When I was a lot younger, getting drunk was the bomb.
What was so appealing about getting drunk for me?
Well, it wasn’t the headaches or the hangovers. It wasn’t throwing up on the side of an abandoned country road. And it sure wasn’t listening to my friend go on endlessly about being Brigadier General Jackson.
Getting drunk was fun. I was able to make people laugh. I would forget that I was ever shy with anyone. I could make friends with just about any other drunk, so long as he or she wasn’t too obnoxious or smelly.
But most of the time, it was a way to let loose with the girls.
There was a feeling of freedom inside the stupor. I didn’t care who thought what about me. I could say whatever I wanted to whomever I wanted.
There’s a sense of grace among drunks. We’d share our deepest, darkest secrets. And as we opened our hearts, none of us condemned anyone else. Confession really was good for the soul.
Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we could all be as honest and forgiving as a bunch of drunks? If we were, we would live with such freedom that it would blow our minds.
The reason drunks are free with each other is that they know they’re messed up. How can I cast a stone at you for being a fool when I’m doing the same thing?
You may not be a drunk. In fact, I hope you aren’t. But you are a bit flawed. And so am I.
So can we be honest with each other and quit pretending we’ve got it all together?
If we do that, we’ll bless each other.
The angels will sing.
And we’ll finally understand Jesus’s love for us.
Now that’s worth raising your glass.