Life has not always been easy for me, especially in recent history. I traveled dark roads that seemed to have no end. I hurt people, most of whom were my family, time and time again. I often relive the scenarios in my head and remember just how awful I really was. I was trapped in a being that in no way resembled my true heart.

            I remember one story in particular from these escapades. I had done some things that had gotten me into trouble and would ultimately play a factor in sending me to prison. I was standing outside of a halfway house where I was living – supposedly staying clean.  In talking to my parents about what had transpired (with more denying everything than actually talking,) my dad looked me dead in the eyes, clenched his fist and said, “Damn it Paxton YOU. ARE. KILLING. US.” In that moment, I saw for the first time in a long time true emotion in my dad’s eyes. 

Maybe it didn’t happen right away, but over time, that statement woke me up.  It sat in the back of my mind, timid and still through this whole journey of ultimately getting my shit together. In no way do I hold resentment for those words, because it was the truth, and I knew it.

            Throughout my addiction -  hell… throughout my entire life - my dad has never once turned his back on me…or any other addict or person in need of a helping hand.

            Yesterday, my dad retired from the church he has pastored for 15 years, and the church where I grew up. Continually challenging his people to look inside themselves and truly wrestle with the things that makes up their faith, he always encouraged questioning. He went to hospitals, he offered comforting words at funerals and his words made weddings meaningful and joyous; he is without a doubt a true disciple. He is a servant to people in every sense of the word.

            So…with this blog I’m going to tell you what my dad has done for me, and how he has ministered to a prodigal son, if there ever was one.  My Pops, as I call him, always encouraged me in so many aspects. He encouraged me in sports, encouraged me to wrestle with my own faith, encouraged me to be a servant, and to be the very best man I could be. Although I have not always been the very best man I could be, it is the first thing I pray for in the morning, at every meal, and every night before laying my head to rest. The very best man I know is my Pops.

When I was released from prison my family had a cookout for me with a group of very close friends. During the cookout, my dad stood up and began to thank everyone for coming and asking for their continued support throughout my dark times. While talking, he mentioned a ring that he has worn on his finger since I was about 2 years old. I always told him that when he passed that was the only thing I wanted. So on that night he placed it on my finger saying he wanted to be able to see me wear it.

So I wear it every day - proudly, and it is without a doubt, my most prized possession. I look at it daily as a reminder of who my dad is to me - the most wonderful man I know, and as a reminder to live my life each day in the way he has lived his. Big shoes to fill and I will work at it every day.

            Selfless, servant, disciple, mentor, love, grace, forgiveness, steady, warm, smart, well read, peace, social issue solider, compassionate, non-judgmental, minister, grandfather, family man, teacher, meticulous, resilient, my dad, and most of all my hero. Just a few words that describe who my dad is. Our family, and the community in which he resides, are beyond lucky to have him as a part of our lives.

            I went to treatment, rehab, several times. Every time leading up to getting a bed in one of the facilities, I would be home in bed while my mom took care of me as a temperamental heroin addict in full blown withdrawal.  Every single time my dad would be the one to drive me to whatever facility I would be attending THIS time.  Without a doubt, each time I ended up just staring out the window as we drove, sick as could be.  The shame, an unimaginable shame, washed over me. Tears would begin to stream down my face, and without missing a beat my dad would reach over, pat me on the leg and say “It’s ok son, you can do this. I believe in you.” Every single time this would happen.  I couldn’t believe this man could remain so calm, remain so encouraging and loving after all I had put him through. I drug him and my mother through the mud, and still he did whatever he had to, making sure his son was ok, and making sure that I knew he loved me.  I was baffled, but now looking back I know that that is just who my dad is. He loves his children unconditionally, forgives them for wrongs done, and NEVER turns his back on them. That man is my hero, and if I can ever be half the man he is, I think I’ll be doing pretty damn good.

            Dad, I want to say thank you. Thank you for putting up with my shit and helping me with everything you have, no matter what. I can only hope I can be the daddy to my little girl that you are to me, so that hopefully she will see me in the eyes that I see you. Know that I work every day to be more like that man you are so effortlessly. I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for you. 

