Hello Captain, my old friend.

There I was. In that all-too-familiar, dark corner confessional waiting for the priest to start with the Sign of the Cross. My heart was racing just thinking about the words I was about to say. Admitting to the sins I promised myself I wasn't going to let happen again. He opened the window and began, "In the name of the Father..."

The rest was a blur. After almost two years of being a missionary, I thought I would've had it figured out by now. But I ended up back in the spot I've always felt His Mercy, this confessional. The chatter inside my mind was stopped by the words of the priest, "This isn't you. You don't need to be carrying this."

This isn't you. 

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In high school, I was determined not to drink until college. Only the "party crowd" had alcohol at their parties and I had too much to lose: a 4.0 GPA, my reputation as the good girl, a spot on varsity volleyball. But for some reason in my mind, when college hit it was okay to drink. Obviously being in a sorority, I was quickly introduced to the party scene and had ample opportunities to try my way in this new world. All of the mistakes weren't mistakes, they were memories, and I was in college so this is just what you do. Right?

After being in my chapter for a couple of months, I got involved in our house's bible study. My heart felt like it belonged there and I had so many women who I could look up to in the faith. I remember distinctly when my big (our bible study leader) came out to a party one Friday night and the whole house rejoiced because she never went out. I found something odd yet intriguing about that. Yet, it seemed like every weekend I kept finding myself at parties, drinking jungle juice and not thinking anything of it.

During sophomore year, I wrestled with underage drinking and asked Fr. Holdren every question under the sun. It always came back to the role alcohol has in our lives. He said something that I will never forget, "It's like a horse and a jockey. We are the jockey and our emotions and passions are the horse. But when we let our passions become the jockey and take control, our lives are misaligned."

I heard what he said, but didn't really listen. A couple of months later, I turned 21 and didn't skip a beat. I was "of age" right? I could do whatever I wanted to now. The bars became a commonplace, stumbling home drunk was happening 3-4 times a week and Husker football game days were a marathon that started at 8 am.

Alcohol was slowly starting to creep into the driver's seat without me ever really knowing it. Senior year rolled around, I applied to be a FOCUS missionary and got the job the first week of December. Looking back on it now, I was so incredibly scared of what this meant for me. I felt unworthy and yet I knew I was called. And so, in my mind, I needed to get out all of my bad habits before I left for training in June. Unfortunately, that's not really how it works.

What followed was a long treacherous couple of months of me making some horrible mistakes and yet somehow always knowing this was never really who I was. At the end of May, I packed up my bags and started the most incredible adventure of my life--one full of healing and growth and confronting this old foe who always seemed to make a stark appearance.

---

I don't think I would've been able to really open my eyes to this distorted relationship with alcohol if it wasn't for a conversation I had with another missionary on the plane home from Mexico City after a mission trip. I knew she was familiar with this and had celebrated being 4 years sober just recently so my heart was drawn into conversation with her. I spilled everything and really got to talk through it all with her. She just casually said, "Well you should just give it up for a semester and see what happens."

My heart dropped. 

Quickly, I replied saying, "I don't think it's really that bad. I mean I don't need to give it up completely......" and in my mind, I knew. She simply replied, "You should ask Jesus what He thinks." About three weeks later, in prayer, I reluctantly brought it to the forefront. I said, "Jesus, you know I'm not an alcoholic. Do I really need to give it up for that long? I have a bachelorette party though! I just need to cut back and make sure I only have 2 drinks at a time." And to this day I can hear His reply so loud in my heart.


"Hannah, do you love Me more than this?"


The only way I can describe the next four months was with one word: freedom. I finally felt like I was the one in control and that alcohol no longer had it's grip on me. I didn't have to get a drink at the bar, even though I really wanted one (or three). I had the opportunity to take a huge step back and really think about why it is that I drink, why do I feel like I have to have a Captain and Coke in my hand to make me feel more comfortable?

After so many years, I understood what Fr. Holdren was saying--alcohol became the jockey without me really noticing. Once I took back the reigns, I realized how much of my life had revolved around it and how instinctively I just drank without understanding why. It took me a swift slap in the face to realize what had been going on all along.


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I walked out of the confessional and looked at Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. You're right, this isn't me. I stopped and looked at His radiance, His glory, His humility; all exposed for me. I knelt down in front of Him and for what felt like the first time in my life I uttered those words:

Today, I choose You. 

Indeed, man wishes to be happy even when he so lives as to make happiness impossible. 

Saint Augustine

The Beauty of Loneliness

We were all sitting around the table, popcorn half eaten, wine bottle almost empty, finishing up our first summer bible study when I said those fateful words no one ever wants to hear-- let alone speak out loud... "Guys, I'm just lonely." 

My beautiful best friends were sitting around me, one about to have her first baby, the other freshly married and one preparing to get married in a couple of weeks. I just sat there and came to terms with this fact I've been running from for a while. 

I feel lonely. 

We were praying with the Gospel for that day; Jesus walking through the crowd of people following the official whose daughter had just died. When all of the sudden a suffering women of twelve years reaches out as He passes to catch a glimpse of His healing power. But the part that struck me wasn't the fact that He just healed a woman through a tassel on His clothing. Or the mere fact that a Roman official was humbling himself enough to ask Jesus for help. What struck me was that all He did to raise the girl from the dead was take her hand. Did you hear that? This little girl was dead. The crowds were already walking away, singing songs of sorrow, they had given up. Then Jesus walks in and simply took her hand. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing mind blowing. Just a simple touch. 

On the way home, I was driving silently in my car and realized the sting of what I have been feeling. Every woman has this deep soul desire to be pursued, desired by another, wanted, etc., and the list goes on and on and on. I've realized that no one really wants to admit to anyone that they are lonely because that would conjure up sympathetic sighs and awkward encouragements of "you're such a catch though" and "you'll eventually find someone perfect for you." So instead of acknowledging it, we get on Tinder or Bumble and swipe away that dirty "L word". 

That's the reason we're all social media obsessed, right? I cannot even begin to explain the number of times I've found myself deep into wedding or engagement pictures on Instagram for hours trying to avoid the fact that I'm not there yet. I scroll and scroll and then turn off my phone to the stark reality of my singleness. 

We don't allow ourselves to experience reality. 

Why would we? The world around us gives us ample opportunities and even encourages us to get out there and numb yourself. Go to the bar, have a mediocre/drunken conversation, go home with someone, and avoid being lonely for one more night. Tomorrow you can deal with it. 

But in that moment, sitting in the sting of loneliness, I felt Jesus reaching out His hand to me. He wanted me to be like that little girl in the Gospel, to allow Him to wake me up from the dead and walk with Him through this stage of my life. It wasn't that He was taking the pain or sting away, but that He was actually calling me into something deeper. He was transforming this pain and longing into something beautiful and He was asking me to open my eyes to it. To not only accept this loneliness that I am experiencing, but to embrace it--with Him, hand in Hand. He wanted me know that although I may feel lonely, that doesn't mean that I am alone. That the God Who created the Universe wants me to know that He understands what loneliness feels like; four nails on a cross. 

Brothers and sisters, the world is telling you to let go. It is telling you to do whatever you can to make it go away because the world doesn't want you to see the beauty in the hurt. It wants you to avoid suffering at all cost, but let me ask you this...Where would we be if Jesus did that? 

Tonight, I pray for all of you who are reading this and feeling that sting. I pray that you find the purpose in it and know that He is right there with you in all of it, even when it doesn't feel like it. 

Look at the cross. He's been waiting for you there.