We all have a story. This is mine. It’s raw and real. This story describes the events that led to my salvation. “The Morning After” was the day that would forever change my life. I am grateful I have NEVER been the same since. Glory be to God.
The Calling
That Saturday night started off like so many others before, somewhat of a familiar ritual. It was an hour and a half of hair and make-up, and a half dozen outfits to try on before I felt worthy and beautiful enough to drive down the block to the local bar; that had become my temple.
The bar was bustling; she greeted me with a seductive smile and said, “The usual?” It was much more a declaration than a question. “I’m gonna make sure you have a really good night-sweetheart”, she said as she tossed her long golden hair over her shoulder and gave me a wink. That was bartender lingo for I’m gonna get you so wasted. She poured the clear liquid over frozen cubes. As the liquid hit the sides of the glass, it had a distinct melody to it. It was the song of anticipation and excitement. I was bracing myself for a wild night. I put my first cigarette to my lips and took a long, slow drag…. beyond another drink or two the rest of the evening was a complete mystery.
The morning after was the day that would forever change my life. I woke up with a pounding in my head that beat like a rhythmic drum. Light and sound were hard to take in. It was the dreaded hang-over. When I got up, I glanced down by the side of the bed where my clothes would have been thrown after a wild night of partying. Funny thing was there wasn’t an article of clothing to be found, which struck me as very odd. I was so curious to uncover the mystery of my missing clothes, I decided, hang-over or not, it was best to put on my robe, head downstairs and ask my husband. The sound of the creaky stairs felt sharp in my ears. My thoughts jump right to the one thing that would make this hang-over a little more bearable, Black Silk – coffee.
I see him standing with his back towards me, pouring a steaming cup of black coffee into his large Yankees mug. “Hey Hun, morning…is the coffee ready and do you have any idea what happened to my clothes?” When he abruptly turned around to look at me, his expression was sobering. Painted on his face was a look of disgust and disbelief. “You don’t EVEN remember, do you? There was a long awkward pause……”Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee and I’ll meet you in the garage so we can have a talk”. He deliberately went out of his way to avoid walking near me. As I nervously waited to talk to him, I had a looming sense of dread and fear wash over me. The pit in my stomach was growing with a fierce intensity as I tried to recall the night’s festivities. Nothing, I remembered absolutely nothing, what could I have possibly done? The next few steps into the garage felt like the longest journey of my life.
As I opened the door to the smoke-filled garage, I could cut the air of judgment and disdain with a knife. “Have a seat”, he said, gesturing to a lounge chair. I listened as he proceeded to tell me several shocking and embarrassing scenarios from the night before.
Finally, he stood up, towering over me, said, “I’ll leave you to think about what you’ve done”. It was something you’d say to a disobedient child. I felt about 2ft tall. I tried to play the story back through my mind; still nothing. I came to the conclusion my lack of recall must be from an alcohol induced blackout. All I remembered was the taste of vodka on my lips and the dark stain of lipstick on the glass.
I doubt there’s anything quite as frightening as not knowing what you’ve done the night before. I had to ask myself, what kind of person loses time? I sat in a state of complete shock for what felt like an eternity. My old familiar foes shame and guilt were calling my name; each took a colossal swing at me, each landing a blow like a prize fighter in a boxing ring. The reality of my behavior just knocked the wind out of me! I sank deep into my chair.
Every ounce of me felt heavy. My heart was heavy. This can’t be who I am; this can’t be my life!! Just as that thought crossed my mind, I turned to look across the parking lot. There stood a humble little church, simply and sweet. Sunday morning, when “good” people went to church, and here I was hung over, covered in shame, contemplating my whole existence. I watched men and women quietly enter with Bibles in hand. The women exquisitely adored in sun hats, white gloves and flowing dresses, the men in crisp starched suits and ties. That’s when I heard in my heart, what I now know was the voice of God, say “Do you know you’ve lived by a church your entire life?” My posture became erect, could this be true? I allow the memories to come flooding in, one after another, like a merry-go-round. Images of steeples, pews, and crosses swirled through my mind. At that point in life, I had lived in fourteen different places since childhood, each one just a stone’s throw away from a church.
I threw myself back into the chair, arms clenched tightly across my chest with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. I said out loud to the Voice, I knew had to be God, because those kinds of thoughts were NOT on my radar, “Whattya trying to tell me something!?!” I was belligerent. Clear and concise came my answer. “I’ve been calling you, your whole life“…
For a solid week, those God-statements danced through my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and believe me I tried. I felt like I was physically being pressed. The calling seemed to be inescapable. I was running on empty; I had gone down every possible path I could think of to find worth, purpose, and identity.
