Recovered

by Robby Gallaty

  It would be a little while before they came to a saving faith of their own, but God was working in their lives; that was clear. He’s always working. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’ve been, or where you’re going. God has a plan, and he’s calling you to himself—step by step on a thousand-step journey to him.

  Chapter 14

  The Body Never Forgets

  Across the bay from New Orleans, forty miles up the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, is a tiny Louisiana town called Madisonville. One day in 2003, a telephone rang in a small home there. The call was picked up by Jeremy Brown, my old friend from college who had told me everything I knew about Jesus Christ; Jeremy, who had planted the truth in my mind that no matter what I did, no matter how much trouble I got in, God still loved me and would forgive me.

  My old friend picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

  “Jeremy! This is Robby, man! How’s it going?”

  “Robby? Are you kidding me? Hey, it’s great to hear from you! What’s up?”

  “I just got saved! So listen, Jeremy—God has called me to be a preacher and also to start a ministry with you.”

  “What? Robby—what are you talking about? I haven’t heard from you in seven years. Slow down! First of all, you’re saying you got saved? And this time, for real?”

  “Absolutely! Greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not the same person I used to be. Jeremy, I wrecked my life, man. I was on drugs, but God broke through to me, and he used everything you told me back in college.”

  “Okay! And second of all, you’re saying you’ve got a call to preach?”

  “Already started! I shared my testimony and saw several guys come to the Lord, and—”

  “Wait, wait—will you slow down? Man, this is too much at one time. We haven’t talked in seven years, and you call up, and just like that you want me to take off with you and do some kind of ministry? I know you’re crazy, Robby, and I love that about you. But I have a church job here. I’m a youth pastor. God hasn’t told me he wants us to be in ministry together.”

  “Well, seems like I remember, Jesus walked up to folks and said, ‘Follow me,’ and they put down their fishing nets and walked away with him, right?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s true, but you ain’t Jesus, and I’m not a fisherman. I can’t just uproot my life and take off because Robby has another wild idea. Two things. First, you’re going to have to tell me more about what’s been going on with you. Second, I’m going to have to pray about this thing.” We agreed to circle back to the idea later.

  I understood how most of the rest of the world looked before they leaped, unlike how I did things. I was willing to be patient this time. Then again, I was on fire and blazing away. Jeremy understood how to follow Jesus, how to grow as a disciple, and I knew he and I had great chemistry. It seemed like a perfect combination for us to work together.

  He called me back a week or two later. “Well, I prayed about it,” he said. “I was out driving when suddenly I had this urge to pull over by the side of the road and talk to God about this thing. And when I did, the Lord impressed on my heart that I should say yes. I can’t believe that happened. I felt like I needed to warn God about you, but I guess he knows you better than I do. So here’s what I’m thinking. This thing can work if we start out ministering at student events. That’s where you and I could connect best. Do you still do those magic tricks?”

  “Like riding a bike. Muscle memory—the body never forgets.”

  “Well, students love magic tricks. We saw that ourselves. Could you work a gospel presentation around some tricks?”

  “Oh sure! I’ve been thinking about a few illusions that would work. Since I’m the one that does the tricks, I would need to be the one sharing about Jesus while I did them. You still play guitar and sing, right?”

  “Yep. I play for the students in my ministry. I’ll lead worship.”

  “Well, there we have it! How do we find some venues?”

  “I know some people that can probably get us booked—youth retreats, ski retreats, church events. We’d have to start small and let word-of-mouth conversations open doors for us.”

  “I’m ready yesterday.”

  “Let’s keep praying about it, and ask God to really bless this ministry, Robby.”

  That’s how Gallaty and Brown Ministries began, and it would become a huge growing experience for me. Apparently, youth pastors loved booking events in which someone drew students in with magic tricks, or “illusions,” as some in church circles reminded me. Gallaty and Brown Ministries was on its way up. We had T-shirts, devotional CDs, even a website to create excitement—somewhat of a novelty in 2003. Jeremy would lead the audience in some praise songs, then he’d introduce me. I would capture the crowd’s interest quickly with some of my better illusions, then I would read a couple of Bible verses, talk about their meaning, and demonstrate with a trick. We could feel the Lord’s hand on what we were doing.

  The highlight of our experience had to be the ski trip we attended in West Virginia, with a huge crowd of kids. I was still really new at this thing, and the way I saw it, the best thing to do was to let the Holy Spirit lead me in what to teach. So as we got on the bus, Jeremy asked me, “What are your messages going to be for the retreat?”

  “No clue,” I smiled.

  “What? You’re yanking my chain, right?”

  “No—not at all. God will give me the messages.”

  “Robby. You’re responsible for five messages. We’re being paid to do this, and these kids are counting on being fed spiritually. You have to know what you’re teaching. God honors preparation. He’d rather you study, wrestle with it, and pray over it than just wing it and leave everything up to him. Do you think I just let God give me music while I’m in front of the audience? Or do I practice and learn good songs?”

  “I see what you mean. I never thought of it that way.”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. He knew I’d been born again, but I’d brought a whole lot of the old Robby insanity with me. Maybe that could even be a good thing.

