He was on top of the world. He had it all. He was The Heavyweight Champion of the World. He came from nothing to pull off the biggest upset in the history of boxing. He went on to defend his title several times. Fame. Fortune. Accolades. The world at his fingertips. Little did he know that at the very time he was living the high life defending his title against contenders who would be easy to beat, there was another young man in Chicago training and fighting—working his way out of poverty with a dream of being champion of his own. The young contender finally found the opportunity to challenge the champ face to face. The challenge was accepted. The champ trained, but without the urgency that got him there. His trainer warned him. He didn’t listen. Then, just before the fight, his trainer collapsed, leaving him to walk into the ring alone. By the time he realized what he’d lost, it was already too late.

Sound familiar? It’s the opening of Rocky III. It’s also my story. Alcohol showed up as a hungry contender, and I wasn’t focused. I ignored the voice that had guided me before. When that collapsed, I found myself fighting a vicious battle on my own.

It’s been six years since I’ve posted on this site. Six years! We’ve lived a lot of life in six years.

In the last six years, I’ve had three grandchildren born, I’ve turned 50( three years ago), I’ve had a crisis of faith, I’ve experienced a restoration of faith; also, I’ve lost some old friends, I’ve gained some new friends, I’ve battled alcoholism, I’ve battled depression and anxiety, I’ve had another crisis of faith, and I’ve found myself experiencing restoration once again from a place I would’ve least expected(that’s another subject for a future post).

We can’t talk about the last six years without talking about the elephant in the room. 

COVID. 

COVID changed things for all of us. It was during this time that my life took a drastic turn. I had already been experiencing a crisis of faith, but it was during this time when I really began to question what I believed. I stopped praying. I stopped reading Scripture. My battle began as many battles begin. Innocently. We were all being strongly encouraged to not leave our homes. At one of our private family gatherings, we started by introducing a little wine with dinner. That eventually led to a little vodka. That led into me trying different bourbons thinking myself a connoisseur. It wasn’t long before the heavy drinking began.

If I wasn’t working—I was drinking.
If I wasn’t drunk—I was hung over. 

I’ll spare the gruesome details of everything that happened during this time because I honestly don’t remember most of it. However—for those whom I love the most—the memories linger. Some of the destruction I caused may never be fully repaired. The scars and pain from the wounds I inflicted remain. 

Throughout my life, I’ve heard many testimonies of people who have given their lives to Christ and woke up the next day with no cravings. I wish I could tell you that it was that easy for me. I wish I could tell you that, like Rocky, I climbed back into the ring and knocked that monster out in three rounds.

I cannot because that’s not how it has happened with me. I am in the fight though.

Some days, I fight exhausted.

Some days, I crank up “Whatever” by Godsmack and I fight angry. 

Most days, however, I fight from my knees. 

Ironically, these are the days when I am the strongest because this is when I realize that without Jesus I can do nothing. 

I feel like I may be in this fight for the rest of my life. Like Saint Paul, this may be the thorn in my side that may never be removed; nevertheless, I’m holding onto the promise that His grace is sufficient for me. 

In Rocky III, the comeback didn’t happen overnight. It didn’t happen with bravado or trash talk. It started with humility. With a new trainer. With hard conversations. With admitting he wasn’t invincible.

That’s where I am.

Back in the gym.

Back under instruction.

Back on my knees.

The belt isn’t around my waist. The crowd isn’t chanting my name. But I’m still in the fight. And by the grace of God, when the bell rings each morning, I get up.

The comeback isn’t a moment.

It’s the decision to train again.