STAY DESPERATE

STAY DESPERATE

You don’t have to stay in crisis to keep the desperation that helped you surrender.

Desperation gets a bad reputation.

We usually associate it with the worst moments of our lives—the phone call, the consequence, the relationship falling apart, the moment when there is nowhere left to hide.

But desperation can also be one of the greatest gifts we receive.

Because when I was desperate, surrender became easier.

I remember getting my first speeding ticket when I was sixteen. There was no hiding it. It was going to show up on insurance. My mom was going to find out. There was no clever way around it, so I brought it straight to her and apologized.

There is something about knowing there is no escape that makes surrender easier.

I experienced a much more serious version of that before going into treatment. My life had become unmanageable. My life had become unmanageable. I had already told Angie that my life was a mess and that I wanted out of the life I had created. Then came the DUI and everything surrounding it.

I was desperate.

During those days before going into treatment, I asked my mom to stay with me. Bless her soul.

I didn’t want anything getting into my head telling me it would be okay to drink away the fear, drink away the shame, or sleep away the depression.

I had spent enough time trying to escape what I felt.

I was finally desperate enough to face it.

Crisis Makes Surrender Easier

There is a strange clarity that can come with crisis.

When everything is falling apart, priorities suddenly become obvious.

You know what matters.

You know what needs to change.

You know you need help.

You become willing to do things you previously resisted.

The problem is that crisis eventually passes.

The fear decreases.

The consequences become memories.

People begin trusting you again.

Life gets better.

And relief can become dangerous.

Not because relief is bad. Relief is one of the gifts of recovery.

But because the desperation that caused us to surrender can disappear with the crisis.

I had surrendered before. I had experienced moments when I knew something needed to change. But when the crisis passed, desperation passed with it.

Eventually, I took control again.

That is the cycle I never want to repeat.

The Cycle of Rescue and Rebellion

Nehemiah 9 describes a pattern that feels painfully familiar.

The people experience distress.

They cry out.

God rescues them.

They experience relief.

They forget.

They rebel.

Then eventually, they find themselves in distress again.

What stands out to me is that God didn’t stop. They did.

Deuteronomy 8 carries a similar warning: be careful that when life becomes full, comfortable, and prosperous, you do not forget the One who brought you there.

That warning matters deeply in recovery.

At rock bottom, I knew I needed God.

What about when life is good?

When my family trusts me?

When my career is moving forward?

When I’m not waking up ashamed?

When I have years instead of days?

Do I still need Him then?

Absolutely.

The danger is that I may stop living like it.

Desperation Has to Mature

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life desperate because everything is falling apart.

That’s not recovery.

I want my desperation to mature.

One definition of desperate points toward hopelessness—a situation so bad that you will try anything.

But desperation can also describe an urgent or intense desire.

That’s the desperation I want today.

I don’t want to desperately need God only because my life is collapsing.

I want to desperately desire God because I have learned what life with Him is like.

The circumstances can change while the posture remains.

Early desperation says:

God, I can’t do this without You.

Mature desperation says:

God, I don’t want to do this without You.

That is a major difference.

Desire Precedes Discipline

We talk a lot about discipline in recovery.

Go to meetings.

Pray.

Read.

Call somebody.

Serve.

Make amends.

Tell the truth.

Build routines.

Protect your sobriety.

All of those things matter.

But underneath discipline is desire.

Eventually, I have to want the life those disciplines are producing.

That’s why one of the most important questions I can ask myself is:

What starts first—me or my day?

My natural tendency is to wake up and go.

Work.

Think.

Solve.

Produce.

Check my phone.

Handle responsibilities.

My day can start moving before I’ve decided who is leading it.

Staying desperate means starting before my day starts.

Before the noise gets a vote, I want God to have one.

Before my responsibilities tell me who I need to be, I want to remember who I belong to.

Before I start producing, I need to surrender.

Not because I’m terrified of what will happen if I don’t.

Because I’ve learned what happens when I do.

Humble Enough to Still Be a Child

My kids give me another picture of this.

A three-year-old can confidently tell you:

“I knowwwww, Daddy.”

There is something hilarious about a child who has been alive for three years believing he has everything figured out.

Then I realize how often I approach God the same way.

I know.

I understand.

I’ve got this.

I’ve been sober for a while.

I’ve learned some things.

I’ve grown.

But I am still a child raising children.

I have no idea what is coming tomorrow.

I don’t know every danger ahead of me.

I don’t understand every “no.”

I don’t see everything God sees.

Childlike faith isn’t childish ignorance. It is the humility to recognize the difference between the Father’s perspective and mine.

I have to remain humble so I don’t stumble.

Don’t Outgrow the Gift

I don’t want another rock bottom just to remember what matters.

I don’t want to need another crisis to become teachable.

I don’t want God to have to remove everything before I remember that everything I have came from Him.

And I don’t need to glorify my rock bottom to remain grateful for what it taught me.

I can appreciate the desperation that brought me to surrender without wanting to return to the circumstances that created it.

That is what staying desperate means to me today.

The desperation changes.

It grows up.

What began as:

“God, please save me.”

can mature into:

“God, I desperately want to stay close to You.”

Recovery gave me a life I once desperately needed.

Now I want to live desperately committed to the One who gave it to me.

Reader Reflection

• What did desperation make you willing to surrender that comfort might tempt you to take back?

• Where has relief caused you to become less intentional?

• What starts first each morning—you or your day?

• Where have you started saying, “I’ve got this,” instead of remaining dependent?

• What would it look like for your desperation to move from needing rescue to desiring closeness?

You don’t have to return to rock bottom to remember what rock bottom taught you.