Sorrow

I was just listening to some of my coworkers describe their “adventures” last night. One young lady in particular was saying, “I was already intoxicated when I got there. When I woke up this morning, I thought my car was at the bar, I couldn’t find my keys…” and finished off with lots of appreciative laughter from the people around.

People, I have been there. I know the hell of waking up and seeing your car in the parking lot and not knowing how it got there. The hell of flunking out of college because you can’t control your drinking. The hell of losing most of your true friends because you’re always hanging out with your new “friends” at the bar. The hell of knowing that you’ve done terrible things while drunk, but now you can’t remember. The hell of having huge gaps in your memory, large periods of time that are gone forever. The hell of knowing that by driving drunk, you not only put your own life in danger, but the life of everyone around you, even perfect strangers.

Folks, please, drink responsibly this holiday season. If you have too much to drink, don’t drive. In fact, don’t have too much to drink. It’s not worth it.

Thinking about my coworkers, I felt such sorrow for them, because I knew all too well the road they were on. A road that leads only to destruction. They think they’re having fun now, but they don’t realize that the consequences will be grave.  My heart aches for them.  I’ve talked to them (gently) about this before, but it doesn’t do any good.

I wonder how often God looks down upon us with sorrow?