Ihad been clean and sober 15 years when I found myself out late, on a cold winter’s night, on my insurance business. I had skipped supper (well, I had a Salted Nut Roll) so was more than hungry. I was cold, hungry and tired. Not a good situation for a person in recovery.

I was close to the Mississippi River near a tiny town called Oakville. If I remembered correctly, there was only one place open this late that served food, a tavern. I didn’t really want to go into a tavern feeling like this. One of my sobriety rules was never go into a place alone that serves liquor. But what was I to do? I needed something to eat.

I thought I’d give my sponsor a call before I headed to the tavern. Just hearing his voice, I knew, would give me confidence and strength. Talking to another drunk will do that. It’s like a shot of adrenaline, or the first cup of coffee in the morning.

My sponsor’s phone rang and rang. He was probably at a meeting. Then it clicked into voice mail. “The mail box of the party you are trying to reach is full.” Dang it! Why can’t he delete his messages? My sponsor was a great guy, with over 30 years of sobriety, but was a little disorganized. He was a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

I reached in my pocket for my sobriety coin. We carry these for just such an occasion. It wasn’t there. I turned my pocket inside out, change, pen knife and lint were all I found. I searched the other pocket. Same story. In a panic, I searched the crack of the car seat, and even felt around under the seat, in case the sobriety coin had slipped out of my pocket. Nothing. I must have left it in my other pants. Now what am I going to do?

I’m going to have to tough this one out. I can do this. I’m strong enough, and have been sober long enough, I can go into a bar, get something to eat and go home. If I have to white knuckle it, I’ll white knuckle it.

Who am I trying to kid? I was in a HALT, and knew it–Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired. Halt. Take care of yourself. Use common sense. Are you going to blow 15 years of sobriety because you’re stuck out late at night, hungry and tired? But no one will know. No one knows me in this town. I can get away with it. Yeah, right. When I come to in the morning, in Missouri, in Jail.

I drove within a block of the tavern, parked and studied it. I could see the Hamm’s Beer sign flashing in the window, and catch the drift of jukebox music when the door opened and closed. “Pop-a-top again.” This wasn’t good. This was exactly the type of dive I used to get blind drunk in, and get arrested for public intox or DUI. I said a little prayer. “God help me. I don’t want to drink. Help me be strong and not touch liquor, if it be Your will.”

I drove to the tavern’s parking lot, got out of the car and walked to the door, like it was something I did every day. A deputy sheriff was just coming out as I was going in. There was his squad car. What’s he doing here?

I opened the door and stepped inside. I swear, 20 heads turned and stared at me. Something was off kilter. What was it? Then I realized, no one had drinks in front of them.

The bartender, a woman, was rubbing a circular hole in the bar top with her white rag, as she stared at me. Finally, she spit out what she had to say, “Sorry mister, we just got our liquor license pulled. Can’t serve you. Got plenty of food though, and pop. What’ll it be? Chicken fried steak, burgers, frog legs? I think there’s some catfish left.”

“Er, ah, gimme that chicken fried steak.”

As I was eating (by the way, it was delicious) it hit me what had just happened. I had prayed for help in not drinking, and just like that, boom, God took care of everything. Why had I even worried?

Note: This is a true story. I’ve also written about it in my first book, “Protected.”

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Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com. Curt is available for public speaking.