"Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging.
Whoever
is deceived by it, is not wise!"
Proverbs 20:1
The two most popular articles that I have posted
have been those about with my personal conversion ("1983") and my
thoughts concerning the use of alcoholic beverages ("Don't be
Stupid!"). Realizing that we still face the reality of deception
concerning the use and abuse of alcohol, I felt moved to expand my experience
of God's merciful deliverance in my own spiritual journey. So many differences
began to take place in my life when I trusted Jesus Christ, that many people
who knew me well were confused and concerned at my transformation. This does
not mean that I was instantaneously delivered from the power of sin, for that
is an ongoing process that continues today through what the Bible calls
sanctification. Yet even in my baby steps of faith, I began to display a love
for what I once hated, and a hatred for what I once loved. Friends and family
may have been shocked at what was happening in my life, but God was not
surprised at all, for this was His plan from the beginning of time as we know
it. The Bible says, "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and
that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should
boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works,
which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them." Ephesians
2:8-10
When I came to a saving knowledge of God's
grace available through repentance and faith in His Son, I had no idea what a
strong noose had been wrapped around my life by alcohol. Drinking was not just a casual
pastime or occasional habit, it was a controlling lifestyle. As a new born babe
in Christ desiring the pure milk of His word, I was immediately convicted by
His indwelling Spirit that I should separate myself from all temptations to
consume alcoholic beverages in any type of setting. This was quite a challenge
while living on a college campus, and I'm sure I often failed to be as strong
in Him as I could have been. When I eventually moved into my own apartment the
following year to prepare for my upcoming wedding plans, victory was easier to
experience. After all, I could barely afford the rent and utilities, so
groceries were sometimes unaffordable. With that being the case, the holy
desire for bread would easily overcome the unholy desire for beer!
After Tammy and I pledged our vows to each
other, the inner struggle to loosen and remove this noose began to be further
realized. Yet even then I found it difficult to disconnect totally and
completely from this monstrous destroyer. When we gathered with some of my old
friends where alcoholic beverages were available, I would seek to blend in and
have a few drinks. Tammy never fussed or berated me in any way, but I knew her
strong stance on complete abstinence, and I certainly did not want to upset nor
disappoint her. Another problem during this critical time of spiritual
development in my life came from some within our own church family. Whenever
our pastor mentioned the poison of alcohol in a scathing way from the pulpit, I
would hear some men, who were very influential in my life, standing outside
together after the service and saying something like this: "I don't care what
the preacher says, I can keep it and drink it in my house if I want to."
Another would say, "I agree, beer in my refrigerator is not going to send
me to Hell." Listening to statements like these that came from the lips of
church deacons and Sunday School teachers, softened my resistance. I still
refused the temptation to have these beverages in my home, but I decided that
the occasional use of alcohol in certain settings must be okay. After all,
that's what I heard these church leaders saying, and I knew that they would not
say or do anything wrong.
I was still growing in the Lord during this
time, so I was certainly not actively looking for a party to attend or a
gathering of some kind that might help me drink socially. In fact, I was
assuming more and more responsibilities in our church family, and was even
getting invitations to speak at other events in some of the local churches in
our area. It was also during this time that I accepted the job of assistant
manager at the Oktibbeha County Co-op, a local farm and ranch supply store. Our
manager, Gerald Jackson, was a great guy and a wonderful mentor to me in this
new endeavor. Another man of great influence was a regional salesman who called
on us several times a month. He was a lay speaker in the Methodist church and
very active in the Gideon ministry. I never remember a time that I saw him that
he did not have a Gideon New Testament in his shirt pocket. These men, as well
as numerous others, were about to have a profound impact upon my life in a way
that I could never imagine.
Not long after the rush of the spring season
at the Co-op had passed, Mr. Jackson informed me that we would be going to a manager's
conference at the co-operative headquarters near Jackson, Miss. Leaders from
all over the state, along with some from Louisiana, would be in attendance. I
was very impressed when we pulled up to the multi-storied glass and steel
structure, and was even more in awe of the building when we stepped inside to a
beautiful vestibule with a remarkable water feature. We made our way to a very
large, theater styled conference room, filled with tables and leather chairs,
that gave every attendee a good view of the podium and platform. When our CEO
called the meeting to order with a few opening remarks and announcements, he
called on our Methodist/Gideon friend to come forward to lead us in prayer. I
thought, "Wow! We're coming together as a secular company and will start
this meeting with prayer! I like this!"
