Friday, August 29, 2014



Somewhere and somehow in the middle of my self-inflicted beatings, I finally gave up the fight. I became willing to relinquish my own personal idolatry. Under the weight of all-consuming sadness, my personal foundations cracked. I
admitted to myself that I was powerless over my sexual addiction and that my life was beyond my ability to manage on my own. In a moment of indescribable anguish and life-saving relief, I was broken. Amidst this ruthless and brutal reality, I experienced a new encounter with truth. I sensed that I was being confronted with the simple decision to surrender my right to my addictions, or to sink further and further and die. My abilities for choice had been reduced to only one: to live or to die. By admitting my own powerlessness over my addiction and my inability to manage my life on my own, I made a choice — a miracle in itself, really — a claim for personal honesty. And it was this choice that became the profound initial investment of honesty that was necessary to save and begin rebuilding my life. It was an investment that only I could make.

It’s the way you’ve lived that’s brought all this on you.
The bitter taste is from the evil life.
That’s what’s piercing your heart.
Jeremiah 4:18 MSG

Standing alone at the crossroad, I had nowhere to run or hide. What was it going to be — sexual addiction or life? This truth-filled question, ugly as it was, became the seed of a new life for me. The surrendering of my stubbornness and my independence brought a new breath to my life and a light that opened my eyes so I could see what I needed to see. My honest
admission had made it possible for me to find what I needed to recover and live. Within this brokenness, I began to accept myself, my limitations and the truth of my failures. Though I did not realize it at the time, I had begun the process of joining the world as a whole person, one who was free to enjoy life as it was created to be.

The dignity to make a healthy choice for my life was returning to me even in this smallest way; my "wanting to want to" had begun to make sense. Somehow in my heart of hearts I knew that my repeated prayers had been heard. I had hit bottom, or perhaps, I had chosen to hit bottom. This had been my own personal Waterloo and I had lost. But in and through my loss, my life was being spared. The truth was now very clear to me. I do not have, and will never have, the dubious and sick luxury of self-deception! My humiliation had become a springboard toward humility.

No longer simply a sexual addict, I was becoming an honest sexual addict. A miracle had happened to me. And I was being prepared for greater miracles and better days ahead.

This is an excerpt from WHEN LOST MEN COME HOME, not for men only 

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