'Our Southern Friend'

'Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works—.' I hunt for my nickel to drop in the plate so that mine will be seen.

We are staying with my wife’s father. Her mother is in a critical condition at a hospital. I cannot sleep. I must get myself together. I sneak downstairs and get a bottle of whiskey from the cellaret. I pour drinks down my throat. My father-in-law appears. 'Have a drink?' I ask. He makes no reply and hardly seems to see me. His wife dies that night.

Then he asks me if I believe in a power greater than myself, whether I call that power God, Allah, Confucius, Prime Cause, Divine Mind, or any other name. I told him that I believe in electricity and other forces of nature, but as for a God, if there is one, He has never done anything for me. Then he asks me if I am willing to right all the wrongs I have ever done to anyone, no matter how wrong I thought the others were. Am I willing to be honest with myself about myself and tell someone about myself, and am I willing to think of other people, of their needs instead of myself, in order to get rid of the drink problem? 'I’ll do anything,' I reply. 'Then all of your troubles are over,' says the man and leaves the room.

I begin to see I am not the person I had thought myself, that I had judged myself by comparing myself to others and always to my own advantage.

'I must ask you a question,' I say to the man. 'How does prayer fit into this thing?' 'Well,' he answers, 'you’ve probably tried praying like I have. When you’ve been in a jam, you’ve said, ‘God, please do this or that,’ and if it turned out your way that was the last of it, and, if it didn’t, you’ve said ‘There isn’t any God’ or ‘He doesn’t do anything for me.’ Is that right?' 'Yes,' I reply. 'That isn’t the way,' he continued. 'The thing I do is to say ‘God, here I am and here are all my troubles. I’ve made a mess of things and can’t do anything about it. You take me, and all my troubles, and do anything you want with me.’ Does that answer your question?' 'Yes, it does,' I answer.

I am home again. I have lost the Fellowship. Those who understand me are far away. The same old problems and worries still surround me. Members of my family annoy me. Nothing seems to be working out right. I am blue and unhappy. Maybe a drink—I put on my hat and dash off in the car. Get into the lives of other people is one thing the fellows in New York had said. I go to see a man I had been asked to visit and tell him my story. I feel much better! I have forgotten about a drink.

I’ll get drunk! It is a cold-blooded idea. It is premeditated. I fix up a little apartment over the garage with books and drinking water. I am going to town to get some liquor and food. I shall not drink until I get back to the apartment. Then I shall lock myself in and read. And as I read, I shall take little drinks at long intervals. I shall get myself 'mellow' and stay that way. I get in the car and drive off. Halfway down the driveway a thought strikes me. I’ll be honest anyway. I’ll tell my wife what I am going to do. I back up to the door and go into the house. I call my wife into a room where we can talk privately. I tell her quietly what I intend to do. She says nothing. She does not get excited. She maintains a perfect calm. When I am through speaking, the whole idea has become absurd. Not a trace of fear is in me. I laugh at the insanity of it. We talk of other things. Strength has come from weakness.

I cannot see the cause of this temptation now. But I am to learn later that it began with my desire for material success becoming greater than my interest in the welfare of my fellow man.

I learn that honesty is truth and that truth shall make us free!