Pride Must Die

Written by Jim Quigley

All of you, clothe yourselves with humility toward one another, because, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble.” Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.

1 Peter 5: 5b-6 NIV

I had a good childhood. I am the oldest of four, and my parents did their best. I attended private Christian school until eighth grade and attended church most Sundays and Wednesdays. I went to youth group, played baseball, and participated in the Boy Scouts. I said the sinner’s prayer at a young age and identified strongly as a believer in Jesus. I knew He died to make me right with God. I even lead others to Christ during sleepovers at my house. One year I got in trouble for bringing our Jewish doctor’s son to observe a Christian presentation.

I am part of the last generation that came home when the street lights came on and had what seemed to be an irresponsible amount of freedom to roam the neighborhood on my BMX bike, hanging out with my friends. I still look back on those days with fondness. 

As an adult, I had to reflect on my life and where things “turned south.” In that neighborhood, in my school, and with my friends, I desired to be the most well-thought-of. I wanted to be popular. I wanted to have the best stuff compared to my peers. I was jealous when I felt I was behind. If I felt less, I would devise ways to get back on top. I would do something to be “cool,” like take a risk and steal some candy from the 7-11 or pick a fight with anyone perceived as weaker in our group. It may seem that I was consciously calculating, but it wasn’t that. I did these things almost without thinking. Only in the reflection of the past and the help of God and His truth have I been able to discern the behavior. 

“There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end, it leads to death. Even in laughter the heart may ache,and rejoicing may end in grief. The faithless will be fully repaid for their ways, and the good rewarded for theirs. The simple believe anything, but the prudent give thought to their steps. The wise fear the Lord and shun evil, but a fool is hotheaded and yet feels secure.” Proverbs 14:12-16

At 12, my parents moved our family to a suburb. Things got worse with a new school, new neighborhood, and the same mentality. I was very behind in my status among these new “others” and needed to take drastic measures to obtain the image of “cool” and “popular” that I desired. I got suspended for the first time for fighting in school. I started sneaking out in my parent’s car at night and picking up friends to joyride. 

My parents divorced when I was 14. It was almost like the gloves came off. With my father not around as much, I could bulldoze my mother to get my way. I began to stay out late, drinking and searching for marijuana. Most people I thought of as “cool” smoked weed. My mother couldn’t communicate with my father because of their conflict, so I began to test boundaries. I got a part-time job, bought a car, and began skipping school. I met an extremely promiscuous girl and stopped going to school altogether. I got another job at 17 and moved in with some friends. 

Things went downhill fast. I started selling drugs and began using cocaine. I was introduced to the underground rave scene in South Florida and lived to party. I began frequenting underground clubs in Fort Lauderdale and Miami using designer drugs like ecstasy. I tried very hard to “fit in” with this scene, but I did not possess the attributes to make it. The “it” crowd that dressed a certain way and had impressive dance skills were the VIPs at every party we went to. I was always banished to the line to wait my turn to get in. I needed a different scene. 

At 20, I put forth a solid effort to change. I was in love with a girl, and she thought she was pregnant. I swore off drugs and decided to make something of myself. I signed up for EMT school and was determined to become a firefighter. Soon after starting school, we found out the pregnancy was a false alarm, and that relationship ended. I found myself in a strange new place. I was no longer around drug users but career-oriented people, and my desire to be highly thought of was again driving me.

 I excelled in EMT school and then fire academy. I did what was necessary to be liked in and out of the classroom. Being a high school dropout, I discovered I had a knack for comprehension and test-taking. I could get good marks by just listening in class without studying much. Study groups became times to show off. I didn’t need to study so I would encourage the party. I began drinking a lot. After graduating, I applied for a bunch of departments. My lack of mature social skills and showing up to a few interviews with the aroma of the night before still present, put me at a severe disadvantage in being considered for a job in life safety. I soon found myself floundering again. 

After success becoming a certified EMT/Firefighter but having no job to show for it, I felt enormous pressure to produce. I responded to an ad in the classifieds, “Fire sprinkler helpers wanted.” I learned about fire sprinklers in the academy, so it made sense. I suddenly found myself in a union trade. Things started innocently enough. I worked with a couple of seasoned journeymen, and they told me how to navigate the trade and become successful. Then I met the “cool” guys in my profession. They snuck off to the bar at lunchtime and would tell the tales of the great mischief they had been involved with over the years. Again wanting to be part of the “it” crowd, I did what was necessary. 

After some battle testing and earning trust, I was shown how to use my excellent union insurance to visit doctors and get pain medication for next to nothing. At this point, I learned how to drink almost around the clock and use medication to function while working. The stories of fun mischief never really materialized, either. Instead, I would hear stories of broken marriages and estranged children. These guys had pretty miserable lives, and I began to feel stuck. I needed something new. 

I’m 24 at this point, and I began to return to the people of my past. Some of them had never really left the party scene. I had been estranged from these people for years, and trying to return didn’t work out well. I had grown into an obnoxious drunk who would brag about my future with the union because I had to bring something of value to my image. I think everyone there realized that I wasn’t even buying the stories I was selling, and this short attempt to re-enter a scene I had left became awkward. 

