Miracles from mayhem

The police knew me well and often picked me up and took me home, or to the cells for the night.

Sometimes, if I wasn't out of my mind with drink, they would take me quite a distance from Ferguslie Park so that I would sober up on the long walk home. I ran away often, sometimes intentionally, but mostly I went when I was blind drunk and didn't know what I was doing. In the morning I would wake up in London or Folkestone or even Ireland and not have the first clue how I got there. I hated myself when I was sober, and hated myself even worse after I'd been on another bender.

Some drunks are quite entertaining, some whinge and some are violent. Sadly, I was often a violent drunk. Many a time the police picked me up fighting and took me home again to my mother. 'Here's your daughter . . . drunk and fighting again', they would say, as they hauled me in the door. That poor wee woman took me in and washed the dirt off me before half-carrying me to my bed. Mum bailed me out of more trouble than she ever deserved to go through in her lifetime.

By the time I was 17 the family had had enough and who can blame them? A cousin was in Jersey at the time and I suggested that Mum give me the money to get to the Channel Isles and that I'd make a new life for myself there. She agreed. I took Mum's money and left Paisley, sober for a change. I met up with my cousin in Jersey, and, like the prodigal son, as long as Mum's money lasted I had plenty of friends. It didn't last long. I had several jobs, one after the other, but it did not work.

Home again

After returning from Jersey I got work in a Paisley cafe. A man, who knew me from coming into the cafe I used to work in, kept asking me out. Eventually I did go out with him though the family wasn't pleased about it. He had been married and divorced and he had three children from that marriage. As usual I paid no attention to the advice I was given and agreed to marry him. We argued even before we were married, so I really don't know why I expected things to be better afterwards. They were not. Although it was some years and two children later before he divorced me, I am not going to write about our relationship because my husband is now happily remarried. I'm really pleased about that.

I can hardly believe some of the things I was involved in during the years I was married, but they help me to remember the depths that can be reached, and I hope and pray that they keep me from ever feeling proud.

Two children

Three years into our marriage we had a beautiful little baby daughter. We called her Tracey. But although I promised that wee girl the world, my life continued in a downward spiral. Once when I was locked up in a police cell I even set fire to my clothes. Thankfully the policeman on duty came in time to put it out.
Tracey was dressed in the best of clothes from the best of shops because I looked for quality when I was shoplifting. What my little daughter lacked was not nice things but her mother. She had a great deal of loving from my mother and sister who did all they could for her, but, although I loved Tracey more than I can say, I still neglected that dear wee girl.

When Tracey was ten years old, Alan was born. Most of my pregnancy was spent in the psychiatric hospital. I remember looking at him the day he was born and thinking how lovely he was. My mind couldn't take in that such a beautiful baby could have come from me. I was terrified to lift him up in case I contaminated him. And before the night was through I promised Alan he'd have a very different kind of childhood from Tracey. I'd love to say that was the end of my drinking. It wasn't. For the next two years I was as bad as ever. Mum and my sister Anne were wonderful. When they knew I was drinking they would come and take Tracey and Alan away and keep them until I was sober again. Sometimes they were with Mum more often than they were with me. Mum and Anne were God's gift to the children. I certainly wasn't. And they were God's gift to me, for despite all I'd done to them over 20 years, they never gave up on me.

'You're not coming with me!'

One morning I woke up out of a drunken sleep. Tracey was at school and Alan was still toddling around in the same clothes he'd worn the day before. Even his nappy hadn't been changed. He was two years old. When I looked at him it was as though my eyes opened to let me see what I was doing to my children. I got up, changed and fed Alan, then went to see the only person I knew who would let me into her home. She had been an alcoholic but by then was a Christian.

My friend took me in and gave me a cup of tea. 'What are you doing tonight?' I asked her. 'I'm going to a meeting', she replied. 'Can I come with you?' My friend looked at me. 'No', she said. 'You can't. Look at you. You're filthy. Your clothes are a mess and covered with cigarette burns. And you smell.' 'I'm coming!' I told her. 'No, you are not!' The more she said I wasn't going, the more determined I was to go with her. Saying no always made me rebellious.

