I was angry. Really angry, and I prayed, “Jesus, take this anger out of my heart. He didn’t do it on purpose, but all the same, I am angry that he would put me in this position.”
Last weekend, Ryan and a few close friends packed up and headed for the mountains for a guys’ weekend. In preparation for their grand adventure, they stocked up on all things manly, including steaks and beer and an economy-sized bag of tortilla chips.
The fearsome foursome gallivanted out to the car, waved goodbye and I walked back into the house where Thing 1 and Thing 2 were itching for an opportunity to cause mischief. The three of us went about our afternoon, me tidying up the house as they followed behind, making new messes.
An hour later, it was time for dinner. I opened the fridge in search of something for the kids and was faced with a fridge full of beer. In their excitement during departure, the boys had forgotten their stock of brews. Yes, a recovering alcoholic without her main accountability partner for an entire weekend with a fridge full of beer. The condensation was like glitter, the refreshment palpable. But, temptation and desire quickly shifted into rage.
My anger was strong, white hot. I couldn’t think of anything else. I spent a good hour stewing over what I felt was a betrayal. I debated telling Ryan, wanting to lash out and make him feel bad for what he had done. At the same time, I didn’t want to ruin his fun weekend and I also knew that he didn’t do this on purpose. But, I caved, gave in to the need to share my anger. He apologized, but I still didn’t feel any better.
I prayed. This obstacle was an opportunity. My brain wandered a few feet away from anger as soon as He brought into mind the blessing that is read at the end of every Sunday service.
“The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be upon you and remain with you for ever. Amen.”
The peace which passes all understanding. That’s what I wanted. I didn’t want to let eighteen bottles of beer have so much control over my emotions.
I prayed, God answered. I focused on His peace.
In that moment of mentally catching my breath, I was able to process what had happened. The main question I asked myself was, why anger? Most times, anger comes from fear, and that was the answer in this case.
I had been nervous the week leading up to the weekend, knowing I would be at home without Ryan. I knew I would be fine, and told myself that plenty of times, but I was still nervous. Those nerves transitioned into terror when I found the source of my fear right in front of my face. Understanding that all of my anger was coming from fear, I saw that beer for what it was: eighteen glass bottles taking up space in my fridge.
I am stronger than eighteen glass bottles. I am six months sober. I am living life. I am loved by the Creator of the Universe. I am loved by an incredible man who has stuck to his wedding vows: for better or for worse.
I took those eighteen bottles, put them in bags and left them in Ryan’s workroom. I knew I wouldn’t drink them, but I also didn’t want to keep seeing them all weekend. As I packed them up, I found myself feeling thankful. This had been a test, and with God on my side, I passed.
***This is not meant to be disparaging toward my dear sweet husband. He made an honest mistake and is my biggest support in recovery.