One night while wanting to make an exit, I bought ecstasy, something I had not taken in years, and I found myself in a strange after-hours club in a strip mall about ten minutes from where I lived. I spent the next few hours getting severely intoxicated, and when I emerged from the club at approximately 7am, I was certainly out of my mind from all that I had ingested. 

To understand why I did what I did next, it is important to know I had been showing up to church about once a month for the last six months. I did this because I would see my mom and people I had known my whole life, making me feel good. My mom would shower me with attention and usually take me to lunch. I was always up for a good meal, and I could also usually get a few bucks from her. So as I left the club out of my mind that morning, instead of attempting to drive 10 minutes to my house, I decided to drive 45 minutes to the apartment where my three siblings lived. I thought I would make everyone breakfast, and we could all go to church together to see Mom, and have lunch after. I was pulled over about a mile from the apartment for doing 70 mph in a 35. I was arrested for DUI. I sometimes wake up at night in disbelief that I didn’t kill someone that day. I have almost no recollection of most of the trip.

I do remember one thing as clear as day that morning. While in the cell, I said the first prayer out of true humility in a long time. I didn’t ask God to get me out of this immediate predicament. I had the full conviction my life was out of control, and I asked God for help. 

Somehow I was able to manipulate enough people to get out of jail and get my truck out of impound. I was at work Monday morning. But things were very different. I had no hope and was fantasizing about dying in a car accident on my way home when my phone rang. My pastor had heard of my arrest, and I just wept as I tried to find the words to tell him what was going on. I told him how hopeless life was and how it would be better if it were all over. He prayed for me and asked if he could visit my job at lunch. Feeling I would be struck by lightning if I said no to my childhood pastor, I agreed. I don’t remember what he said, but I know I returned from that lunch feeling loved. I caught a little hope. He repeated his lunch visits the rest of the week and made sure to get my commitment to be at service Sunday. The next week he asked me what I was going to do about my drug use, and I told him I knew of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting down the street from my house I could attend. I had been there recently because a friend had to attend to save his job and didn’t want to go alone. I was intoxicated at the meeting but remembered it was close to my house. I went back to that meeting and picked up a white chip of surrender which began a six-year stint of sobriety. White chips symbolize starting the journey to sobriety.

My life launched like a rocket ship. Everything was new to me. I tell people I became like Jim Carrey’s character in Yes Man. If asked to go to a meeting, I would say yes. Any invitation to a bible study was accepted. If the deacons had a service project, I was first to sign up. I became a new person at work. My superintendent took notice, and I landed a job building a resort in the Bahamas for a few months. Two years passed by fast, and it was hard to keep up. I had discovered the world of recovery and theology, and it was like I couldn’t get enough. That desire for prominence was still alive; in my mind, I needed all the answers to make it. Construction was no longer good enough, and I was going to have to get more education. At 26, I left the union and entered Columbia International University to pursue full-time ministry. 

College was wonderful, and I have fond memories I could tell you about, but for this story, you need to know that even though I wasn’t abusing substances and was on a positive trajectory, I had not dealt with my pride. In school, I repeatedly told the very story you have just read. I lived for the attention I would get in telling it. People seemed so impressed that I was once lost and, like a phoenix, had risen from the ashes. At some point, I stopped including how gracious God had been with me, and He was more of an afterthought in the tale. What was important was me. I was who I wanted people to be impressed with. By the time I graduated, I was getting sick of my stories and needed something new. I was ripe for a fall, and fall I did. 

After six years of sobriety and graduating from Bible college, I was involved in a car accident resulting in two artificial spine disks and a large settlement payout. An old friend, whom I had always thought of as one of the coolest guys I knew, stayed in touch with me throughout college. He had seen me at my worst and was impressed with my newfound success. Because of that, he presented me with a business opportunity that took me out of the life that I’d been living and into a bad scene in a tropical paradise. The reality is I found myself removed from every last protective barrier I had and relapsed into three years of enough drugs and alcohol to turn me into the crazy ex-pat that wandered the town and who people made fun of. The last month I was there, I was beaten in the parking lot of a hotel that closed my eyes for a couple of weeks. When I eventually healed up, I flew back to Florida, never to return to Costa Rica again.

Things didn’t get any better when I returned home. Everyone knew I was in trouble, but how do you help the Bible college graduate who once had six years of sobriety? If anyone tried, I quickly shut them down. I spent the next two years in Florida trying to fix myself. I went back to the meetings and church. I said all the right things and showed up to all the invites, but I couldn’t ever put together more than 30 days without a substance. Being high was the only time I could escape the reality of life. I was an absolute failure, and I couldn’t stand for people to see me this way. I was put on psych meds, went to multiple rehabs, and was hospitalized three times for suicidal ideation. I spent weeks in detoxes and had surgeries on my arms to remove infections from IV drug use. One doctor told me I was 24 hours away from losing my right hand, but they caught it just in time. 

