As I navigated my early twenties, I found myself sipping from glasses that promised acceptance and value. I believed that alcohol could sculpt me into someone more appealing, someone who belonged. My journey with alcohol began not out of necessity, but from a desire to mold my identity through the eyes of others.
However, life has a way of unveiling harsh truths in the softest moments. Rejection greeted me instead of the anticipated embrace, leaving my self-worth shattered. I continued to drink, not because it filled the void, but because I was indifferent to everything, including myself.
For years, my relationship with alcohol was casual, social, and seemingly harmless. It was a companion in celebrations, a bystander in my life’s moments, never the protagonist. I understood my limits and respected them, or so I believed.
Then, a day came that etched a before and after in my soul. I sat amidst brave souls sharing their raw, unfiltered stories of how alcohol, subtle and seductive, had wreaked havoc in their lives. I was surrounded by honest accounts of loss, pain, and regret, all tied to the consumption of what I had deemed a harmless substance. It was then that a profound realization dawned on me: I wasn’t invincible. I wasn’t immune to the potential destruction alcohol wielded. I was human, just like them.
This epiphany collided with a period of spiritual awakening in my life, a time when my thirst for a deeper connection with God became insatiable. I yearned to know Him more, to discern His voice amidst the cacophony of life. However, one quiet night, a thought nudged my heart: How could I truly connect with God and hear His whispers if I voluntarily dulled my senses? Was I not creating my own barriers to the divine communion I so deeply desired?
Despite this inner turmoil, my conviction alone didn’t curb the desire for the drink. I still enjoyed its taste and the camaraderie it brought. Yet, a verse and a commentary I stumbled upon spoke to me with a clarity I couldn’t ignore. Ecclesiastes 10:1, coupled with Matthew Henry’s insight, highlighted the fragility of wisdom and honor and how easily they could be tainted by even a hint of folly.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just convicted; I was utterly convinced.
I understood that my journey with Christ demanded a careful walk, an intentional abstention from even the appearance of folly, not out of obligation, but out of love for the divine and the people God placed in my path. My purpose was clearer than ever: to be a vessel of His word, a beacon of His love. Knowing the potential perils of alcohol, acknowledging my own vulnerabilities, and embracing the call to spread the Gospel, I found profound clarity.
It’s essential to clarify that I don’t view alcohol consumption as a universal sin, nor do I pass judgment on those who feel differently. My decision was a personal response to a personal call. Our walks with God are individual, and each of us has unique roles in His grand design. However, we’re all bestowed with gifts, opportunities, and responsibilities.
My choice was to ensure my platform was consistent, a path where the love of Christ in my heart didn’t conflict with the contents in my hand. I chose to relinquish a habit to safeguard my purpose, to ensure my actions didn’t muffle my message. It’s a decision that each of us faces in different aspects of our lives: discerning what we’re willing to surrender for a higher calling, understanding our platforms, and embracing the people God entrusts us to reach.
As you reflect on your journey, I invite you to consider the spaces between your practices and your purpose. Sometimes, it’s in the quietest revelations that we discover the most resounding truths.
