I don’t do that anymore

I overheard the phrase before I heard it directly.

Sunday morning before church, Diane on the phone, checking in with a

friend. On speaker, I hear her say a couple of times, “I don’t do that

anymore.” Then, Diane encouraging her, “The angels in heaven rejoice

over you.”

I got the whole story from her a couple days later, leading Bible Study in the

Family Room.

I met her one night, early on our Colfax journey, standing in the parking lot

of the Radiant Inn. Energetic and charming, we hit it off. I got her

story—living in a motel but getting kicked out, behind on rent, chaotic

behavior at its heart. It was the beginning of a long, complex, beautiful

friendship.

She was—and is—typical of Colfax. Sexually abused early, her trail of

trauma led to mental health issues, addiction and decades in the sex trade.

Homeless, her children taken from her, years of chaos. Yet, a robust faith in

Jesus. To hear her pray is to cry at its agony and beauty.

Back to her story: She loves lottery tickets and had 90 cents in hand for a

$1 ticket. She approaches a car in the parking lot of a 7–11 and asks a man

for ten cents. Typical behavior for our friends. “Do you have fifty cents? Do

you have a dollar? Do you have a dime?”

He says to her. “No, but I will give you $50.” If you are slow regarding

Colfax life, the message is simple. $50 for sex.

Put yourself in her shoes. She is addicted—lottery tickets, crack, alcohol.

He will give her $50, enough for lottery tickets and a decent amount of

crack. All she has to do is an act she has done for years. Sex. Pure and

simple.

Yet, she says: “I don’t do that anymore.”

Undeterred, he ups the ante: “I’ll give you $100.” Surely, more money will

wear her down. Again she says: “I don’t do that anymore.”

She walks away, ten cents short for the lottery, $100 short of buying things

both good and bad.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

We often hear a similar phrase from our friends: “I’m not going to do that

anymore.” They say that when they are rock-bottom, suffering the pain of

their choices. “I’m not going to do that anymore.” At others time, they say it

when they are strong, feeling like they can make changes—stop drugs,

alcohol, the sex trade. “I’m not going to do that anymore!” Bold words,

usually shattered on the rocks of reality.

There is an enormous gap between the phrases. “I’m not going to do that

anymore,” signifies a desire, even a vow. “I don’t do that anymore,” signifies

a reality, a change that has happened.

I think of our friends who can say, “I don’t do that anymore.” They do it in

fits and starts, succeeding, then failing. But if they stay at it, they get to the

blessed day where they can say, “I don’t do that anymore” and be speaking

truth.

The challenge is not the vow made in bright sunlight. No, the challenge is

temptation that comes in the dark. It is saying no to the crack pipe offered

at a moment when life feels hard. No to $100. No to hanging with friends

who would pull them back into the life. The strength to say, “I don’t do that

anymore,” in those moments, is where the battle is won.

How do our friends get to that place? What are the ingredients that work?

Nine years into this journey I would say this: Ultimately, only Jesus can

bring that change. We can’t do it for them and their strength to do it is

vanishingly small.

But they need more than “just Jesus.” They need people who love them,

love them not just at their best or when they are doing tolerably well, but

friends who love them at their worst. This kind of love is at the core of what

we do at JOC. Yes, programs help as well—addiction recovery, job training,

housing, counseling—but they usually only work when set in the context of

people who love them and walk the long road with them.

Just now, listening to her story, hearing her say, “I don’t do that anymore,” I

am aware of one more ingredient. Absent this, no change will happen.

They have to make a choice, a decision, to change. We can’t make that

choice for them. And, while Jesus loves, woos and encourages, He does

not force change.

No, they have to choose to change. On the one hand, that is a truism:

“You’re life isn’t going to change unless you choose to change.” True

enough, but in this world that seems trite, like there is some simple button

they can push and have life turn around. Trust me, if they could, they

would.

No, it is a series of choices, the loving support of people, the work of Jesus

that ultimately leads to lasting and large change. Those choices are made

in brutally hard corners, facing powerful temptation.

Somewhere, in the ups and downs, the fits and starts, they do have to

decide to be different, to turn around and go the other way. Staggeringly

hard work. Just now, listening to her story, I am in awe of her strength to

make that choice and stick with it.

At Bible Study, she asked for prayer for other addictions and said Diane’s

words about angels rejoicing over her had moved her. She seemed

surprised that angels would be aware of her, let alone rejoice over her

change.

Diane was right. Jesus, in the Parable of the Lost Sheep, said heaven

rejoices more over one wandering, yet repentant sheep than the 99 who

stayed home. Repentance is the right word, for that is what she has

done—repented. Not just in the sense of feeling sorry, but in the sense of

turning her life around. The Greek word used here literally means to turn

around and go the other direction. “I don’t do that anymore.” Her

words—and choices—embody repentance, change, turn-around.

For her, the angels rejoice. Over her repentance, over her change of

direction. Think of that. The applause of heaven for those most broken,

facing the most obstacles, the most unlikely to change. Heaven’s applause

more for them—even with small, halting steps—than for we the 99, more

stable, more normal, more holy.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

The angels rejoice.

So do we.

-Shawn

Next
Next

There is a person in there