Chapter Thirteen

After asking more questions about Celebrate Recovery, the ministry in Tennessee, and finally eating a piece of that cake, Monica was ready to go home. The fellowship had continued to be warm and relaxed, and the coffee good and hot. The Lepleys were very hospitable people, and made sure they invited Monica to church in the morning before offering to take her home.

They had discussed the rehab facility in more detail, and it sounded interesting. Monica planned to do a little research about it. Mrs. Lepley had driven her home, and Monica had anxiously scanned the area for Joe, hoping he wasn’t hiding anywhere nearby. Though she was ready to embrace a new way of life, she feared she wouldn’t make it through the night without needing a hit. Joe would be only too happy to provide, for a fee of course.

After locking herself inside and changing into old clothes, Monica looked around the house with new eyes. The place was filthy! It had been neglected for months. The last time it had been given a good cleaning was when she had promised to have people from work over for a small dinner party. She’d hired a cleaning service then. But doing it herself this time was one way to stay occupied and keep her desire for a fix at bay.

The kitchen was the most logical place to start, since it looked the dirtiest. Well, next to her own bedroom upstairs. Monica loaded the dishwasher, then set the pots and pans to soak in boiling water. After picking up random garbage scattered around, and wiping down the counters, the kitchen was beginning to look somewhat presentable.

Monica paused long enough to drink a large glass of ice water, then continued her work. There were piles of laundry about, and almost every towel in the house was dirty. So she started moving from room to room picking up dirty clothes and stuffing them down the laundry chute.

When she couldn’t find any more laundry on the first floor, Monica went to the basement and started the laundry. Quite a mountain had accumulated, and Monica knew it would be a long night. She also vowed never to let the house get to this point again. It was disgusting and embarrassing. She dumped in the soap, turned the knob, and headed back up to work on the second floor stairwell.

After mopping, cleaning the half bath, and vacuuming every carpet on the first floor, she collapsed into a recliner in the living room. Monica took the time to reflect on her day. So much had happened. God had proven Himself faithful even though she had ruined and wasted so many years.

He had been waiting all this time with open arms to forgive her, and welcome her back to Him. She took a moment to silently thank Him again for the gift of forgiveness.

Monica glanced at the clock on the mantel. There were still four hours until sunrise, so she headed to the computer in the den to do some research on Celebrate Recovery. She Googled it and then followed link after link that mentioned anything about it. It seemed like a solid ministry, and there were plenty of personal testimonies to support it.

One story in particular that touched her was a video diary a woman posted on YouTube about her experience in the ministry, and what God was showing her. Monica followed her story through from the beginning and couldn’t believe the visible change in the woman. Monica prayed she could have a similar change of life.

As she thought about the ministry, Monica’s thoughts couldn’t help but stray to Tim. Any ministry’s success or failure did, in part, lie with the leader. Tim certainly seemed dedicated. Monica was sure the people he ministered to found his lead easy to follow. Tim had the experience, the Bible knowledge, and definitely the compassion to make a difference. He’d been where they are and so had a greater resource available to him than most; empathy. He knew what they were dealing with, and he pulled no punches. He was straightforward, but loving. He truly wanted to see people get better.

Monica sat and thought about Tim and all the good he’d already done in her own life. His contact in Tennessee was just what she needed. She’d already made up her mind to sell the house, and without realizing it, all the cleaning she’d done was the beginning of the process to put the house on the market.

Blinking herself out of her thoughts, the dust on the bookshelves caught her eye. Monica stretched her arms over her head before vowing to get up and take care of it. Mrs. Lepley would be picking her up for church around nine fifteen and Monica wanted the house to look its best.

On the way to the kitchen to retrieve the dusting supplies from under the sink, Monica heard a noise. Quickly she froze. It sounded like someone was on the back deck. She couldn’t very well turn out the lights now, or whoever was outside would know she was there.

She decided instead to grab the cordless phone and the butcher knife. The rest of the knives in the block she quietly hid in the fridge, just in case.

Monica posted herself in the pantry. From this location in the far corner of the room, she could see the whole first floor excluding the half bath, which was behind her. The noise sounded again. Monica waited three fear-filled minutes before deciding to become the aggressor.

Before dialing 9-1-1, she decided to sneak a peek through the dining room window. Since she had lived so long in secrecy and drug addiction, the curtains were already drawn. She dared part them slightly to catch a glimpse of who was outside. She could imagine Joe sneaking around, looking for a way into the house. Monica thanked God she had never given him a key to the house. Not that he hadn’t asked.

Carefully she worked her fingers into the separation between the curtain panels. She parted them slightly, and then threw them open with a laugh. Raccoons! Her fears had been unfounded, thank God. She closed the curtains again and went to the back door off the breakfast nook to scare them away. Monica had just turned on the deck light when a rough voice behind her asked “What’s the knife for, Pet?”

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Mrs. Lepley bolted upright in bed. “Hank. Hank!” Her husband rolled over to face her direction and asked “What’s wrong?” He didn’t even open his eyes.

“I just got the worst feeling that Monica’s in trouble. Maybe she’s feeling weak and wanting to use. Or maybe she’s hurt. I don’t know, I just feel like the Lord woke me for us to pray for her. Will you pray with me Hank? I don’t think I can sleep until we do.”

Hank sat up and briefly rubbed the backs of his hands across his eyes. “Sure, Sweetheart. I don’t want to silence the Lord’s call to pray. Would you like to, or shall I?”

Mrs. Lepley took his hands and squeezed them. “I love you. Thanks for understanding. I’ll pray.” She bowed her head and sat quietly, allowing the Holy Spirit to guide her words.

“Oh, God, You know what’s going on with Monica right now. I know You woke me because You want me to pray. Father, if she’s in danger or hurting herself with drugs, I ask that You’d give her the strength to stop. If she’s wavering, give her the strength to resist until the urge passes. Father, please, surround her with your angels. Let them minister to and comfort her.” Mrs. Lepley paused.

“Lord, I really feel like her life is in danger. Please intervene. Send some miracle to help her right in this instant. I trust You to lead and protect her. Thank You for being such a wonderful God, and for restoring her relationship with You. Please don’t let Satan have any victory this night. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.”

Mr. Lepley looked at his wife. “Do you want to drive, or shall I?” He asked. They both raced from the bed and threw on their robes. Mr. Lepley grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter on the way to the garage. Now they both felt an urgency to see what was going on with Monica.