After the meeting, we were instructed to move
to the dining hall for a wonderfully catered meal, complete with an
entertaining speaker from Louisiana
It had been quite a long time since I enjoyed
the taste of an ice cold brew. One cup led to two. Two cups led to three. Three
cups led to four. I then decided Coke and Jack would be good, so I began to
drink several mixed drinks. As the sun began to set and the bar was about to
close, some of the guys decided to confiscate the open liquor bottles and the
remaining kegs of beer and take them to our motel to continue the party. I
helped them load up everything we wanted, then unloaded it and carried it all
up to one of the guest rooms. Several guys left and returned with a large
amounts of snack foods for everyone as we continued drinking. Another group
eventually left, then returned as well, carrying several paper sacks. As they
began to empty their bags and throw pornographic magazines to everyone still in
the room, an inner voice began to say to me, "Get out, get out!" When
the last two men walked into the room, one had a VCR player that they had
rented, and the other had a box full of x-rated movies. The guy with the VCR
saw that I didn't have a magazine in my hand, so he instructed me to turn the
television around and help him set up the video player. As my hands touched the
TV set, that inner voice began to scream, "GET OUT! GET OUT!"
Needless to say, I left immediately.
When Mr. Jackson and I arrived for additional
meetings that next morning, I was still contemplating all that had transpired
the night before. He went into the dining hall for breakfast, while I sat down
near the water feature in deep thought. After a few minutes, a very tall man
walked up to me, extended his hand, and said, "Brother Charles, I want to
meet you." This greeting startled me, for it was the very first time that
anyone had used the endearing term "Brother" in front of my name. Those
of us with a Southern heritage realize this title is one that shows respect to
those who serve in some capacity of ministry. Helping me to my feet, he then
said, "The reason I wanted to meet you, is that I'm from (and he named a
town that I cannot remember, but I do know that he mentioned a place in south
Mississippi) and heard that you are preaching when you have the opportunity and
sharing your testimony of what God has done in your life. I think that's
wonderful, Brother Charles, God bless you."
I stood there speechless as he walked away,
and sensed myself shrinking from nearly six feet tall to about two inches. Mr.
Jackson returned in just a few minutes and I told him about this encounter. I
described the man's facial features, his unusual height, and where he said he
was from, and Mr. Jackson said that he didn't know anyone like that, and that
he knew everyone associated with the Co-op. "I watched him walk into our
meeting room," I said. "I'll show him to you." But when we
walked into the room, which was about half full at the time, he was no where to
be found.
"I don't see him, Mr. Jackson."
"Well, I don't either, and he couldn't go
out that exit door without setting the alarm off. I'm not sure who you met,
Charles, because I've never met a man like you just described to me."
During all of the subsequent meetings, my mind
was on two things: my foolish actions the night before, and this stranger that
had spoken to me that morning. Riding with Mr. Jackson back home, he talked the
entire time, yet my mind was still occupied with my stupidity and sinfulness.
As he talked, I prayed. I finally remember praying something like this:
"God, I have often prayed that I might be delivered from the evils of
alcohol. I have asked you to do this in the past because I know that it is not
good for me. But now, Lord, I realize that it's not about me, it's about You.
Oh, Jesus, alcohol is not good for You. It robs You of Your glory. It destroys
Your testimony. It's about You. Please Lord, deliver me from this deceptive
evil not because of the harm that it can cause me, but because of the harm it
causes You!" Tears streamed down my face as I looked out Mr. Jackson's
truck window that day. He had no idea that I was involved in a moment of
intense spiritual warfare. Nor was he aware of the great victory that God gave
me that day in his pick-up truck. For that prayer, coupled with God's amazing
grace, broke the chains of alcohol over my life once and for all. I had
consumed my last drink.
