Adapted from a personal letter written in April 2024, following my time in treatment.
In December 2023, I checked myself into New Start Recovery Solutions in Concord for what ended up being 97 days of treatment for alcoholism. I left on March 22, 2024.
While I was there, I decided to get back into the Word. I wanted to give myself time to sit with it, let God speak to me, and think about what I was reading.
There are 89 chapters across the four Gospels. As it turns out, 90-plus days in rehab gives you a pretty good opportunity to work through them one chapter a day.
I read John, then Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Each day, I read, thought about it, and wrote. Matthew 18 prompted quite a bit of writing.
We know the general parable of the lost sheep. But I found myself going back to the question at the beginning of the chapter: who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?
Jesus brings a child among the disciples and speaks about becoming humble like that child.
I started thinking about trust. Picture a child who trusts that someone will care for them. They don't have to figure out every basic need for themselves. There is room to explore, to be curious, to see possibility in what's around them.
That was the connection I began making with the sheep.
We are free to roam, explore, and get ourselves into trouble. But wandering doesn't mean we have been forgotten.
In Matthew's parable, the shepherd goes looking for the sheep that has wandered away. When he finds it, he rejoices. Jesus connects that care with the Father's desire that none of these little ones be lost.
What follows is the picture I began building around that parable as I thought about my own recovery. The shearing, the wounds, and the return to the flock are how I imagined the story continuing.
I pictured a sheep on the side of a mountain, stuck. It had wandered far enough that it no longer knew how to get back.
Here's the part I recognized: I had spent a long time thinking I could find my own way. Even when things got bad, I kept trying another version of the same thing. I could change the routine. I could control it this time. I could figure it out.
Eventually, I had to stop and admit that I didn't know how.
That is what stopping meant to me. I needed to become willing to receive the help I couldn't provide for myself.
So, back to the sheep.
The shepherd finds it. What happens next?
In the scene I imagined, he begins by checking it over. Where is it hurt? What has it picked up along the way? Are there thorns tangled in the wool, wounds that need tending?
I pictured him shearing away the wool so he could see and care for what was underneath. There was something in that image I understood. Getting help could mean letting someone see the things I had been hiding.
Once the wounds had been tended, I imagined the two of them making their way back together.
The lamb is back. Hooray! Right?
Wait a minute.
It is still sore. Its wool is gone. It feels exposed, and it doesn't look like the others. It has come home, but it might still feel like a stranger among family and friends.
What does the flock do with that?
That question mattered to me. Getting back doesn't mean everything is healed. Someone can accept help and still be frightened. They can be grateful to be home and still be unsure where they belong.
First Thessalonians 5:14 calls us to encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, and be patient with everyone. That felt like something the flock needed to remember.
How do we welcome someone who has come back looking different? Can we be patient with the parts that are still healing? Can we make room for them while they find their footing?
Matthew 18 also brings us into questions of how we address wrongs among one another and how often we forgive. Reading those passages alongside the lost sheep made me think about our part in caring for the people around us.
We can notice when someone is struggling. We can speak to them, offer help, and seek support from others when it is needed. We can take harm seriously and still want someone to find their way back.
So, follow me here. The chapter begins with a question about greatness, and Jesus points toward the humility of a child. In my reading, that became a question about whether I could trust the Shepherd enough to accept his care, and whether I could help extend that care to someone else.
I was learning to do both.
When I wrote the original letter behind this reflection in April 2024, I was sober and trying to explain what some would call a spiritual awakening. I recognized myself in that sheep. I had needed help, and accepting it had left me feeling exposed in ways I hadn't expected.
But I was happy to be back in the fold.
And I was beginning to think about how we welcome the next sheep home.
Scripture references: Matthew 18, especially verses 1–5, 10–14, 15–22; 1 Thessalonians 5:14.
Related reading: All I Want for Christmas Is Rehab