This is not the blog post I planned to write tonight. I wanted to write something happy and celebratory. Instead, I’m writing this. God has a way of laying a person or concept on my heart, and until I follow His leading and write about said person or concept, I can’t think about anything else. I’d like to—because this topic is heavy and dark and gritty. I can’t whitewash it and make it pretty. But it’s real. I’ve lived some of it. And I believe it’s tremendously important.
I’m still doing the Philippians challenge—still working to keep my mind on the true, the noble, and the beautiful. So when one of my sober friends on Instagram suggested a documentary called “Recovery Boys,” saying it was “uplifting,” I decided to watch it. It wasn’t at all uplifting—at least not to me. It tells the story of four young men in rehab in West Virginia, a state completely overrun by the opioid crisis. Each young man’s story of addiction unfolds throughout the film. All of them had several friends and family members who had died of opioid overdoses. And all of them spoke about these deaths in a very matter-of-fact way, as if the deaths were sad but somehow inevitable. Opioid addiction is so prevalent in West Virginia that these men almost expected that they would grow up to be addicts like their friends and family members—and eventually end up in prison, with a disease like Hepatitis C, or dead. There’s a scene in the documentary where the men in recovery are sitting around a campfire, and one of them is singing a song he wrote. The chorus was simple: “Sick boys die alone.” As the men listened to the song, I saw their eyes—they were vacant. Hopeless. Wanting recovery but certain they wouldn’t survive it. They believed what they were listening to: “sick boys die alone.” My heart broke for them. And every fiber of my being cried out to God: Why is this happening? And what can we do? How do we reach the “sick boys” and stop them from dying?
The documentary also showed a scene filmed on opioid overdose awareness day: people who had lost a loved one to an overdose placed that loved one’s shoes in a public place, such as on the steps of the West Virginia Capitol in Charleston. At some of these memorial events, the names and ages of those who died are read, one by one. At others, there are simply too many names to be read, so the dead are remembered with photos and art. At the event they showed in the documentary, one of the men in recovery talked about the importance of raising awareness, saying, “Someone out there is dying right now.” And then I heard it: they’re dying mainly from two drugs—heroin and fentanyl. Fentanyl was my drug of choice. For ten years. By the time I stumbled into recovery, I was taking 40 times the amount I had started with. Watching that scene with the empty shoes rocked me to my core. Because those could have been my shoes. Those should have been my shoes. I could see and hear it so clearly in my mind—the close-up shot of my empty denim slip-on shoes while my name was read: “Renee Phillips, 30.” I’ve read the statistics—almost no one survives ten years of fentanyl abuse. But I did. So again, my heart cried out to God as I watched: Why did You save me and not them? How can I make sure not to waste this life You gave me?
Sitting in the silence of my living room after the credits rolled, I kept hearing the words of the man at the memorial: Someone out there is dying right now. And I started thinking about the other epidemic I’d seen in the documentary: a sickness of the soul that started even before addiction did—a sickness that was robbing people of their will to live and their belief in a future. I remembered so vividly my own battle with that sickness and how desperately painful and lonely it was; it hurt me terribly to think of even one person feeling like that, let alone the millions who did, right at that moment. With tears on my cheeks, I asked God, What can I do? What does someone like me even have to offer? I happened to look down in my lap and saw the embroidery project I’d been working on when I started the documentary. It had sat untouched as I watched. This is what I saw:
And I thought, Yes. Hope. That’s the answer. The soul sickness that I’d once felt and had seen in the eyes of the people in the documentary is hopelessness. Without hope, there’s only darkness: a huge world of darkness where you sit alone, wondering if there’s anyone out there who still cares.
I care. I’m out here—and I’m writing these words for you. As someone who spent years lost in darkness and survived, I feel like it’s my God-given duty and privilege to carry the message of hope. To you. You don’t have to be an addict to be afflicted with the awful disease of hopelessness. You could be the mom across the street. The man who goes to work every day to support his family. You could appear to have the perfect life and yet be dying inside from a lack of hope. I know how dark that place of hopelessness is. I know what it’s like to just want the pain to end. I understand the loneliness that comes in waves so strong that you feel like you’re drowning. So I write these words for you—that someone out there—if any of this sounds familiar to you:
If you’ve lost sight of your dreams and what you believed was your future.