Most of all dad, I love you.

            PARENTS…if your child is struggling with any sort of addiction, try to understand more about how addiction works. There are groups for you called AL-ANON, or NAR-ANON. These rooms are filled with parents and family who are just like you, and who are dealing with the exact same things. Help yourself just as much as you are willing to help your children. 

Never turn your back on them, and always forgive them for the actions they commit in active addiction because it’s NOT the real them. Your baby girl or boy still exists inside, I promise you. If I can ever do anything to help, talk to them, or just listen to you as a struggling parent, know that I am here as a friend who has been there.  All you have to do is reach out. 

                Till next time, much love. let grace set the pace.

I sit on my bunk looking down on a room that resembles a military bunker. I sit, hair a mess, from a night restless, wearing nothing but shorts and tattoos.

I am restless. My mind rules as I try to fast forward through the next 56 days.  I am almost home.

I am ecstatic; joyful…scared to death of being released with nothing.

Yet I am relieved that the worst part of my life to date is just days away from coming to an end.

I have come a long way during my incarceration.  My first year was nothing but utter depression, shame, guilt and regret. Finally, I became acutely aware of the need to begin working on myself.

  

I have flaws in my character that contribute to and are the outcome of being someone who is addicted to drugs.

I’m impulsive, often self-centered, manipulative and I find myself in need of instant gratification.

Just because I am not consuming drugs, if I am acting in ways an addict acts, then it’s only a matter of time before being slung back into the same revolving doors.

Basically, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck – hang around long enough and betcha it starts smoking quack like a duck.

What I am getting at is recovery is not just about not using.  Recovery is a daily battle waged within your heart and mind.  To remain clean, one must recognize what character flaws they possess that contribute to the addiction

.

Some days it may be damn near impossible to keep that flaw in check, but acknowledging it and addressing it is over half the battle.

I am on my way home.  

I am committed to addressing my character flaws and all my short-comings - every single day.  This road ahead of me is going to be crazy, but I am committed.

I know where I may fall short, but I recognize it and will always continue to reach beyond those weaknesses.

56 days.  I can't wait.

 

#letgracesetthepace in all you do.

As I lay on my bunk at Craggy Correctional Center - Minimum, I gaze out a window at the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. 

My body is in prison, but my mind is far, far away.

With only 110 days left on a two and a half year sentence, my mind tends to stray into lengthy daydreams.  As I dream of my release, an uncontrollable smile fills my weary face, as tears begin to fill my eyes.  I am as a child, waiting to see what Santa drops off on a crisp December morning.

On the other side, the truth is, I am scared to death. When I leave this place, I am going back into a crazy world without a thing to my name. I can feel that familiar feeling in the back of my throat, caused by the realization of being a 27-year-old man without a thing to show for his years. 

My mind races and I feel out of breath as it all settles in. My chest feels heavy.

Then suddenly, I am slammed with an almost overwhelming sense of calm. 

I remember all the folk I am blessed to know that have my back. Then I feel that fire burning ablaze in my chest – that feeling of sheer determination.  I got this…and will hit the ground running upon release to obtain the things I know I can grasp. I want so much more for myself and my family than this bullshit judicial system. 

Then I remind myself that this place saved my fucking life. There is no doubt that I would be in Oakwood Cemetery, just off Broad Street, had God not applied the brakes. 

I was saved by nothing short of pure grace.

Now I will live my life repaying that debt to the grace that was extended to me. Thankful is not a big enough word.

Honestly, I am scared, but I think that is healthy for me. 

I am a convicted felon in the State of North Carolina, therefore finding employment is going to be hard, as well as many other hurdles that come with the stigma of being a felon.  Yet, I know if I continue on the path I have found, I will be just fine. I have vowed to myself to be a spokesperson for addicts and felons alike. Equal right for all is my priority. 

No matter what, grace will set the pace in all I do. I encourage you to do the same.

Until next time, all my love and grace.

 

#letgracesetthepace