For three decades with a fury, I sought satisfaction and fulfillment in everything the world had to offer. I went chasing down gratification in relationships, drugs, drinking, and riches; participated in torrid sexual affairs, gobbled up self-help books, and told myself, positive thinking will change my reality. I explored New-Age religion, dabbled in the occult, read Hindu scriptures; I even tried to find satisfaction in having a picture-perfect body. Excessively dieting and exercising. Everything came up empty, completely and utterly empty. It was an exhausting journey. By the end of that first week, with the acknowledgement that my life had become meaningless that I decided I really had nothing to lose by stepping into a church. It wouldn’t burst into flames upon my arrival, would it?
Headed To Church
I was shuffling around the house in my fuzzy slippers and ridiculous pajamas, multi-tasking between the dishes and making a meal. The phone rang, it was my stepson’s mother; she was calling to check on the progress of a school project. Up until this point our relationship had been extremely volatile and turbulent. It had taken us about 7 years to arrive at a place of civility. I said to her, “Hey, before I give you to Little Man, let me ask you a question, does that church you go to have childcare?” Well, she squealed with so much excitement, you would’ve thought the woman had just won the lottery. “Oh-my-gosh, oh-my-gosh, yes, and I’m taking you there!” She was incredibly persistent and before I knew it, I’m blurting out the word YES. I thought to myself, I must have just lost my mind…. that’s it, I’ve gone absolutely mad. I used to joyfully mock churchgoers, often referring to them as “Thumpers” …Bible Thumpers, and now I’m going to church with one of the biggest ones. How am I going to explain this to my husband?
Needless to say, he didn’t take it too well. The look on his face was of absolute terror. “You’re going to do WHAT!!?!”, he yelled. “Oh no, this is NOT good, nothing good can come from this…. this is an unholy alliance”. I repeated to him the very statement I voiced to myself a week earlier, “This can’t be who I am; this can’t be my life”. “I don’t know what to tell you Mike, I need to do something. It’ll be fine.”
Like a true cynic, I decided not to take the kids after all. What if the place I used to call the “Cult Compound” passes around some poison Kool-Aid? The moment I stepped into the pristine Megachurch; the beating of my heart quickened. I was nervous. How was a woman like me going to fair out in a place like this? I felt dirty. Because I had lived my life enclosed in a fortress, I was pretty certain I would not be moved by this experience. I was basically willing to go through the motions, just so God would stop hounding me.
I was welcomed by a sincere greeting and a warm smile, and it disarmed me slightly. Heaps of people filled the hallways. It was rich with diversity, and the air was filled with a remarkable sense of calm. I was ushered to my seat by The Ex, who strategically placed me in the middle of thousands of people, right up front. As the lights dimmed and the worship music began to play, my heart began to race. Great, here we go, corny church music; I bet these people are gonna start raising their hands!. I crossed my arms tight across my chest, like a protective armor. Of course, I didn’t want anyone to judge me, but I was judging everyone I laid eyes on. “Don’t you raise your hands at rock concerts?” the Spirit of God said. Hmm…well, I was at an Aerosmith concert a few weeks ago, I guess that’s true. The next song began to play; it was nothing like I assume church music would sound. It was more like something I might have heard on the radio, but it was the lyrics that captured my soul. It had something to do with a loving God that pursues rebellious people. Chasing down sinners, like me. I was completely struck; the song was exactly the story of my life. I felt exposed and outright vulnerable. I immediately felt the strong urge to bolt out the door. My eyes darted around the room as I frantically looked for the nearest exit. I had to get out of there, before my heart softened, and my fortress came crumbling down. I tell myself, as I grit my teeth don’t you dare cry Debra, don’t you even DARE!
One warm tear traveled down the side of my cheek, then another. She trapped me in a sea of people. There was no escape. I was furious, I wanted to throat punch her. Heat surged through my entire body; sweat was forming at the back of my neck. I just couldn’t wait until the whole experience was over. From the corner of my eye, I can feel The Ex staring at me. I refuse to make eye contact with her; I was genuinely embarrassed.
We finally take a seat to listen to the sermon. I don’t recall the message during that hour, but I do remember thinking, this is actually relevant to life today. I didn’t feel like I was being fed some archaic lesson. To my surprise, I actually found it very interesting. Growing up in a different faith, my impression of God was vastly different. I thought He wanted robotic humans that He could pound into submission, when they didn’t follow all His rules. I thought God was punishing. My brother left the faith and became a Born-Again Christian, and he was rather unpleasant to be around and frankly quite strange. This was the very first time I heard that God loved me. Really, how could God love me when I hated me?