If everything you thought was real and true has slipped through your fingers.
If the God you thought was real seems to have abandoned you.
If you’re tired of fighting and trying, day after day, only to fail, again and again.
If you feel like you can’t go on because life is too hard and there doesn’t seem to be any point in it anymore.
If you’re in a world of pain and think you have to carry it all alone.
If you don’t understand God’s plan and sometimes wonder if He even has one.
If all you see in your own eyes is emptiness.
If you feel like a shell of the person you once were.
If you’ve somehow hit the self-destruct button and think you can’t come back from it.
If you’re convinced that you’re unworthy of love and don’t deserve grace.
If you feel so broken that you can’t imagine ever feeling whole again.
If any of these statements resonate with you, let me promise you this: there’s hope. That’s not a platitude or a phrase I throw around lightly. It’s not wishful thinking or a temporary emotion. It’s the lifeline you can cling to no matter what your circumstances are or what your emotions might trick you into thinking. Hope is knowledge. Certainty. And conviction. The Apostle Paul was chained in an underground Roman prison, forsaken by all of his friends, and facing possible execution when he wrote this: “I suffer now because of that work. But I am not ashamed, because I know the One I have put my trust in. And I am sure that He is able to protect what I have put into His care until that day.” (2 Timothy 1:12, emphasis mine.) Paul had hope even in his dark, lonely prison cell because he knew and trusted God.
Paul’s underground prison cell in Rome.
With Paul as my example, I define hope as the absolute conviction that
He who created you has
Overcome the darkness of this world. He has
Planned a future for you far beyond what you can imagine. And He loves you with an
Everlasting love so deep and wide that nothing you do could ever change it.
I’m just one person, sitting here on my couch in my pajamas, struck anew by the grace of God. As much as I wish we could, I know we can’t solve the epidemic of hopelessness in one night. But we can start. I have this vision of a candlelight Christmas Eve service, which begins in darkness and ends in light as each person takes a candle and lights the candle of the person next to them. We can build a pathway of hope that way, one candle at a time.
If you’re the “someone out there” that God wanted me to write to tonight, know this: you’re not alone. I’m thinking about you. I’m praying for you. And my candle is burning for you. Open the door to the prison cell you’ve sentenced yourself to, and grab hold of the hope God has for you. Even if you don’t know God yet, He knows you, and He’s pursuing your heart. Stop running from Him and let Him hold you, love you, and ignite His hope within you. Your light will shine brighter and brighter every time you choose hope—and one day, you’ll get to light the way for the next person out there who needs it. Imagine that: tiny flames of hope, one after another, all over the world. I can see it. Can you?
“My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.”From “The Solid Rock” by Edward Mote
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Comments 12
Renee I am sitting here in a puddle! Your dear sister asked us to pray and God put you on our hearts for many years. Thank God he spared your family the pain that so many other families have faced. Your recovery and transparency to share your journey is truly a gift from God. Keep writing and sharing and my prayer is that God will use that in a way that will reach many hopeless people. I truly believe that that will happen.
Thank you for such encouraging words, Barb. And for all of the prayers I didn’t even know were being prayed. In the last few days, since I wrote this, I’ve heard about many people who were praying for me during that time. So I no longer will wonder why I survived–now I know. So many like you prayed me through it. And I am more grateful than I can express. Thank you for the prayer you’re now praying, too–I want so much to reach others who are where I was. I will follow your example and pray for the ones who don’t even know it. Thank you so very much.
So well written there is always hope with Jesus, the longer I live the more I see God in action like your recovery, my wife all but dead in the hospital the doctor telling me she had a one in four chance to live to the end of the day and 3 months later walking out of the hospital. Praise God that was 15 years ago, God does miracles and Renee you are one of them He gives you the strength and support to fight that addiction. Some days when I start to question God all I need to do is look at my wife still alive beating all the odds and you recovering from a terrible life threatening addiction you two are inspiration to me!
Thank you for the beautiful insightful post!
Grover–I’m so sorry that happened to your wife but so grateful that she’s now okay–and you both got to witness a miracle. Thank you for calling me an inspiration; I’m humbled by those words. I love how you said that on the days when you question God, you look at the miracle of your wife and are reminded of hope. Thank you for such beautiful words.