At the same church, a different pastor came alongside me to help. I was a little older than this guy, and he had a young family. He and his wife came up with a dramatic rescue plan. They invited me to move into their guest house, and he gave me a maintenance job at the church. I was basically on 24-hour surveillance and was given responsibilities to maintain. Within two weeks, I had scoped out the spot for a dealer to deliver me drugs to the church where nobody would notice.

 My pastor took his family to the green market downtown on Saturdays for coffee and fresh donuts. I remember how excited his children were to go, so it made sense they were at my door bright and early to get me going so they could go. After not responding to the door, my pastor and his children found me unconscious on the floor. I had overdosed at night and laid there for some time, breathing very shallowly. After a few days in the hospital, my pastor visited me perplexed. After lots of thought and prayer, he told me he thought he might have an answer to what was going on with me. He said he did not believe he was dealing with an unbeliever but someone that had not repented in a long time. Bedside, he read James 5:14-16a to me, which says “Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven. Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” He explained that he thought I was sick because I had not confessed my sin in a long time, and he offered to do it with me that day. I wish I could tell you I took him up on the offer, but I was still so proud. I told him that he would be the first person I called if I ever felt like doing that.  

My mom was the last person still speaking to me, and she picked me up from the hospital. I assumed she would give me a place to stay, but I was wrong. In desperation, my mom sought help and learned about enabling and practicing tough love. When it became clear that she wasn’t letting me come home, I had her drop me off at a house my friend had permission to live in if he kept the lawn cut. My mom, reluctant to leave me, sat in the driveway and wept while I said things to her I can’t repeat here.

 When she gathered herself, she called me over to her car window and said something I will never forget. She said she loved me more than I will ever know but needed me to know something. She said that because of the choices I continued to make, even if she saw me eating out of a dumpster, she would not help me anymore.

Two things were true at that moment; I believed my mom, and, for the first time, I felt I had run out of resources for help. As soon as she pulled away, my friend and I got high. I lived in that house for two weeks. I slept on a bed I had fashioned out of someone’s dirty laundry and found ways to get high. 

I have a cousin who is what I would describe as a vocal atheist. Because of living with our family for a few years when I was growing up, she always called me her little brother. She had gotten the news about my predicament and was determined to formulate a plan. She had two main criteria: get Jim out of Florida and get Jim to a long-term program. She asked if I would go if she found something. Anything was better than my current situation, so I was agreeable. After some research, she presented me with two places, one in Texas and one in Boone, NC. I remember she liked the Texas program, but I chose Boone because when I was growing up, we had vacationed there, and when I was in college, we skied there, so I was at least a little familiar with the place. Her response to my choice was, “Well, that is probably the better choice for you because they talk about all that God stuff you went to school for.” 

When I arrived in Boone, the desire was there. I was scoping out the environment and looking for my angle. I felt at an advantage because it was a Christian rehab, and I had my education to impress with. I began Freedom Farm like I entered any new social environment, letting my pride lead the way. Everything changed on my first Wednesday.

At that time, the pastor from Alliance Bible Fellowship spent his Wednesday evenings ministering to the men at Freedom Farm. I had heard him preach that Sunday, and I was impressed with his sermon, so I was glad to see him. He started the evening by telling us he had something in his heart to share with us. He said he wanted to talk to a particular group of men. This got me curious. He continued and said the way he saw it was, there were just two groups of men in the room that night. I immediately perked up because I wanted to ensure I was in the right group and needed to know how to make the grade. He said there were men who have never had a relationship with Christ and were in a good place to learn how to have one, but that’s not who he wanted to address. I was all ears at this comment because I didn’t need to hear another evangelistic appeal, and it sounded like he had something else to say. 

He continued and said he wanted to speak to men who already had a relationship with Christ but landed in a place like Freedom Farm because of their behavior. He had my full attention now because he was describing me. He said that people in this situation commonly think to themselves that because of their sin, God is far away, and they had a lot of making up to do to get close to Him again. He said if you are thinking this way, it is not true. He then explained the remedy of confession and repentance that leads to restoring the broken fellowship believers experience when they are in an unrepentant state. After the explanation, I knew what I had to do. It was the same thing my pastor friend was trying to lead me to in that hospital room in Florida when I resisted because of my pride. 

He called for a quiet time of prayer and encouraged any of us who needed to do business with the Lord not to wait another minute. I said a blessing out of true humility, similar to when I was in jail many years ago. I confessed my sin before God and asked Him to heal me and restore His fellowship  (James 5:14-16a).

March of 2023 marks 12 years since that evening. The Lord restored a conviction of the Spirit that I had quenched with my sin. With it He has also given me the gift of seeing my pride in living in such a way that I hate it.

Today I am a husband to Elvie and daddy to Phoebe and JP. I get to tell people struggling with substance abuse how God can change them from the inside out and make everything new when they lay down their pride and truly repent.