31 years ago, I woke up strapped to a hospital bed after sustaining a gunshot wound to my left shoulder the day before. For all these years, I’ve allowed myself to wallow in a bit of self-pity around this time, reflecting on the physical trauma and the permanent disability that I endured that day. I try to keep it to myself, but I know those around me can sense something eating at me.
This year hasn’t been much different from the 31 before it. For several days now, I’ve felt sullen and depressed. The rest of the year, I remind myself that I pulled that trigger, and no pity is warranted. Even when I indulge in self-pity, I won’t allow others to do the same. My wife kept asking if something was bothering me, and I kept telling her no. The next morning, I told her what the day was, and she apologized. I told her, “Don’t be sorry. I have nobody to blame but myself.”
On the anniversary of my first day of sobriety, as I prayed and asked God for forgiveness of my sins—of which there are many—I specifically asked for forgiveness of my self-pity. In return, I was gifted with the realization that today is a day to celebrate! This is the day I was liberated from the slavery of alcohol. This is the day God left His fingerprint on my shoulder when He nudged me in the right direction. Without that act of foolishness I committed, I believe nothing would have changed for me. I would have continued in my drunken, sinful ways and died without ever knowing God.
Though my adoption into the Kingdom of Heaven came months later, March 12, 1994, is the day I became sober. If I hadn’t been hospitalized, unable to access alcohol, the fog of drunkenness wouldn’t have lifted, and I wouldn’t have seen alcohol for the evil that it is.
Alcoholics often say you have to hit rock bottom before things can change. On March 11, 1994, I hit my bottom. I know God didn’t pull the trigger, but I also know He is sovereign. I now see the scar on my shoulder as His fingerprint—proof of when He knocked me down and caused me to look up. While the nature of my injury and the physical limitations I have because of it make it impossible not to think about that day continuously, with His help, next March, I hope to celebrate instead of mourning. And throughout the year, whenever I reach for something I can’t grasp or when the pain flares up, I hope to sing His praises and pass those tests, rather than dwelling on my suffering.