My Testamony

Act I: First Lesson

Why was I standing before a judge on a late summer day in 1986? A cool breeze blew on the back of my neck. Summer was slowly slipping away in Colorado. Fall would soon begin announcing the coming of Winter. My lawyer had reassured me that the judge would most likely suspend all charges since this was my first offense. Yet, I could not cast off the chill. In a monotone, bass voice, the bailiff bellowed, “All rise”. Suddenly, the chill turned into a ridge of cold air running down my spine. The judge eventually called my name. My lawyer and I stood before her as she read the charges.

“Mr. Pittman, you are charged with Driving Under the Influence (DUI). It says here that your blood-alcohol level was .24. I also see that you drove off the road and crashed into a bolder field, totaling your car. Mr. Pittman, I cannot understand how you were conscience enough to drive a car. This indicates that you have a drinking problem. If you do not take control of it, there will be serious consequences in the future.

“On average, those who come before me with a blood-alcohol level this high return in about seven years. To help you address your drinking problem, I will require that you attend alcohol education classes. Your driver’s license is suspended for one year and I will suspend 28 days of a 30-day jail sentence. In two weeks, report to the county jail to serve the remaining two days. If you should come before this court again, you will lose your driving privileges for five years and spend one year in prison. Do you understand?” I said, “Yes, your honor”. She said, “Next case”.

I was mad! The lawyer said I would get off. What a jerk. No driver’s license for one year? How screwed up was that? My foot was in a cast from the accident, so I couldn’t drive anyway. And I was living across the street from where I worked. How lucky is that? I could do two days standing on my head and a year without a driver’s license wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, the bar was on my way to work, about a block down the road. It’s all good!

The alcohol classes were a joke. A state-appointed Driver Education instructor taught us how to drive all over again. That was boring! Then, we got a dose of how harmful drinking and driving can be. The accident videos were cool!

We sat around during the breaks and told our stories about how we got “caught” and how to avoid a DUI the next time: don’t take the breath test! They can’t make you blow into that thing! It’s against your constitutional rights. There sure were a lot of lawyers in those classes.

The year seemed to fly by. My ankle healed. I learned to ski and would hitchhike to the nearest ski resort. They returned my license, and I was driving again. I could not believe the feeling of freedom when I got back behind the wheel. I would play it smart this time. No more drinking and driving. And don’t forget, DON’T TAKE THE BREATH TEST!

Act II: First Lesson, Take 2

It was 1993 and I was standing before a judge, again. There was no breeze. I was numb all over. I couldn’t feel a thing. It was only a preliminary hearing. The trial date would be in two weeks. I was charged with DUI in Alabama. They let me go home to Colorado, understanding that if I did not return on the appointed date, a bench warrant would be issued for my arrest. Bail was set at five-thousand dollars.

They put me back in the jail cell I slept in the night before. “You have one phone call”, the officer said. “Call me when you’re ready to make it.” They had given my wallet back, so I rifled through it to see whose number I might have. I did not want to call Nancy, my wife. I knew I had to tell her, but not right now. I came across the client’s number I had been visiting all week. I needed $500 to get out of jail so I could fly back to Colorado and be at work Monday morning. I wondered if he would loan it to me.

I called him and told him the story. He was kind and listened. He didn’t hang up. I said the bail was $500. I would get it back to him as soon as I got back to Colorado. He would have it by next week. There was silence on the line. I was not confident he would loan me the money. After all, we had only known each other for four days. I was the product specialist on a software package my company had sold his company. I was there to install it and show him how to use all the bells and whistles. As I waited for him to reply, I asked myself, “Would you loan yourself $500 right now?” The answer was a resounding, “Hell no!”.

He finally broke the silence and said, “Bob, I don’t have very much money. I have the kid’s college fund and I could loan you some of that if my wife agrees. But please, we must have it back right away.” I felt like a worm for a couple of seconds. I considered telling him, “Oh, thanks, but never mind. I’ll find someone else”, then remembered I got ONE phone call. This was Friday afternoon. I would not have another chance to call someone until Monday. By then Nancy and everyone in the office would be wondering where I was. I swallowed what little pride I had left and said, “I will pay you back next week, for sure!”. There was more silence. I assumed he and his wife were discussing the matter. He came back on the line and said, “I’ll be right down.” I said, “thank you”.

