My wife was gone. My kids were gone. My ministry was gone. The problem was mine—all mine.

The first time I got drunk was July 3. The last time I got drunk was December 31. Unfortunately, there were 20 years, not six months, between those two dates.

The first time was the summer after ninth grade. A friend and I sampled booze that night until I threw up and passed out. It took me two days to recover. I should have learned.

But 20 years later I woke up on New Year's Day and had to ask what I had done because I couldn't remember.

It took an hour to get drunk but 20 years to get sober. I lost my wife, my kids, and my calling in the parish ministry.

I grew up in a Christian home. We sat in the same pew each Sunday. We had devotions after supper. We said prayers before bed. I attended Lutheran grade schools and high school. To the best of my knowledge my mother never dropped me on my head when I was a baby.

Off to a running start

It wasn't until I went off to college to begin my studies for the ministry that my alcoholism got off to a running start. Friday nights were spent in the bars. I found myself trying to be one of the "real men" who could survive an annual pilgrimage to all 25 local bars in one night and have a beer at each one. I made a fool of myself on several occasions, but I never recall anyone ever suggesting that I had a problem.

Seminary was the next stop. My use of alcohol continued and even increased. I remember skipping chapel and classes because I was hung over. I'd resolve to quit or cut back, but then I'd do it all over again. I should have talked to someone, but I didn't.

I graduated from the seminary and received a call. For years the problem lay dormant. However, as my parishes and responsibilities grew, the drinking returned.

At one point I could not imagine a day without drinking, especially after the final meeting of the night or the last service on Sunday. I was hung over regularly. I remember Christmas Eve services where the candles weren't the only things that were lit up.

I considered talking to my circuit pastor, but I thought I knew what his answer would be: resign. I feared to admit my problem. I looked for a WELS pastor who had worked through this problem successfully and was willing to talk about it, but I found none.

All this time God had not been stingy with blessings.