  I actually preached through Daniel, and somehow the Lord blessed my seat-of-the-pants preparation. Daniel was a young guy who honored God even though he was in a hostile culture—a great case study for students. While everyone skied during the day, I hunkered down in my room developing sermons. What I lacked in depth, I made up for in excitement, and that counts for a lot with that age group.

  For the final night, the organizers of the retreat wanted me to give an invitation. I spoke from the Scriptures as usual, but then I shared my story of addiction and deliverance. You could feel God moving in the room. There are times when he shows up in a powerful way, and there’s a special, electric intensity in the air. This was one of those evenings. I gave an invitation for the students to give their whole selves to Christ as Jeremy played his guitar. A little into the song, a guy came forward to give his life to the Lord. Then a girl stepped up, tears in her eyes.

  I looked over at Jeremy and signaled for him to keep playing. In my spirit was the assurance there were a lot of kids in the room who were right on the edge of a decision. I urged them to listen to God’s voice and make a commitment for Christ today, to give him their future.

  Someone else came forward. Then another. Jeremy had to keep playing. After thirty minutes, the room was filled with the tears of students. We had a large group of commitments; many were crying out in repentance and giving their lives to Christ for salvation. Jeremy and I were as overcome emotionally as everyone else in the room. We’d never seen God at work like this.

  When it was all over, Jeremy showed me his hands, bloody from strumming chords all that time without a pick. His fingers were raw, but his soul was flying high. So was mine.

  The ministry was going well, but I had so much to learn as a baby Christian myself. My greatest vulnerability was that I saw myself as
having no vulnerability. With Jesus in my heart, what could go wrong? I’d put my past totally behind me, as I saw things. Looking back, what I really needed was a mentor by my side, someone to keep me accountable and watch my spiritual blind side. Jeremy wasn’t there during the weekdays; it was just me on my own, thinking I was ready to save the world.

  One day, during the usual, quiet week, I was restless and decided to drive my shiny new Cadillac through some of my old stomping grounds and show them what God could do. That would get them thinking, right?

  It was Mardi Gras season. And here was Gallaty, who used to be broke, strung out, and miserable—now clean, sober, and driving the best ride in town. This would open some eyes with the old crowd—then I could tell them about Jesus.

  I had the best of intentions, and I was right that every single one of my old friends needed salvation. They were blind to it, just as I’d been.

  I turned up the stereo to ear-splitting levels and drove by the house where some of my old buddies lived. I was playing hip-hop, but the rapping was all about Jesus now—DJ Maj, Grits, and KJ-52. A couple of my friends were out. Rocky walked up to my window and said, “Hey, Gallaty, where did you get this car, dude?”

  I grabbed his hand. “Jump in and I’ll tell you all about it!”

  My two friends climbed in, and we headed to the French Quarter. Everybody loved cruising, especially during this time of year. With the windows down and the music amped, everybody would stop what they were doing and watch us go by—three guys rocking a Caddy with Jesus rap booming through the speakers. It felt great to me, as if I was the returning hero, the “after” half of the classic before-and-after story. And I was giving all the glory to God.

  Naïve though I may have been, there wasn’t anything wrong with any of this—except me. I wasn’t ready to withstand temptation. I was the weak link in my own idea.

  This was a Friday night. I said, “Tell you what—I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll just cruise again. Listen to music and drive through the streets. You guys know I’m not on drugs anymore, so we’re not going to get into any trouble.”

  “Sure, Robby. Let’s do it.”

  The next day I picked up three friends, all still addicts as they’d been before, and we laughed, drove around, and blared our music. After a while, one of them said, “Hey, can we stop at the gas station and get a few beers?”

  I wasn’t going to drink with them, so it was no big deal, right? I was working on these relationships, showing I wasn’t judging them. I knew Jesus met people right where they were and started from there.

  Now they were drinking as we drove up and down the streets of the French Quarter. One of them was standing up through the sunroof, talking to people as we went by. Some of the girls were trying to climb into the car. This was the Saturday when the Endymion parade rolled, one of the largest parade days of Mardi Gras, and we were creating a kind of happy mayhem, which had always been my favorite environment.

  The next time they asked for a beer stop, I said, “Sure—and, hey, get me one, too.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, a red light was flashing, but I ignored it. My problem was drugs, not alcohol, I told myself—though I’d had it explained to me that a buzz is a buzz, and anything could set me off.

  I was trying to do a good thing with my old friends. But if you’re surrounded by people in a room, and you’re standing on a chair, what’s easier—to pull your friends up or to be pulled down? The law of gravity answers that one, and I was already feeling that tug. With the beer, I was on my way down from my height; with the cigarette, which always had to go with a beer, I was down a little more. I was smoking and drinking, and boy, I felt good.

  At first, some of these guys hadn’t trusted me; they thought I might be an informer. But I was building trust.

  I thought about a couple of guys I particularly wanted to save—I felt God was really laying them on my heart. One of them was Elliot, with whom I’d come so close to being arrested with drugs in the car on St. Claude. He lived in Jackson Square in a multilevel apartment, and I called him on the phone and asked if I could come by and hang out, tell him what God was doing in my life. He told me to come by any time.

