“Seizures. Feeling nervous or tense. Confusion and depression. Fear and paranoia. Anxiety or panic. Changed senses. Shaking. Pain, stiffness, muscle aches, spasms. Flu-like symptoms. Sleep difficulties.”

These are the symptoms of someone suffering through withdrawal from an addiction to a drug like Xanax, Ambien or Valium. Strangely enough, these are also the symptoms of my own kind of withdrawal. Not to be disrespectful of  actual narcotic addiction by using this analogy, but it somehow makes a crazy amount of sense to me.

Apparently, I’ve been dependent on people, serving and money for quite some time.  These are my drugs. When I’ve felt spiritually or emotionally unstable,  I’ve habitually filled my veins with these culturally appropriate opiates. People. Serving. Ministry. Spending money. And because they are seemingly innocent replacements for comfort in Christ, no one caught it. Not even me.  Now I’m seeing how my “addictions” were affecting me — and those around me. I’ve been shocked and grieved and overwhelmed. And I want to change.

Quitting my job last June was like admitting I had a problem.
Being unemployed for six months was like checking myself into rehab.
Now I’m in a very uncomfortable process of detoxing.

As a natural part of my new life in Georgia, I’m being “denied” the things I used to go to for comfort and distraction. To tell the truth, those habits they made me feel good. They made me forget. They propped me up and gave me a sense of purpose and belonging. But now I’ve moved  and I’m still making friends, I’m still plugging into church, I’m still learning my job and I’m on a very tight budget. My go-to’s have been removed. It’s the fresh start I asked for, but I didn’t think it would leave me quite this exposed or needy.

This weekend I found myself reaching for old habits, those emotional narcotics that would numb my senses and let me ignore my actual needs for another day. I grabbed for familiar people, but none were nearby. I groped for a service project to throw myself into, but there aren’t any yet. I craved buying something — anything — just to make me feel legitimate but there is no money in my budget for unnecessary tokens. These things were my crack, and I didn’t have access to them anymore. They screamed at me, demanding fulfillment.

I sat in my chair, unable to move, afraid of what I might do. My heart was racing, my hands antsy, my muscles tense, my mind reeling. Then I got a text from my sister on behalf of my 4 year old nephew:

“Jude says, ‘love Lala, I hope you come to my house for valentines. I oxoxox xxxx.’ “

It was like the clouds broke for the first time all week. God sent this little guy as an interruption to my introspective paralysis to remind me that I am loved and not forgotten. And that was the beginning of the detox. I decided to go for a drive to clear my head. Alone in the car, I talked and prayed and cried and wrestled with myself. My mind raced, spewing out lies and temptations that I knew were from hell itself.

There’s no time for real recovery. You’re too complicated to fix. You’ll just always be kind of messed up. No one really knows you. You need to learn to deal with life by yourself. Get a grip, you’re a big girl. You’ll be handicapped from ministry forever. Just pull away. Don’t fight. Find a local fix and forget about all this.

Each drug took a turn in tempting me to consume it for solace. But I could feel a fire in my soul, a blazing wall of protection that I knew was coming from the Holy Spirit. I remember saying no to each temptation systematically, choosing Jesus over it’s seductive siren call. God was protecting me from myself. He was fighting for me. He was not letting me go to my old substances for temporary, delusional comfort. He was giving me Himself. He held me in my shakes and sweats and tears and irrational requests. He never let me go.

And then it was over. I felt the fresh air of freedom. Peace. Relief.  The fog lifted and my eyes readjusted. It’s as if the withdrawal had to run it’s course. Jesus won out.

To be controlled by anything other than Christ is bondage. And in our Christian, religious circles it’s usually a small, acceptable thing that we let slip into our lives — wanting to be a good friend, desiring to serve, hoping to make a difference, pursuing excellence, identifying with other people, collecting good stories, having fun adventures, being someone in the Kingdom. These things, left unchecked, become like drugs — controlling, unreasonable lords that demand our dedicated service. They consume us from the inside, convincing us that without them we cannot survive.

But that’s the lie. All but Jesus leads to emptiness, loneliness and death. Only Jesus offers hope, freedom and life. When “the love of Christ compels us” we put things like people, serving and money under His authority. Because of the permanent victory of the cross, I walk in freedom. Satan would like me to think the he can control me with his tempting vices and sweet-smelling lies, but I belong to Jesus and as my Good Shepherd, He fights on my behalf to keep all enemies at bay. He leads me to beautiful places and His road and staff bring me comfort. I trust His hand because I have learned His heart. Oh how I am prone to wander, prone to distraction, prone to discontentment. But none of these things can control me for Christ has engraved me on His hand. I am His and He is mine. Praise the Lord.

“Now my debt is paid
It is paid in full
By the precious blood
That my Jesus spilled
Now the curse of sin
Has no hold on me
Whom the Son sets free
Oh is free indeed”

–Hillsong, from the song “Man of Sorrows”