“Dad took me in, and Mom will eventually kick me out,” he told me.
I didn’t know him, but he spoke as if I had heard his stories a hundred times, maybe even lived through a few of them with him.
“It was a tough age, you know,” he continued. “I left home after high school only to return in my twenties. Here I was, staying in my old room — the same one I grew up in. Only this time, I should have been a grown-up visiting, not unpacking to stay.”
“Did things improve once you settled in back home?” I asked.
“Depends on who you ask,” he said. “Life improved for me because I had a place to live rent-free, which left me more money to buy booze.”
“Did you drink a lot?” I asked.
He laughed. “Lady, there wasn’t a day I didn’t drink.”
He took a sip of water and started talking once more. “I got drunk everywhere I went. Most days, I didn’t care if it was day or night. I was just killing time until something new came along.”
“Something new?” I asked.
“Yeah, something to carry me or steer me to my next adventure. Every day was a new life. I was like a piece of trash blowing in the wind… life stunk but I didn’t have enough self-awareness to realize the stink was coming from me.”
He adjusted the ballcap on his head. “Like I said, I woke up in a different world every day. Sometimes, it was a new job; other times, a new woman. Neither lasted long.”
“How did your parents respond to you living under their roof again?” I asked.
“Well, Mom grew up on summers of sweet corn and fireflies, so she didn’t understand depression — she just thought I was ungrateful.”
“And your dad?” I asked.
“Dad grew up like I did, with an alcoholic father,” he said. He shifted in his seat, gulped the last of his water, and waved at the waiter to bring him another.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. That train wreck stops with me. I’m not having kids.”
“Because you don’t want them?”
“I love kids. I just know I’d mess them up. I can barely take care of myself. Not to mention, women my age aren’t impressed with a grown man living with his parents.”
I waited too long to ask my next question.
“See, you know I’m right,” he said. “What the heck is taking the waiter so long to get another glass of water?”
I didn’t know how best to jump back into this conversation. The man was agitated, but I wasn’t sure exactly why… I just knew it started somewhere between him being a boy and becoming a man.
“You aren’t drinking now, it appears. Are you sober?” I asked.
“Sobriety is a funny thing. I can start getting drunk long before I’ve started a tab. I know going into a bar that I won’t leave sober. So, I’ve stopped going into bars, but that don’t mean I’m no longer a drunk.”
“I think I know what you mean,” I said.
“I doubt it. Until you’ve learned to love yourself more than you love your addiction, you don’t know the struggle. The hardest thing in this world is learning to love yourself where you’re at while keeping an eye on the man you want to be. You got to know where you’re headed.”
“And where are you headed?” I asked.
For the first time, he gave me a hint of a genuine smile. He was suddenly handsome, and I saw someone I had not seen before… maybe even someone I’d have been friends with long ago.
“Where am I headed? I guess that’s the question for us all, isn’t it? I’m hoping to be headed to the same place you are,” he said.
He caught my curiosity. “And where am I headed?”
“Well, you’re headed to Heaven. You’ve got Jesus living inside you so much that your soul shines through your eyes,” he said. “I’m praying that the good Lord takes me there too, not because of what I’ve done, but despite what I’ve done.”
“Do you believe you’re saved?” I asked.
The waiter brought him another glass of water, and he sat for a moment before taking a sip. I couldn’t help but think that even though we sat at separate tables, our meeting was intentional.
“It’s like this glass. There was a time when it would be filled with vodka instead of water. I’d drink to become more friendly, even to myself. That is, until I wasn’t. I was walking dead… numb and so disappointed in myself that the only thing I wanted to do was to forget — anything and everything. Now, I work daily at substituting liquid death with the bread of life. The only one who’s ever given me a real reason to be here is Jesus.”
“And what’s that reason?” I asked.
“To push through in faith, to trust God more than myself, another, or any manufactured form of courage. I believe God spared me to elevate me to a level that only He could’ve created. It would have been easy to get rid of me. Heck, I’m still a bit of a mess, but I’m saved and walking — hands shaking and sometimes cussing a little — but Jesus knows my story so well that nothing surprises Him. He knows it all. He’s seen what I’ll never share and what I still try to forget. And yet, He still pursues me. Why would I chase death when life Himself is coming for me?”
He finished his third glass of water and stood to leave.
“Thank you for your time,” he said. “I didn’t think talking would come this easy, but I also had a feeling when I saw you that it wouldn’t be hard. Don’t know why that is exactly, but thank you.”
I rose as well. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty and your sharing your testimony.”
“Testimony? Is that what I just did… shared my testimony? Well, that’s a first. Lady, I don’t think you realize how high of a compliment you just gave me.”
I didn’t even catch his name. But I guess I didn’t need to know who he was to receive what God wanted me to hear. You see, I came to the café that day to get away from the overwhelming stress that had been weighing me down. I needed some time to hear myself think. Instead, God shut the defeating clang of my complaints and opened my heart.
I left filled with the testimony of a stranger: I don’t go anywhere alone; God knows all, and I’m still in His care. Tests will eventually become testimonies, life is messy, and my faith will be strengthened in the trials. I will praise Him for what He has done, is, and will do.
Lord, thank You for being both the Living Water and the Bread of Life in this wilderness. May I see others and love them as You love, and may I also exhibit care and kindness to myself as You have shown to me, not because of anything I’ve done but despite what I’ve done. Thank You, Christ Jesus. I love You.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.