Basic Progress - Prologue

My arms and feet are chained. I was looking at three counts of ten years with a judge that had six months earlier told me that if he ever saw me again, it would be a bad day for me. Remember that I had absconded from two DWI charges in Texas? It wasn't very likely that I would get probation. The odds were against me. Complete stone cold atheist, I wrote up a real nice statement that I felt would be the words they wanted to hear. I stood before the court; James Holland Jr. vs. the state of Nevada. The Judge flipped his wrist and my rap sheet rolled out; all nonviolent crimes --mostly alcohol related. He looked it over.

"Mr. Holland, what I see here is a real problem with alcohol, but you're down here in Nevada and we don't like what you're doing!"

He hit his gavel,

"Five years in the state penitentiary."

I was totally emotionless,... I was apathetic! There was no wetting the pants. It was just life.

I understand that reaction more fully now. It's not the people that do this or do that, that concern me, it's the people that just sit there and don't do anything that I worry about. Humans normally would demonstrate an adverse reaction to that experience! I did not have an emotional investment in my future. I just " rolled with the flow." The flow had been dammed up for several years now. Apathy is the opposite of love, gratitude, and hope.

He leered over his desk.

"Mr. Holland, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Yes, Sir."

I had memorized a speech that I thought He would be pleased to hear, "I drink too much alcohol and when I drink I lose all perspective. I lose my respect for authority. I lose respect for social norms. I lose respect for people and I lose respect for myself."

"Well, Mr. Holland, how often do you drink?"

I really had the urge to say 'just a couple.' That's how I usually reacted to law enforcement's inquisitive ways! I told him that I drink too often and too much.

"Mr. Holland, is there any way that you can go five years without taking a drink?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is there any way that you can go five years without entering a casino in the state of Nevada for the purpose of gambling?"

"Yes, sir."

He had already sentenced me, why all the prying questions. He looked over my criminal record. Nothing violent. Every bit of my record was alcohol related.

"I'm going to probate your sentence."

I still didn't feel anything. I still had no reaction. Other than 'Oh no, I don't have the next five years planned,' I did not respond! He continued,

"Mr. Holland, there are forty-nine other states in our glorious union. I'm sure any one of them would be more than happy to help you through your probationary period. If I were you, I wouldn't let the sun set on my butt in the state of Nevada,... next case!"

I was kicked out of the state of Nevada! December the 27th of 1987, I was released.

I received my wardrobe: a blue plaid shirt, a pair of well patched blue jeans, a quilt my grandmother had made me in 1971 and an empty backpack I had stolen from an acquaintance who had stolen my wedding ring and had hocked it for drugs and booze. With a grimace, once again, I slipped the Korean fish market torture shoes on.

God, the loving creator who I had denied, dismissed, turned my back on, and publicly denigrated, had delivered me from a potentially lifetime disabling predicament. I did not realize this at the time, but, I now know, that although God does require my cooperation to pervasively guide my life and my will, He does not need my permission or consent to do those things necessary to do His work! Is it fair to say that God kept me from serving time? I certainly did not deserve freedom.

I do give him credit. I am positive that the intercessory prayers from Texas had worked! God may have been looking for that one lost lamb. I do not know why God did what He did. I have a hard enough time explaining why I did what I did! I am glad He is merciful. But at the time, I knew that I had just received the break that I needed. The human brain is a marvelous instrument, but sometimes it just doesn't work objectively. I still could not see what I would not see.

The most perplexing aspect of chronic self indulgence (addiction), is the sufferer's inability to perceive him or herself as impotent in regards to self preservation. I always felt like 'this time would be different." Because of the gradual and imperceptible erosion of things worthwhile, I had mastered the art of intellectual and emotional survival by hurdling over and dancing around the shadows of otherwise intolerable thoughts, feelings, and facts. This delusion, rationalization, justification, self-deception or denial, however defined, had become a stanchion for crumbling hope. I was so far out in left field, I couldn't tell you what color the sky was in my world!

The phenomenal 'I'm special' attitude that exists within the survival mechanism of denial is absolutely a mystery. Although it is quite obvious to the clear minded, the world of the addicted is not exactly reflective. The mind of the obsessed has a tremendous propensity to disregard facts. Trust me, I wasn't taking notes. The perception is so warped that failure is dismissed as a passing moment in time. Maybe tomorrow, everyone will realize who their dealing with! Where was I getting this false hope?

False pride is the indispensable ingredient to spiritual poverty. It breeds ingratitude --which is at the heart of sin

Here we go again... On my way out of the Nevada Department of probation, I thought to myself, "Self, you know I ought to go by and tell my buddies so long." I have no idea why I felt obligated, I had not received a letter or a visit from anyone.