The Pastor ended the teaching with an invitation to know the Lord personally, to repent and be saved. I watch individuals sitting all over the sanctuary, stand to their feet and walk forward for prayer. The church erupted in cheers, everyone clapping for their decision. By now The Ex was glaring at me, “Do you want to go forward, I’ll go with you?” she said. “NO! I don’t want to go forward”, I replied, with a snide look on my face. Like on autopilot, up came my massive wall, my defensive posture resumed, and my arms immediately crossed over my chest. As we walked back to the car in silence, I had no idea the immense mercy the God of the Universe had just extended me. If death would have called me home that night, I would have spent eternity in hell.
Unmistakably Moved
I was deeply moved by the experience. And the week that followed, I replayed the message, the music and the invitation repeatedly in my mind. By the time Sunday came around again, I knew I had to go back. I felt like I was being drawn by the hand of God. Like an accident on the side of the road, I just had to take another look. My husband wasn’t too thrilled I was returning, maybe he thought the whole thing would be a one-hit wonder, a one and done.
Round two, but this time I was taking my older son, especially because there was no poison Kool-Aid in sight. I was sort of embarrassed I ever called it the Cult Compound. I was curious to see my son’s reaction. At 13 he was an intelligent, perceptive, and inquisitive young man. He had only been to church to attend a wedding ceremony; this would be his first real church experience. The music was just as stirring as the week before; this time I managed not to cry. However, the sermon was different, the Pastor opened up with his personal testimony. He proceeded to tell a tale of raging addiction, fast cars and even faster women. His occupations involved managing a strip club in Las Vegas, and eventually becoming the managing director of Capitol Records. Wow! Is this guy serious? Wait, am I still in church? Am I hearing him, right? I looked around to see if anyone had heard my jaw hit the floor! His story included God’s relentless pursuit of him, the Almighty’s amazing grace and mercy and his life changing salvation. The call on his heart was to move clear across the country to Ft. Lauderdale with a handful of people to open a little church, which he originally held in a small funeral home.
“The call”, that was the same phrase heard the morning after my drunken binge….“I’ve been calling you your whole life” I was hit by a ton of bricks. My heart was hammering inside my chest. If God can save and radically change this guy, then there was certainly hope for a broken shell of a woman like me. The living proof of God’s mighty hand was sitting in a church that ministered to 20,000 people; all because this guy followed the call of God.
Faith Of A Child
I glanced over at my son; he was soaking in every morsel of the story. His eyes wide and bright, as the Pastor spoke openly and freely about the Gospel. Teaching through scriptures that we have all fallen short, and have sinned against a Holy God, but Jesus, sinless God in flesh, took our sin debt to the cross, became our blood sacrifice to atone for our sins and rose from the dead providing victory over death. We could never pay this sin debt, and with belief and repentance we could spend eternity wrapped in the Savior’s embrace.
Similar to the previous week the Pastor ended the teaching with an invitation to know the Lord personally, to repent and be saved. He asked all who wanted eternal life through Christ Jesus to come forward for prayer. I watched my son come alive with excitement. He placed his hand on my arm, still looking at the altar, leaned in and with delight in his voice he whispered, “You wanna go up?” Woah, this was a big deal. I wanted his decision to be solely his, and not from the desire to win his mom’s approval. I turned to look at his face which was glowing, “If you want to go forward son, go; but DON’T go, because you think that’s what I want from you” Before I could finish the sentence, he bolted out of his seat, looked at me with child-like faith and enthusiasm, and declared, I’M GOING!” I clenched my seat with sweaty hands. I watched him take flight to the altar. Wooooow!!!! I had spent my entire life chasing after all the world had to offer, searching for purpose only to come up completely bankrupt, and here it was an invitation to LIFE. I was awe-struck by his faith. At 13 he understood, and I was in my 30’s still searching. His courage and boldness propelled me out of my seat and into the arms of Jesus. The beautiful child God had given me, and his legacy of faith was the catalyst to securing my eternal destiny.
The Take Away
I’m so grateful God pursues the outcast and the rebel. With relentlessly love and mercy He chases after humanity. As a Christian woman many years removed from these events, I can see the countless times God had stepped in to protect me, to care for me and to woo me into a personal relationship with Him. Today He has given me purpose, identity, and freedom. We have a God who has seen the depths of our depravity, and yet instead of running from us, endlessly pursues us, washing us clean from our sins and makes us new. I have a new identity; I am the daughter of the most High King.
This short story is dedicated to my beloved son Anthony Marsalisi:
None of us are perfect people, but with the grace God supplies we can be authentic people. May your life be greatly seasoned with compassion, mercy, grace, wisdom, joy and love in which Christ is the ultimate source. You are the most valuable gift God has every bestowed on me.
Love Ma