Powerful and heartfelt message of hope! You are amazing in your continued fight for the beautiful!
Thank you, Monty. You fight right there beside me–always.
Thank you Renee for this post, beautifully written, yet very sad and true. Vancouver, BC is world renowned for it’s breath taking beauty and many people from all over the world flock here to see it year round. Yet it is also a city where tourists and us who live here alike are shocked by the many homeless and drug addicted one can observe everywhere you go. It is also becoming one of the most expensive cities to live in as foreign investors continue to buy up all our property and and areas that were formerly less popular and where many lower market rentals were available, are now seen as more desirable and whole blocks of housing are torn down and re developed and people being ousted with nowhere to go. One can feel the tension everywhere as thousands continue to die on our streets from overdoses each year and more and more become desperate in their plight to find affordable housing and we have almost 4000 homeless people on our streets here in the city. I too feel like crying and wondering how to hope in such a hopeless situation and what to offer the so many I see daily?
At such times I can only hold on to the hope we have in God and how He sees each of these precious dear ones and how He loves them. To reach out a hand when I can, if only to listen to their story and to share that they are loved, that somehow Someone is watching over them.
I hope too that someone who needs to hear what you have written is reading your words, is touched and accepts that there is HOPE and to know WHO that is.
Thank you, Klara. I knew there was a big drug issue in Vancouver but did not know about the homelessness. Sometimes it’s all so hard to witness–so yes, we do have to hold on to hope. And it’s so comforting to know that God sees all of this, too. Thank you for YOUR relentless hope.
Your life is one of my biggest answered prayers. I didnt Know that I was Praying that I didnt Have to place your empty shoes somewhere, and I had absolutely no idea that I was Praying against the evil enemy of addiction, but I did Pray over and over for healing, for beauty instead of ashes, for relief and release. Gods answer of finally bringing you back to life, back to MY life, seemed like it took forever, but I never Gave up on Hope; never gave up on you. Hope sustained all of us while we waited, praying for your very life. Hope is what your life is all about. Thank you for continuing on in your (hard) journey of sobriety so that you can share hope with the world.
Oh, Heather. I always knew you were praying. Week after week, month after month, you stayed in contact with me. And what a comfort that was. Thank you for refusing to give up hope and continuing to pray for me. Now I have the privilege of praying and sharing hope with others. Redemption . . . I love you.
Sparrow, As I have repeated on several of my replies to your Blogs, you have got to have a “connection” to my Mother. Her credo, “Trust In God”, “Pray to God”. I do believe God has a plan for me, fir everyone who believes. Your description of the young makes in West Virginia, “stark,sad”. The family members left behind bear un “unbelievable burden”.Your self confession of your past usage is Brave, Couragous. Most of us do like to admit our mistake#, or “confess our sins”, so to speak. But, the first step fir all us is to admit and confess our sins. Then, take a positive step each way to improve yourself, your fellow man. It is so simple, yet difficult. If I, We don’t do something who will ? Do we le5 our yo7ng people just “flounder” in to a deeper hole? I have no simple answer to drug, alcohol, sexual, mental abuse. But, that should not stop us from trying to reach out, counsel, speak to the public, our youth. The “ safety net”, Churches, individuals, not relying solely on Government programs. Simply show8ng, and putting our words in to action, to help in some way. I again say, Soarriw, yiu have “GUTS” to bare your soul, Jesus died on a cross to “wash away” our sins. “My Hope is Built on nothing less than Jesus Blood and Rightousness”. Personally, I have inflicted wounds upon myself, Family, My children, a lot of wreckage along the way. But, as I have said before My Mother prayed some 70 years fir “Her Prodigal to return, I finally returned. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Renee, and I am sure you have the “direct dial” to My Mother……….Beautiful song, “Somewhere Out There”. TexGen
Hal–yes, as you said, the first step is the admission and confession of sins. I don’t have any simple answers either regarding those social issues you mentioned. But the answer (and I know you agree) is never to just give up and stop hoping that changes CAN me made. And Hal–you may have come later in life to Jesus, but what matters is that you came. I do thank your mom for never giving up on you–and for a God who never did, either.