ADDICTION
DRAPER’S PAPER ROUTE
ADDICTION
by Adam Carroll Draper
In the middle of the night last Saturday, a gunshot woke Juli Wilson. Jarrid, her husband, was not in bed beside her. She found him amidst the blood where he had lost his battle with depression. Only hours earlier, he had presided over the funeral of a lady who had taken her life. His ministry was focused on fighting suicide. He was thirty years old. Juli and their two sons are left behind.
Every Thursday night, Stefanie and I talk with men dealing with addiction at the House of Prayer in Jamestown, North Carolina. This week I shared Jarrid’s story with them because addiction is like feeling compelled to play Russian Roulette. In the end, the outcome does not seem as overwhelming as the fight against it.
So how could this happen? A man who knew Jesus – a man who knew the truth – was ultimately a victim of the enemy’s lies. Knowing Jesus does not inoculate us to life and pain. There is no answer. This is not a Psych 101 exam. Jarrid is lost to the fight. He is home with the Lord. That’s it.
Juli posted this to Instagram: "I love you forever, Thomas jarrid Wilson, but I have to say that you being gone has completely ripped my heart out of my chest...Suicide doesn’t get the last word. I won’t let it. You always said 'Hope Gets the last word. Jesus gets the last word'."
Suicide is the 800 pound gorilla that lives with an addict. It must be faced just as surely as each moment the decision is made to use involves an addict’s surrender to a voice, saying “Fuck it! It may not happen, but who cares if it does.” That is the enemy. He is a liar and a sack of shit.
How in the world does a man who loves God lower himself to talk that way? Shut up! This fight is not a Sunday School lesson for Miss Marla Priss Pants. These men need to hear the truth in a way they will receive it. The song of an addict shares a melody with Jarrid’s. I am not excusing suicide, nor am I condemning it. He fought and he lost. An addict fights that melody every day in the same way. It is the song of death, playing the incessant pangs of futility.
There is hope. We can recognize the voice of the enemy. We can resist it by learning to follow hard after another voice. Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice.” Jarrid knew that voice. He just couldn’t hear it above the dirge in those last hours in which he succumbed. At bottom, Jarrid was focused on fighting depression so much that he could not stop hearing its slow monotony. The struggle is no different with an addict.
The hope is in the Good Shepherd. His voice alone drowns out the enemy. We learn to follow as if life depended upon it because it does. My master left the ninety-nine and found this sheep on a craggy hillside in a storm where I was doomed to fall to my ruin. I put my head on his leg that night, and that is where I go every day. Jesus is joy. He is meaning. He is hope itself. He hears my bleating.
I don’t struggle with addiction and thank you sweet Jesus that I am no longer depressed, but my enemy is the same. He is a liar and a murderer, ever lurking to steal my life and my joy. Jarrid knew that. He lost. He is home. Praise be to you, Lord Jesus Christ.
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