Oh, and our own little Beth Harris has done the author photo for the back cover. Heather saw the picture and said, "Did you photo shop in more hair?" Uh... maybe. No. Sheesh. Give me some credit.
Here's an excerpt from a chapter entitled...
"Addicted to God"
...I have to tell you, ten years ago if someone had told me I was addicted to God, I would’ve been proud. I would’ve thought it meant I was in the center of His will. I would’ve thought, “Right, and you’re not. That’s why I’m going to heaven, Loser.” But at twenty eight, when my wound started resurfacing, I did the “God is my all in all” thing for about two or three years, but to no avail. I read and prayed and praised and spiritualized, and nothing. I mean sure, I learned some stuff about God, but the pain was still there; killing me inside. My mentor, Jan, from twelve step, finally said this to me about all my praying and bible reading and whatnot. She said,
“So how’s that working for you?”
“It’s not,” I told her. So I decided to try something else. And that something was to let God take me on the wonderful, painful journey of facing my wounds, and to stop “using” Him to distract me from them.
I started participating in my twelve step meetings and began to let our group know how I really felt on the inside. And you know what they said every week?
“Keep coming Matt.”
And I did. Every week I went. And I stopped talking so much about how good God was and instead spent time talking about my hurts.
I finally asked God to show me what to do. Together, I felt like we got down on the ground in the woods with our fossil tools and brushed away the dirt covering my fossilized wound. I can picture Him on the ground with me; one hand picking at the hard earth, the other holding something to brush away the dirt. He would dig and then brush the excess dirt away. And then dig some more, and then brush more dirt away. Until finally He would begin to reveal a little bit more of the preserved remains of my wound. And pausing to get a closer look, He’d shake His head at it, because He would know that it never should have happened. And then He’d let me tell Him about it, listening intently as I would rant and rave to Him about how it wasn’t fair. And then I’d be mad at Him for allowing it to happen to me. He’d never chastise me for being mad, and definitely not say, “I’ll work it out for the good,” as if this scripture was some kind of spiritual loophole for the nightmare I had lived with. Instead, He would be sad about it. He would tell me He was sorry for the pain I had carried all these years.
He would make sure I knew that when I was ready, He would do something about it. He would carry out the process of healing me and making me whole.
And then He would show me how to live with Him. He’d show me the difference between living with Him and using Him. Never in a hurry, He’d take all the time I needed, possibly a lifetime. But knowing I wouldn’t have to be “over it,” that I wouldn’t have to be anything but who I am, is what would keep me moving forward; and what would finally have me replacing the pain, with Him, for the first time.