The comedy I had formerly laughed at, was no longer funny. The conversation, that had been so stimulating, meandered around the dark room to fall on more interested ears. I did not belong, but not for any new reasons. it was the same old loneliness. Iron butterflies fluttered in my gut. I did not like being me. It takes perseverance.

On new year's eve, a 'friend' of mine slid a shot of Ouzo (a strong licorice flavored Greek liqueur,) down the bar. It skidded to a welcoming halt right in front of me.

Remember, I had just outlived my premature death. '...if caught drinking or gambling, five years, state penitentiary...' The thought had worn itself out for four long days and nights. In retrospect, my life had been plundered by my response to a primal conflict; comfort versus character. My personal failure was a result of invariably choosing what I wanted rather than what was best. I wanted to be comfortable! Long term benefits or consequences be damned. I really enjoyed failure, I must have. The record speaks for itself.

My friend sealed the temptation,

"Come on, Jay, you've got to celebrate! One won't hurt you."

A momentary 'screw it' pause and... ... down the hatch it went.

The Devil pointed his finger at me and said, "Gotcha!"

That was the beginning of my last binge. The next morning at 11:00, I was in a casino, throwing cards at a dealer. I was drunk in a casino.

Hmmm,... Do you think it would have been any better in Portland?

The details of the preceding months and my actions over the course of the next few days have proven to be extremely significant in my salvation from personal ruin. Accepting myself as an ordinary human being with ordinary human strengths and weaknesses has been the critical key. Acceptance is not concession, but the reverse: acceptance is an acknowledgment that things are the way they are and the responsibility and for our plight. The hidden ingredient is a fierce determination to improve one's life, one day at a time... starting right now.

Yeah, but, where do you go to give up?

False pride, haughtiness, and defiance do have their limits. I was faced with a life with no apparent meaning and with no relevant importance. I could finally see that much. There was one last resort. One day, as I shuffled down the loneliest street in the world, I asked myself the same question that presents itself today, 'What is this thing called life all about?' I wondered why I had been born. Was it that I was destined to be a bad example?

In a brief moment of clarity, I called out from the bowels of my neglected soul,

"If there is a God, if there is a God, if, only if..."

That's about all I could mutter. I looked up at the partly overcast sky. I slumped against the facade of a pawn shop. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't.

"If there is a God, man, you need to show yourself now! I just don't know nothing."

That was my first prayer in over a decade.

That moment in time, although not as dramatic a moment then, as I perceive it to be now, was the beginning of a massive displacement of many ideas and attitudes I had nurtured for the previous decade. The great reality of the matter is that, over the course of the last several years, my entire life has been revolutionized in regards to life, my family, the church, my fellows, and God's universe. The central fact of my life today is the absolute certainty that my creator has entered into my heart and lives in a way that is indeed miraculous! He has done with me and for me what I couldn't do myself.

Most people in their own circumstances and conditions have experienced that devastating feeling of inadequacy that beckons God. It may be the most important moment in our lives. I can't ever forget walking down the loneliest street in the world.

I called my dad,

"I'm out of jail."

I hadn't cared enough about him to call him earlier. Sad. Real sad.

"Dad, if you send me a hundred dollars, I can catch a plane back to DFW." (Dallas/ Fort Worth Airport)

"Jay, man, I love you. I have sent you money. I've hunted you down. I've looked for you... Son, I'm tired of it. I just can't continue on without you being honest with me."

Often the same people who are quick to list your failings are the same ones that encourage your successes and are doing everything they can to help.

I recalled the last time I had called. I remembered what 'I heard.' I really needed his help. I wanted one more chance...

"This is what I'll do; We'll wire you one hundred dollars. If you don't use it for an airplane ticket, I'll never send you another dime."

It was not a miracle that Dad sent me money. The miracle was that this time, I used it for what I had said I needed it for.

On January 15, 1988, I walked out of an airplane terminal to a undeserved welcome from two ecstatic parents. My tattered jeans and my blue shirt stunk of green street sweat. They hung loosely on my cowardly frame. At the luggage carousel, we claimed an empty stolen backpack with a quilt bedroll my grandmother had made for me in 1971. I had whiskey on my breath.

My mother could have watered the airport plants with her tears of joy. My father rubbed my forehead in his armpits with a hug of laughter.

My parents fed me and nurtured me back to health. They tolerated my late hours. They loaned me their car. More often than not, they chose not to address personal issues. I watched them hope against hope that I would grow up.

I know now that many parents experience this desperate yearning for their children. Take whatever comfort you can from knowing that just because someone doesn't act the way you might hope, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have. We just don't have much.

They pleaded with me to go to church and to 'get right' with God. I told them that I was not interested. It didn't impress me that they were living a Christian life and that I wasn't. Maybe there is something to think about.

Twenty nine years old and living at home with Mom and Dad.