That night I followed my friend to Glasgow and went into the building behind her. It was a church and she was going to a Stauros meeting. I was embarrassed, not for me but for the other people there. They all looked so respectable and I was an absolute mess. They read the Bible and a man prayed: 'Lord, I pray for that wee poor woman you've brought here tonight. We can all see that she's filthy by looking at the outside of her, but you know how much more filthy her heart is. Touch her and clean her.' He prayed for me and all I could do was cry because I thought I was so worthless that I wasn't worth a prayer.

There was a cup of tea after the meeting and I was more relaxed then. Coming from a big family meant I was first in the line for tea. As I was drinking my tea a man asked for a word with me. I went with him into a wee room. 'Do you want to be saved?' he asked. after he'd spoken to me for a minute or two. I was puzzled. 'Saved from what?' He was so patient. 'Do you believe in God?' he enquired. 'Yes', I replied. 'I can honestly say I believe in God. But God doesn't want anything to do with the likes of me.' 'God didn't send his son Jesus to die for good folk. He sent him to die for sinners. Are you a sinner?' the man asked. 'I'm the worst there ever was', I said, then broke down and cried my heart out. Before I left that room I asked Jesus to come into my life. There were no flashing lights; nothing spectacular happened. I didn't know what was meant to happen anyway. But I knew things were different. It was September 22 1981.

The locust years

That night my life changed completely and people saw a difference right away. All my life I'd felt as if there was a piece of me missing, and that night I discovered that what was missing was Jesus. I didn't have a Bible, but during the night God gave me a verse from the Bible: 'I will restore to you the years the locusts have eaten' (Joel 2.25). I hadn't a clue what it meant. But God soon led me to someone who could tell me. A pastor at Stauros showed me that the verse was in the Bible. He even showed me the place. When I explained that I didn't have a Bible, he gave me one. The pastor explained that God had given me that verse to show me that he would give me back all the years that I'd wasted with drink and drugs and self-harming. I was thrilled.

The day after I was converted I cleaned the house from top to bottom. It had been filthy. When I was tidying a cupboard I found half a bottle of whisky. I poured it all down the sink, and the only alcohol that I've drunk since then is sips of communion wine.

Right from the day I was converted God made me a missionary. Nobody at the Stauros meeting told me that missionaries were special people who did years at college and had to learn a foreign language to do their work. And because I didn't know that I became a missionary immediately I was converted. Everywhere I looked I could see poor people just the same as I'd been and I had to tell them about Jesus. The thought of them going to hell horrified me and I had to do something about it. The day after I was converted, as soon as my house was clean, I was on the street telling people what Jesus had done for me.

It must have been interesting for the people who knew me. My neighbours were amazed at the total change. They watched for me coming up the street drunk, and at night they listened for the police car stopping at the door and a couple of officers taking me home drunk and incapable. Instead of cursing and swearing at them when I saw them I stopped and talked to them about Jesus. Some asked what had changed me and I wasn't slow to tell them! A number of my neighbours were thrilled, and I suppose they were also relieved because it couldn't have been very nice living near me.

Others raised their eyebrows when I told them about my conversion and I could see just what they were thinking. They thought that drink and drugs had at last taken their toll and that I'd lost my senses completely. The truth was that I was talking sense for the very first time. Even several taxi drivers, who knew me well from picking me off the pavement outside pubs and taking me home, stopped and asked what had happened.

Keeping going

I continued to go to Stauros meetings and was helped a lot there. Stauros is an organisation for alcoholics. The people there believe that every need can be met at the cross of Christ, and that even alcoholics can find healing there. Stauros is the Greek word for cross. It was there that I met pastor Arthur Williams who explained what the verse meant. The Bible he gave me was well read. I could hardly stop reading it! Just days after I was converted Arthur was speaking at a meeting. He quoted the verse which says: 'We are living stones', but he couldn't remember the reference. I was able to tell him what it was! 'She's only been a Christian for days, and she knows her Bible chapter and verse', someone commented. I loved reading the Bible. It was like food to me.

This article is an extract from Miracles from mayhem by Irene Howat, published by Christian Focus and reprinted with permission.

Home again

Two children

'You're not coming with me!'

The locust years

Keeping going

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