A year ago she’d fallen while walking down a flight of stairs in high heels and severely fractured her ankle.
So, see? She was simply still in themidstof her current challenge. God hadn’t redeemed it yet, but He would. He’d give her the strength she needed to quit Oxy, and then He’d turn this struggle into something amazing, exactly like He’d done before.
That sentiment would be easier to believe if God didn’t feel so very, very distant.
Her pep talk fizzled like a faulty Fourth of July firecracker.
Not for the first time, she attempted to pinpoint the moment when her relationship with God had begun to drift.
He’d been with her during surgery. She clearly recalled feeling His power and peace the day of her ankle operation and for weeks afterward.
Which meant the drift had started well after she’d returned to work. Between writing, traveling, speaking, and social media, her job had demanded a lot before she’d fallen on the stairs. After the fall, she’d continued to do everything she’d done before.
Her orthopedic doctor prescribed Oxy post-op, then weaned her off of it as soon as he deemed she could function without it. Full of resolve, she’d followed his directions and stopped taking it.
Ten days later, hobbling around a convention center in the UK, the pain had become too intense to bear. Overwhelmed, agitated, and unable to sleep, she’d taken the pills languishing at the bottom of her prescription bottle.
They’d helped her so much that she’d found a pain specialist back home in Nashville willing to prescribe more. Not only did the pills ease her ankle pain, they relaxed her and boosted her confidence. Oxy enabled her to give her best during her physical therapy sessions and—even better—to manage her career responsibilities.
She’d told herself that her orthopedic doctor had simply attempted to take her off Oxy too soon. Pain was such a personal thing, after all! Some people experienced more pain in the wakeof surgeries than others. She’d taper off the Oxy as soon as her pain specialist told her that her ankle had grown strong enough for her to do so.
She continued to pray and study the Bible devotedly. She preached and ministered. But around that time, God had begun to feel far away.
Genevieve turned the steering wheel, pulling into a gas station on the outskirts of Misty River. A headache gripped her skull like a vise. Her hands were shaky, and anxiety was busily tying her digestive system into a knot. Before she could face her mom and dad, she needed to pull herself together.
Inside the bedlam of her suitcase, she located her cosmetic bag, a fresh shirt, and her cute new poncho. After purchasing a bottle of water, she retreated to the restroom and stared at her reflection.
Eight months ago she’d started breaking promises to herself.
When the pain specialist had instructed her to gradually whittle down her Oxy usage, she’d rationalized his advice away and found another physician.This is the last pain specialist I’ll have, she’d promised herself. But a few months after that, she’d gone doctor shopping yet again.This is the last Bible study I’ll write while taking Oxy. This is the last speaking gig I’ll do with Oxy in my system.
She brushed her teeth, then worked to tame her hair.
Six weeks ago, after an especially challenging day, she’d taken one more pill than usual before driving to a dinner meeting with her publisher’s publicist, Anabelle. At the restaurant, she’d plowed her car into one of the rectangular stone flower planters lining the parking lot’s edge. The container had cracked, and its largest segment had rocketed forward, missing an elderly couple by inches.
When the police arrived, they gave Genevieve a breathalyzer test. Once that failed to condemn her, they asked about her medications. Anabelle had listened grimly as Genevieve told them about her Oxy prescription. The police had been sympathetic and lether off with a warning, but the moment she’d climbed into the passenger seat of Anabelle’s car, Anabelle had confronted her.
Genevieve had told herself and Anabelle, “The pill I took before coming here is the last pill I’ll take.”
“It has to be,” Anabelle had answered. “If it’s not, I need to inform the rest of your publishing team. For our sake. But much more than that, for yours.”
Later, holed up in her loft apartment alone, Genevieve had tried to carry through on her promise to Anabelle.
The first time she’d given Oxy up after surgery, her body had protested with little more than a murmur. This time, her body threw a full-blown tantrum.
Anabelle communicated with her frequently, offering encouragement, resources, information, hotline numbers. But Anabelle’s support couldn’t save Genevieve from the undiluted physical misery of withdrawal. Until that moment, Genevieve had imagined that she could stop Oxy at any point. She was appalled to discover just how dependent she’d become.
She’dbeggedthe Lord for mercy. But like a set of keys you can’t find right when its most urgent that you locate them, she’d misplaced God somehow. She’d lost the most important, crucial aspect of her life.
In the end, her detox symptoms had been so horrendous that no amount of willpower had been equal to them. Sickness had brought her to her knees, and to a new bottle of Oxy that she’d kept secret from Anabelle.
Every day since she’d driven into that parking lot planter, she’d held a pill in her hand and promised herself,This is the last pill I’ll ever take.
Now Genevieve changed into her top, donned her poncho, and retouched her makeup. The mirror told her that she looked presentable on the outside, even though she felt guilty and corroded and ugly on the inside.
God had entrusted her with the task of providing spiritual guidance and instruction to thousands of women—a giant responsibility. Over the last year, a gulf had opened between who she pretended to be publicly and who she actually was. The shame of that had been growing through her like a poisonous, spiky weed. At this point, the weed had expanded its awful tendrils all the way to her fingertips and toes.
She flicked open her metal pill case, selected a pill, then balanced it in the center of her palm, as she’d done so many times before.
