Stumbling Steps
I grew up in an angry, chaotic home fueled by copious amounts of alcohol. My mother, who would die from alcoholism, was often angry, especially when she’d been drinking. Though there are many stories I could share about life with my unpredictable mother, one stands out as representative of all the others.
Mom was angry about something. I don’t remember what. I hardly ever knew what she was angry about. Dad said or did something that enraged her. She took hold of a wooden clothes hanger and started beating him on his head. He covered himself with his arms and tried to step away. She kept after him, continuing to swing the hanger at his head as hard as she could, her face contorted and red. Spit flew out of her mouth while she screamed curses. Dad backed into their bedroom, but she pursued him. While this was going on I sat silently in a corner of the living room couch and tried to become as small as possible. If I could have, I would have disappeared.
I don’t know what happened in the bedroom, but a few minutes later, Mom stomped out and went into the kitchen. I heard familiar sounds. A glass slammed on the counter, the cabinet where the liquor bottles were kept crashed open, a cap unscrewed, something poured, and then the back porch screen door opened and slammed shut.
Dad came out of the bedroom. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with an expression of deep sadness. Then, he walked out of the front door. I don’t know where he went. Later, Mom came in and fixed dinner. Dad came home. We sat down at the kitchen table and ate dinner as if nothing had happened.
That’s the way it was with Mom’s angry outbursts. She blew up and raged. She shouted accusations and curses. After a time, the energy behind her anger ran out, and she calmed down. Then life went on, and we all pretended that nothing had happened. Emotional debris littered my insides like a house ripped apart by a tornado. I imagine Dad was like that, too. I don’t know because we never discussed it. It couldn’t be talked about. Any attempt to talk about Mom’s anger risked another outburst. So, we just “got over it” and went on as though nothing had happened. But it took a toll.
The New City Catechism Question One is, “What is our only hope in life and death?” The answer is “That we are not our own but belong, body and soul, both in life and death, to God and to our Savior Jesus Christ.”
The Bible teaches that Christians are those who have been justified and adopted by God through Jesus. They have been declared righteous before God because of Jesus’s righteousness given to them and have been adopted into God’s family as his children.
“For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's” (Romans 14:7-8).
“But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Galatian 4:4-5).
Timothy Keller wrote, “The basic motive of the Christian life is that God sent his Son to save us by grace and to adopt us into his family. So now, because of that grace, in gratitude, we want to resemble our Father. We want the family resemblance. We want to look like our Savior. We want to please our Father.”
Jesus rescued me from my sin and spiritual death when I was in high school. By his grace, he saved me and adopted me into his family. I was determined that things would be different from the family I grew up in when I got married and had a family. I would be nothing like my parents. I would be kind and encouraging. Our home would be a place of mutual love and peace.
It did not work out that way.
Dysfunctional family traits ran deep inside me. I was much more like my mother than I wanted to admit. I was a mess, and I made a mess of our lives. I was often angry. During a time of deep depression and discouragement, I even started self-medicating with alcohol and became an alcoholic just like her. I blew up my marriage, and I wounded my kids.
That could have been the end of the story, but it was not. God, who began pursuing me all those years before, was not finished with me. Jesus did not give up on me.
Hebrews 10:14 says, “For by a single offering [Christ] has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.”
When we become Christians, we are declared righteous. That is the doctrine of justification. Believers are gifted with Christ's righteousness and stand innocent before God's justice. Christ “has,” past tense, “perfected for all time” those who are in him.
But we are not yet righteous in our lives. Christians “are being sanctified.” This is the doctrine of sanctification. It is a lifelong process of growing in practical holiness. Along the way, we will make many mistakes and commit many sins, sometimes, as in my case, even grievous sins. But we do not stop; we do not quit.
Brennan Manning wrote, “Sin and forgiveness and falling and getting back up and losing the pearl of great price in the couch cushions but then finding it again, and again, and again? Those are the stumbling steps to becoming Real, the only script that's really worth following in this world or the one that's coming.”
That’s what the Christian life is like: stumbling steps, sometimes forward, often backward, and occasionally falling. But Jesus is always there to pick us up.
It’s been over 15 years since I blew up my life and hurt so many people. Today, I keep putting one foot in front of another, imperfectly learning and practicing love and kindness, making amends where I can, and looking forward to the day when Jesus returns and will mend everything that is broken.
Much love, Barry
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