Thanksgiving is just a few days away, and I’m seeing commercials that show happy families gathered around a festively set dinner table, ready for their turkey and all the trimmings. Every sitcom I watch has scenes of a family Thanksgiving in it. I used to hate TV at Thanksgiving and at Christmas because my life wasn’t anything like those happy family scenes. For ten years, because of my addiction and depression issues, Monty and I had Thanksgiving alone, usually getting takeout from somewhere.
My mom is a passionate believer in traditions, especially around the holidays. So during those very lonely years, I knew what my family was doing every hour. I’d think, They just sat down to dinner. Now they’re going around the table saying ten things that they’re grateful for. Now they’re debating if they should have pie or save it for later. And right about now, they’re playing a super competitive game of pitch. And sure enough, when I went on social media, I’d see the pictures of my whole family celebrating Thanksgiving, without Monty and me. We were ghosts—it was almost like we’d never existed at all.
And all of this was my fault. I stayed away from my family for ten dark, depressing, horrible years. I was so very ashamed of who I’d become. I was a completely broken person, either high or withdrawing all the time. I knew my family would take one look at me and guess what was going on. I just couldn’t bring myself to face them, though they’d never given up on me. My mom still emailed me every day, even though I didn’t write back. One of my sisters left a full dinner for Monty and me on our doorstep at least once a week. There were phone calls that I never answered. It was easier to shut everyone out because I couldn’t feel their love from the dark place I was in. I also truly believed that I didn’t deserve to be a part of a family anymore.
I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I finally got sober and got help for my depression, I started letting my family back in to my life again. The first time that Monty and I saw my parents in such a long time was when we drove out here five years ago to see a Christmas cantata that Mom was directing. I was so nervous on the drive here. I had no idea what awaited me, and even though I was sober, I was still filled with shame. When we pulled up in front of their house, Mom came running out to meet us—all dressed up in her fancy cantata dress and heels. I got out of the car, and she threw her arms around me and just held me for a minute. Dad was close behind. They welcomed us into their home, and never said a word about why it had taken me so long to get there. They never made me feel ashamed or guilty. Months later, they read my letters of amends and told me that they forgave me and loved me for who I was now.
My favorite parable, because of my past, is the story of the prodigal son. The prodigal son left his family and went out into the world. He made stupid choices, lost everything he had, and even ate pigs’ food—with the pigs—to survive. The Bible says that he “came to his senses” and finally decided to go home. He was ashamed and broken and sure that his father would treat him, at best, like a servant. Instead, his father saw him coming home and ran to meet him. He embraced him, cleaned him up, and gave him the very best clothes and food he had. He celebrated the return of the son he thought he had lost.
I was that prodigal. And my parents were just like the father in the story. But there’s an important difference between my story and that of the prodigal son’s—I waited until I was clean and sober to go home. The prodigal son didn’t. He went home, dirty and embarrassed. And still, his father embraced him and celebrated his homecoming. I wish that I hadn’t waited until I was clean and sober to come home. I missed so many years with my family because of my shame. I know now that even if I had come home as a drunken, addicted shell of the person I once was, I still would have been welcomed, with warm and loving arms. Those loving arms would have reminded me of the heavenly Father who was waiting for me. And maybe that love would have caused me to “come to my senses” and come home to Jesus much earlier.
If you’re feeling lost, broken, lonely, or ashamed, go home—to the place where healing can begin. Don’t wait until you’re “better” or more presentable or less ashamed. Go home to the people who love you. Let them wrap their arms around you, and in that moment, feel their comfort, not your shame. No matter what your wounded spirit tries to tell you, it’s not too late. You’re never alone. And you’re not the one person in this world that is beyond all hope and help. Don’t waste one more minute listening to the lie that you’re not loved or wanted because of the mistakes you’ve made. Somewhere out there, someone is waiting to welcome you home. Your heavenly Father is waiting for you, too. When you finally decide to stop running from Him and start running towards Him, He’ll run to meet you, fold you into His forgiving arms, and begin to heal you. Find your way home this Thanksgiving—just as you are, right now. A celebration far beyond what you think you deserve awaits you.
My mom sent me this song during my “lost years”—and when I listened to it, my heart responded to God for the first time in a very long time. In that moment, my journey home began.
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Comments 14
It breaks my heart to learn how you suffered for so many years, along with Monty who shared your pain. You are so close to your family, writing about them so lovingly, that’s it’s so difficult for me to fathom the idea that you kept your distance for so many years. I rejoice in the fact that you have returned home, not only for you and Monty but for your parents, siblings and extended family as well.
Thank you, Aunt Phyllis. You know, I look back, and it’s very difficult for me to fathom, too. Obviously, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s heartbreaking to know that I can never give Monty and my family back the time we missed. All I can do now is be with them and accept their grace to me. Coming home was so easy; the hard part was staying away. I hope somewhere out there someone can learn not to do things the way I did. Thank you so much for reading.
I remember my daughter Sabah becoming frantic when her friend Tibbs had disappeared for too long once again as she well knew the cause! How ecstatic she was when he finally resurfaced , the amazingly long conversation they had and the promise that he would come soon and spend some time with her– and her deep agony about a week later when he was found, never to come home again. Sabah and her hubby were a welcome home for Tibbs no matter how he was doing or not, it did not matter, he was simply loved as he was loved by me and always welcome in my home. I remember how he came here the last time to see Sabah and her babies, how he held them, loved them and read to them, I made lots of pictures for him–for him and his Sabah family, his best friend who always cared and never gave up on him.
I am so glad you came home Renee, home in so many ways. Home to your beloved Monty, your parents, your family and to Jesus. Such sweetness, such joy! Happy Thanksgiving Renee, you have indeed a lot to celebrate as you travel home this season.
Klara, what grace and love you and your daughter had to continue to welcome Tibbs into your lives and homes. I’m so grateful that, even though his story had such a tragic ending, he got to experience your love and grace. So many of us addicts–in recovery or not–don’t have that. I’m grateful that my Monty and my family and my Jesus waited for me and welcomed me home. You’re right–I definitely have much to thank God for this Thanksgiving! I pray that you have a day filled with gratitude, too–even though you’ve already celebrated Thanksgiving! ❤️
I am so glad you’ve come through such darkness and are now in the light! You are in a position to share your experience bringing hope to this wounded world.
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Thank you, Patricia. Yes–now in the light! Amen. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my words.
I loved You then, I love You now, I will Love you always. ❤️❤️❤️
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Heather–and I’ve always, ALWAYS known it. Thank you for being the kind of person who loves me because of who I am, not in spite of who I am. Love you, too.
My dear precious niece – what a blessing your writings always are! Want you to know, you are a blessing to me! God gave you an amazing mom and dad – who never fail their family. So many days I have wished I could just sit down and relive old memories with your mom, my baby sister. God is so awesome! I love you dear Renee!
Thank you, Aunt Joyce. God did bless me with the most amazing parents and family–you included. All of you are so precious to me. Thank you for reading and for blessing me today. Love to you!
This is a beautiful story Renee! I’m so glad you made the journey home.
Thank you, Deb. I, too, am so, so grateful. And so glad to call you my friend.
Beautiful story Rennee!!!
While you can’t greet your family with pride if your full of guilt you can embrace them with a loving humble heart. Just don’t shut them out. That’s worse!
There are only two families that can accept you as you are. Your blood family and your heavenly family.
Never shut them out from shame. Just show them you’re still alive!!!
Thank you, Steve. Words of wisdom from you! I wish I had known then what I know now–and you’re right in that one of the keys is a humble heart. Thanks for reading and for adding your insight.