t help it. I just had to stand up one more time, just once more—because I knew something. Way deep down inside of me I knew something that no one else did. I knew God, and I knew what he had promised me. And I still knew, even when I was in the pits of hell, that he had promised and that he would keep his promise. I would try to quit trying—to stop believing and not care anymore, to just give up completely and stay that way. I wanted to forget that hope even existed—because it hurt, because hope was for dreamers and idiots. But it was impossible to forget. You see, I knew too much, and I had seen way too much. For a time, I walked on that razor-thin line between faith and apostasy, life and death, heaven and hell—and for almost two years I begged God not to take my life—not yet. So there I sat, with no hope, full of hope, hoping against hope that just maybe, maybe somehow, maybe something would change—somehow. I had no idea how close I was to discovering a freedom I could never have dreamed possible, that light and life and overwhelming joy were right around the corner, and that I would laugh in tears of wonder at what I would discover.

One of the things they told me to do at the centre was to journal every day. Journal? I could barely keep a coherent thought in my head for more than five minutes. Besides, I didn’t like being told to do anything every day. Not my style. That, and I was in a state of total and helpless depression. Actually, it was more than just depression. This was a soul-sick weariness born of utter desolation. I honestly thought that going through this centre was nothing more than the pathetic motions of futility—an absolute waste of time. Again. But for some reason I stayed put. I don’t know why. I mean, I could probably have taught everything they thought I was learning. You pick up a lot of information in the course of 15 treatment centres. I knew it all, so why in the world was I there? I asked myself that question at least once a day.

I sighed and stared rather glumly at the irritatingly empty page, in a whole journal full of irritatingly empty pages, which made me even more irritable—sick, depressed, and miserable—and tried to figure out what in the world I could possibly scratch onto this stupid piece of paper for an exercise I considered a complete waste of time. But then something happened—something wonderful. I thought of King David, the greatest king of all Israel, and that’s when everything began to change.

I really liked this character, ’cause when David was down, he was really, really down. He just cracks me up because one minute everything is so terrible and he’s so depressed and everybody hates him and all his friends are a bunch of no good low-life back-stabbing scum and his mouth is full of dust and worms and God has forgotten all about him and he’s going to lie down in the dirt and eat camel dung and die and no one is even going to come to his funeral ’cause everybody hates him (or something like that!).

But then he does something. One time while he was really depressed, he says, “I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your wonders of old. I will ponder all your work, and meditate on your mighty deeds” (Ps. 77:11–12), and then David begins to list all the wonderful things God has done for Israel, and by the time he’s done listing everything he’s all like “Yeah, God! And, you’re on my side ’cause I’m a really good guy, and I love you and you love me, and me and you should go and obliterate all those other fools, ’cause they’re real bad and I’m real good, so let’s go bust their teeth right out of their mouths and break their jaws (and their arms and legs too!), and we should go and grind those dirty evil uncircumcised dogs so far into the dust they’ll never see daylight again ’cause you really, really love me, and between you and me, God, the whole world should give us all their money and say you’re really great—and that I’m great too, RIGHT?!” HA! This guy just kills me! Talk about mood swings!

Anyway, that is exactly what I did. I began to think about all the times God had done this really strange stuff in my life—things that I had almost forgotten about—like, amazing things. That’s when I became really confused. I couldn’t figure out what God was up to with all this crazy stuff he had done. Why did he do it? It just didn’t make any sense! I had to get organized. I had to be able to look at it all and try to piece it together. I wanted to understand—I needed to understand. So I made a list of what I wanted to look at, and I began to write.

As I went over my notes and read the stories of what God had done for me and carefully thought through what was there, ever so slowly I began to see that over and over the same message was being pounded into my thick skull time and again—until I finally actually got it. I suddenly understood! After I put it all down on paper, all together in one place, suddenly everything became clear. How can I possibly explain the beauty and wonder of what was right in front of me? As I thought about all the many miracles he had done in my life, the reality of them, and the great mercy and love he had so consistently shown me year after year, it seemed as if inside me a giant floodgate suddenly burst wide open, and the reality of his love washed over me like a tidal wave. And it didn’t subside; it grew more and more powerful day after day, every single time I looked at the hard evidence of his love, right in front of my eyes! You see, it was as I was writing about what God did for me and as I read and reread my notes that he actually broke the chains that had kept me bound for 40 years!

That is what God’s love is! It is freedom! I wept then. I wept and I wept and I wept—for months on end. I still weep. Many times, I have to stop writing, get out of my chair, put my face on the ground, and try so hard to express my heart to him. Gratitude, love, adoration—none of these words come even close to what I felt as God opened my eyes to show me his hand in my life. I worship him now with a depth never before known to me, possible only because I have seen. I know now! My eyes have been opened to him and to his impossible love. How so very merciful is our God! So worthy of praise! Nothing in all of heaven or earth can compare to him! He doesn’t just love. He is love! The kindnesses he has done for me. The grace. The mercy. The protection he has had over my life—it’s just simply too big for my words to express, and I am left in tears again trying in vain to explain the great mercies of my God. I know now that I am loved, and no one and nothing can ever take that love away or separate me from it.

So now, I must share what I have found. His love brings with it a freedom impossible to deny, and all I want to do is share that freedom. If only I could touch you for a moment—if only somehow I could give to you what it is I have found, I would do it with all my heart! But all I can do now, all I can ever do, is try as hard as I can to transmit the tremendous love, power, and freedom I have found in this God who loves me, no matter what!

So, read on then, and my fervent prayer is that the Lord, the God of hope, would flood your heart with light, so that you may know and come to experience the love and mercy I have found while writing these pages.

May God bless you and keep you in his love always,

Kevin John White