Hands

This statue is in a prayer room that I used a lot in Atlanta.  Some honest & earnest prayer occurred in there.  I would pretend these hands were Jesus's hands, and it comforted me.  They reminded me of His strength and His ability to protect me.

Atlanta: Me and God

So a couple of weeks ago I went to Atlanta. I have tons of memories wrapped up in that place. I was fascinated with the city when they hosted the Olympic Games in 1996, and I became intent on attending Georgia Tech there for college because of their engineering school. Most importantly, the soundtrack of my life consists largely of live recordings of John Mayer shows when he was getting his start in Atlanta. To me Atlanta seemed like a southern New York--like an accessible place where big things happen.

I got my chance to make "big things" happen when, in May of 2007, I was required to receive treatment at a substance abuse facility in Atlanta. I spent four long months there...but there's no way to quantify what happened to me there. When I went back to Atlanta in early March, it was the first time I'd been to the city in nearly a year and a half. It was so exciting! I had intended to visit many times before--I couldn't wait to relive those crucial moments in my early recovery when my life changed so much!--but this was the first chance I'd gotten to return.

So I went back, and guess what happened? Nobody cared. Firstly, I returned to church at First Baptist Atlanta (Charles Stanley's church). During treatment this was my solace--hearing a great message from an amazing man, then spending time with the only "normal people" I knew in town. I let some of my old friends know I was coming and met them at church. I hadn't seen these friends in a long time, and when they were around me it was under very strange circumstances. It was great to see them and return to that church, but there was no magical reunion that I might have imagined at returning to an important place.

But that's OK, because I returned to my treatment center on Monday for a "return visit". Many alumni were in town for this event. Not only did I not know any other alumni, I was further embarrassed by the fact that certain staff didn't recognize me and couldn't remember my name. How could they forget me?! This huge miracle happened in my life right under their noses!

When I was in treatment, I was transferred to a community facility because I could not afford the original one. Translation: I went from a place where celebrities might go, to a place where crazy people off the streets go. I realized that, because of this move, maybe I needed to check with the community facility to receive the honor and distinction that I'd come for. I went; no one was there. Then I went to the car wash where I'd worked during my treatment; they were closed. I went to the recovery house where I lived; no one answered the door. This was so sad for me! I suppose that I just wanted to relive some of those moments and show my sobriety to someone who might care. I was really sullen for much of the day. What a letdown!

I started thinking on this, trying to process my emotions and thoughts. What was wrong? I began to pray and then I realized: God was there, and He remembers my name. My Father was present for every day of my recovery, and He was with me in Atlanta. I was comforted to remember that it did not matter where I'd been or who I'd met, that the most important factor in my whole story consisted of me and God...that's all. Certainly God puts people in our lives to help us along, and I am so grateful for those that I've met. But for me to want some sort of glorious homecoming from others was just unrealistic. And the emotional letdown that I experienced helped to remind me of the only required elements of this experience: me and God. When I cried, He heard me and when I was lonely, He was my company. When I was scared He comforted me. When I needed wisdom He led me and when I was guilty, He exonerated me. I am so glad that I get to take Him with me wherever I go.