Drunks have a soft spot in my heart. Jolly drunks break my heart but make me smile. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew he was drunk and I knew my friend Peter had no idea; our five minute interaction with the hitch hiker would’ve been quickly forgotten.
Just another day in the life of the idiotic airhead who makes her loved ones terrified to leave her to make her own decisions.
It mattered to this guy to get picked up. It mattered even more when we discovered he knew me. Being able to drop names and relate dramas that I’ve known about for almost two years made him relax. He told me things I never would have heard from him when he was sober.
When it was just Peter and I in the car 10 minutes later, Peter said something like, “He doesn’t understand how to start over.” Though neither one of us claimed hopelessness, we understood our passenger was caged in it and didn’t want help getting free.
Just the comprehension of our friend’s hopelessness made me mentally throw my hands up in the air. “He’s unreachable, Lord. He doesn’t trust anyone he can see; how could he ever trust You?”
With a grin in His voice I could almost hear God say, “Once, you were the self-proclaimed wretch who swore she’d never be forgiven. I didn’t give up on you. You came back.
“You were just as deep in the mire of your sin as this man is. Remember the distance I ran to bring you Home.”