Sliding Doors

“Sliding Doors” is a movie that came out twenty years ago.  The main character experiences a moment at the beginning of the movie when she drops an earring, which causes her to miss her train.  When she misses her train, the movie splits into two different storylines—one in which she misses the train, and one in which she catches it.  The rest of the movie shows the two different outcomes of her life, based on that one incident—catching or missing the train.

When I saw the movie recently, I thought about my own life and wondered—what would my “Sliding Doors” incident be?  What one choice did I make that changed the entire outcome of my life?  And if I could go back and make a different choice, would I?

I asked myself, what if I’d chosen a different college?  What if Monty and I had broken up when he went to Baylor, as many people thought we would?  What if I hadn’t waited so long to get help for the depression and anxiety that plagued me?  What if I hadn’t gone to the neurologist who prescribed so many wrong drugs for me?  What if I hadn’t taken those drugs?  What if I hadn’t swallowed that first pill, used that first fentanyl lollipop, taken that first drink?

I used to fixate on these what ifs.  I was certain that, with the exception of breaking up with Monty, making just one of those choices differently would have given me the perfect life.  Being in recovery has changed my perspective on that.  My sponsor told me very early on that I had to make peace with my past to have any sort of a present or future.  And making peace with my past means letting go of all of those what ifs.  I’m working on that—and the thing that has helped me the most is recognizing that every choice, from trying to soldier my way through depression, to go to that doctor, to use and abuse drugs and alcohol—all of those choices had a flip side.

If I hadn’t spent so many years lost in the pain of depression, feeling such darkness that I prayed not to wake up, I wouldn’t know the magnitude of the joy that comes in the morning of healing.  If I hadn’t experienced the kind of loneliness that broke my heart again and again because of the isolation I’d chosen, I wouldn’t even begin to know how beautiful it is to be welcomed home and loved with open arms.  If I hadn’t wasted so many days and months and years staring into the bottom of a glass of whiskey or swallowing pills by the handful, I wouldn’t know how fulfilling it is to be a contributing member of society—to have a job, to write, to carry the message of recovery.  If I hadn’t spent hours staring at my blank computer screen, with my soul crying out for the words to express what I was feeling, I wouldn’t have such an appreciation for the natural high of looking at a screen filled with words that God helped me to put together.  If I hadn’t experienced the oblivion of substance abuse, I would never have appreciated the depth of feeling that comes from living life with a clear head.  If I hadn’t spent hours in ERs and in doctors’ offices, I wouldn’t know the depth of Monty’s love for me, as he stood by me through all of it.  And if I hadn’t prayed the prayers that I thought went unanswered because I felt like I was beyond saving, I wouldn’t spend every minute of my days overwhelmed with gratitude for the love, grace, and redemption of my Savior.

So I look at all of that, and I think about every choice I made—good and bad—and I am grateful for every single one.  All of those choices led me to this moment, to this life in this town, with my husband and family and yes, my cats.  God is redeeming my past, giving me purpose in my present, and filling my heart with hope for the future.  How could I regret any choice that led me to such gifts?

I don’t believe in fate or destiny.  I believe in a God who has a divine purpose for each one of us.  Philippians 2:13 says, “For it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose.”  Even when we make bad choices.  Even when we turn our backs on Him, convinced that He must not love us anymore—that we’ve finally crossed the line into a place beyond all redemption.  I can tell you from personal experience that there is no such place.  I have seen, in myself and in others I’ve met in recovery, that God can redeem the ugliest situations, the most broken people, and the souls that, to the world, seem lost and hopeless.  And I wouldn’t know that with such certainty if my life journey had been any different.

God used that journey to bring me here.  And He brought you to where you are right now.  You might need to make peace with your past and forgive yourself for choices you made—out of desperation, naiveté, or pain.  Those choices led you here.  If “here” isn’t the life you wanted, if it isn’t fulfilling, if it doesn’t make you wake up with purpose, if it doesn’t sometimes overwhelm you with gratitude for its beauty, you can change that.  Make another choice—and this time, choose to let God guide You into the life He wants for you.  It’s not too late.  Your past choices haven’t put you in a place where God’s grace can’t find you.  He found me—on the floor of my living room, with a broken heart, a lost soul, and a body filled with more substances than I can name.  And He brought me from that place to this one—a place of recovery, hope, beauty, and purpose.  With all my heart, I pray you choose to let Him do the same for you.