The man whose name I cannot remember was so gracious. He paid the bail and took me back to the bar where the rental car stayed overnight. I shook his hand, thanked him again, and assured him the money would be back in his bank account next week. The words rang hollow. He had no real guarantees. For all he knew, he had just thrown $500 of his kids’ college fund into a fire. He was still so gracious to me, and I could not figure out why. There was nothing in it for him. He was taking a chance on a stranger.

Act III: Final Judgement

I sat on the side of the bed in the hotel room, reeking of stale beer and sweat. My flight back to Denver was later that afternoon, so I had some time to kill. I felt better on the outside after a hot shower, but my soul ached for what lie ahead. What will it be like to spend 365 days in prison? I was about to lose my job and my wife. I didn’t expect Nancy to be sympathetic toward me now. Every other time I had asked for forgiveness, and she had graciously given it. Every other time I said it would be the last, but it wasn’t. We worked for the same company, in the same office. I embarrassed her at work when I showed up drunk. She had dragged my drunk ass across railroad tracks in downtown Denver and had struggled to get me to bed more than a few times after business trips. I did not expect her to forgive me again.

I began to feel like the earth was falling away from under my feet. Everything I had worked for was slowly slipping into a black void, a deep ugly abyss with no bottom. I stood on the edge of the end of my life as I had known it. The vision of the unknown to come bore no beautiful images. It felt like I was a captive in Dante’s Inferno. The sense of doom was so overwhelming that I began to cry uncontrollably. How was I to avoid being sucked into the abyss of my own making? I was lost and helpless, on my knees alone in a hotel room, bawling like a baby.

Seven years before, when I took alcohol classes, the leader always mentioned “the bottom” and how it was different for everyone. One would think, knowing my history, that my bottom was the car accident in 1986. I could have killed myself and/or others while driving wildly down a mountain road. But I was tough, I told myself. The fear of death didn’t faze me. Seven years later, I managed to build a decent career. I was respected. I made a decent amount of money. I had a beautiful life. My bottom was the fear of living, not dying, and having lost everything I had attained. Living, alone, in a small cell with no hope of ever rebuilding the life I once had. That’s what God was showing me. That was my bottom.

As the tears flooded my face I began to pray. I remembered doing that when I was a young boy. I felt like it was the only thing left to do. I prayed for God to forgive me and show me how to survive what was to come. I guess I half-believed I would see some grand vision of a life restored. A sinner being snatched from an abyss of his own making. A prodigal son. All I heard was “Follow Me”. I knew enough about the Bible to know that “Me” referred to Jesus. Again, “Follow Me” rang out through the tears and self-pity now filling the room. “Follow Me”. My crying stopped, a sense of calm came over me and I responded, “I will”. I did not know how or when. I just knew that the path out of the abyss was toward following a man I only knew from children’s church as a child. What would following Jesus look like as an adult?

Finale: A New Beginning

I had committed to follow Christ in that hotel room that day. The two weeks before my final court date was spent trying to understand what “Follow Me” looked like. Reading the Bible? Praying? Attending church? One of the above? All the above? Nancy and I had some serious discussions. She decided to stand by me if I was committed to sobriety. Amazing! Why take another chance on a loser?

It was time to head back to Alabama and face the music. I was amazingly calm about the trip. I fully expected to be convicted of a second DUI, locked up for a year, and lose my license for five years. If that were the case, I would need to figure out what “Follow Me” meant to a prison inmate. I landed and headed for the courthouse.

The judge was lenient, though he did not have to be. He ordered me to take a series of classes, approved by him, report on my progress, and after six months if he was satisfied with the results, all charges would be dropped. All I could do was say, “Thank you, your honor.” I did not deserve what I received. I deserved the abyss I had created. Christ offers undeserved forgiveness to those who are facing their own abyss and who choose to follow Him.