  When I got to Elliot’s apartment, I said, “Do you mind if I sit down and share about my life?”

  “Sure, fine. Do you mind if I roll a joint while you do it?”

  I smiled and told him to go ahead. Remember, I was invincible.

  After that, things become blurry over a two-week period. I do remember visiting his apartment several times during those weeks, but I can’t tell you the exact events leading up to the day the wheels came off.

  One Saturday night, less than two weeks from the first joyride in the Cadillac, I was walking back to Elliot’s apartment, Bud Light in hand, to snort an eight-ball of coke, while I talked about Jesus with less and less credibility. I’d hit floor level. Somewhere along the line, it became too easy to give in, I let myself get pulled down, and I found out just how un-invincible I was.

  As I’ve said, you don’t “start over again” with addictions; you pick right up where you left off. This is the main reason so many people die when they relapse. I’d told Jeremy “the body never forgets,” but I was talking about illusions. The body never forgets addiction either. The real “illusion” was that I, as a Christian, was invincible, bulletproof, unconquerable.

  Was I a new creation in Christ? Saved? Born again? Absolutely.

  Was I still a target for temptation? Still capable of stumbling and falling back into slavery? That too. Even Jesus, in the garden, said to Peter, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

  Me too. I had a spirit hungry for God, and a body that still craved all the substitutes that do nothing but destroy.

  Because the body never forgets.

  Chapter 15

  The Put-On

  Now I was a Christian, and a Christian addict. How could this happen?

  It was, of course, my spiritual ignorance and naiveté, but also my need for accountability. We all need that—impulsive, addictive personalities need it all the more.

  I’d once been an addict without a penny. Later, I became one again with a monthly check from the lawyer. Now I was one with a large bank account from the final settlement—$28,000 in the bank and a tremendous need for a high. To this day, I’m not sure why that deadly combination didn’t take me right out of this life, like so many of my friends.

  Correction: I do know why. The grace, love, and master plan of God are the only possible explanation. Despite all my self-destructive impulses, he continued to watch over me. “I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil. 1:6).

  On the weekends, I was telling students all about Jesus as I performed magic tricks. Jeremy had no idea what was really going on with me. He’d moved forward in faith to do this ministry—faith not only in God, but in his old friend who claimed he was clean and sober. He never suspected that, during the week, as each day went by, I blew through three hundred dollars or more. Sometimes it was a thousand, if I was partying seriously and had some friends along. I no longer bought from Elliot. I could go straight to the Pimp, who respected healthy bank accounts like mine. I was a big-time customer now.

  I’d wake up at maybe 10:30 or 11:00 in the morning and go immediately to the New Orleans Original Daiquiris shop to get my early buzz going. The bartender there was named Christy, and over the weeks I got to know her pretty well. I was still under the impression I was an evangelist whose main work was sharing Christ, though I was high most of the time. I talked about Jesus non-stop.

  I chatted with Christy as I ordered another 190 Octane Large, a specialty of the house. It had orange juice, so I thought of it as my morning beverage. Christy would polish glasses or unpack bottles, listening with a bemused expression as I talked about all the things Jesus was do
ing in my life. I wasn’t a sloppy drunk, especially this time of day—but it was a strange picture, a guy starting in early every morning while trying to win souls. I was a slave pretending to be free. I knew I’d be going to see the Pimp as soon as I started to feel good. Slowly, $28,000 was changing hands from me to the Pimp—a very expensive lesson in accountability.

  $27,500.

  $27,000

  $26,500 . . .

  Each day my bank account dropped another few hundred bucks. I can remember the day I stood at the ATM and looked at the receipt. I’d drained it to the last penny in less than two months. Right back to where I started, all my personal injury money gone into the Pimp’s pocket.

  Now I had to face facts. My addiction was as powerful as it had ever been, my system cried out for higher highs just to be able to feel anything, and my resources were depleted. I’d gone full circle, back to being a pauper with a habit. I didn’t have to ask, “What are you trying to teach me, Lord?” The lesson wasn’t complicated at all. Sin is slavery, and Christ could save my soul—but his saving me was a call to walk away from my old life.

  I realized that from that day onward, I was looking at life as an addict. Addictive impulses are forever—whether it’s drugs, drink, or plain old disobedience to God. The addiction is primarily sin, not drugs, and the old Robby still isn’t totally dead.

  This is a mystery the Bible teaches us. In one sense, when we are saved, we’re totally saved. We’re completely free from the punishment we deserve for our sin, and the Bible even says we’re free from the power of sin. We don’t have to keep sinning. The old self was crucified with Christ, God’s Word tells us.

  But even though the old self is crucified with Christ, we’re told to put the old self to death. So, the old self dies with Christ on the cross, but he keeps trying to get back up day after day, and God calls us to put him to death. That old self will hang around until Jesus returns or calls us home. On that day, we will be free from the power, penalty, and even presence of sin; but until then, we’re all recovering sin addicts, being called day after day to put the old self to death.