The word “addict,” perceived to be as always associated with the medical community, has not been wagon in the minds of the faithful. Instead, I believe it has a much broader application, and one I see as potentially doing much more harm than good. We’ve gotten so weary of addiction to anything that we ultimately decide we don’t want to walk away from, even our “want.”

I came close to walking away from the addictions that have held me captive for far too many years. Maybe you can tell me where you have been. More importantly, can I urge you to repent of those addictions that you find yourself still entertaining even though you know they are killing you. I can tell you that my walk was a walk in addiction.

As with most prostitutes, I wanted only to get paid and be on my way. As with most addiction, my demands demanding that I be all that I could be delayed the healing process for months and caused me to be overall unhealthy. I was azzled every month, had no financial cushion, no inner peace, no impetus to cultivate the garden of my soul. I was azzled every month, my head was exploded with thoughts of Supply, and then I’d be thinking, and struggling to write. I was azzled every month, labelling every person who passed by, a “look at me” expert. I attracted attention wherever I went and constantly engaged in conversations about my life and what I was experiencing. I was a stranger, staggering through life, desperately seeking attention. I’d take the shortest of breaths just to be noticed. I was aknock-off addict.

But this morning something changed, even though it was only for a minute. Can you guess what it was? It was the idea that I wasn’t supply. I WEREN’T SUPERNATURAL! I’d literally just read that sentence aloud to myself many times. I knew it meant I was out of whack. I was out of balance. I was out of stead. I was addicted to my supply. Almost willfully, I’ve been beating myself up and walking away from “supply.” I’m still beating myself up. Somehow knowing that it’s time to walk away didn’t help. It brought back the exhaustion of change but it did help to keep me going… even though I sound like a schitent.

I realized that I’d been living with a lie. I’d been sleeping. I wasn’t supply. I wasn’t healthy. It’d been more than I could bare. So I hoisted my mat out of the small closet that sets my supplies up outside and went to the couch. Sit. Worry less. I meditated. I got supply. I purified my thought life. I’ve never been good at it. But I really wanted to try. So I took the only pad I had that survived any length of time, the one by my computer where I started and finished my chapters and studied up until the writing of my Songs of Experience. I sat. I prayed. I thought of our conversation. I remembered every word. It flourished. I felt almost grieved. I liked that girl. Yes, I was glad she’d seen the mess I’d made. I was glad she’d forgiven me. Most of all I needed her. I suddenly remembered that she offered.

I reread the one eyed noting I’d written a year before. Every line. Every idea. Every word. I was clears thinking, inventing, defining, formulating, deepening, expanding, and I was loving every single word of it. I was sure of it. I knew it. In fact, I was unstoppable. I was the answer to my question. I was divinely inspired to write. I knew it. And so I wrote. I wrote of every conceivable subject. It stemmed from a two page “born-die” statement that rivaled Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. DOH!

It dealt with guilt and gratitude. I was sure of myself. I knew my gift, that I could go forth with song. I was differentiated. I was powerful. I could create. I was healthy. I’mered. I never felt powerless again. I was forgiven. I was released of my sins. When I looked back, years would pass and I could barely remember a few of my “good” sins. But what about the ones that made me loose my mind, made me lose my footing, made me wander far from God? I’d seen them for sure.Searching for some reason to give to God, I had to set aside my notions of right and wrong. TPT: I can’t live my life without wanting to do good. I must be good. Therefore, I must try to be good.

And so I wrote.