Bong Water and the Prophets

In 1997 the car my 18-year-old son Michael and four other teenagers were riding in flipped on a country road. Mike suffered a permanent traumatic brain injury. Before that night, we already knew he was in trouble. He’d been in rehab. Through his program, I’d received an education in drugs and alcohol that opened my naive eyes (and nose) to substances I’d had no experience with. Pot was the least of Mike’s problems but the pungent odor from the water pipe he used to smoke it—a bong—would permeate his clothes and tip me off that he had broken house rules once again. I told my husband (in a sad attempt at humor in those dark days), that I was so sensitive to the smell of marijuana that I could probably tell you what country it came from. I hated the stench but more than that, I hated what it told me—that Mike didn’t respect us or the boundaries we’d set to protect him, that he was headed for tragedy, and we were powerless to stop him.

This is probably how the prophets felt as they watched their beloved nations of Israel and Judah rebel against the Lord. The people in these kingdoms blatantly disregarded the laws God gave for their protection. They embraced lifestyles that brought shame to His name and His house. God warned that the path they were on would lead to famine, war, disease, and deportation but they ignored Him even though He described judgment in detail. He named names, times, places. To no avail.

Would Mike have changed his ways if I had been able to see into the future and describe the car accident, the excruciating physical rehab, the permanent mental and physical impairments, and the loneliness he would suffer? Probably not. At least that is what he tells me. (He has given me permission to share his story.) So why wouldn’t he listen? The prophets tell us that sin blinds people to the consequences of their actions.

So, if sinners cannot take the truth to heart, why did God give us the books of prophecy? Second Peter 3:9 says, “The Lord isn’t really being slow about his promise, as some people think. No, he is being patient for your sake. He does not want anyone to be destroyed, but wants everyone to repent.” There’s always a chance someone will listen. Pain gets the attention of saint and sinner alike. The prophetic books do warn those on the wrong path, but they also encourage godly people who are caught up in the judgment of the wicked. Anyone who lost a loved one to addiction or drained family resources to give someone a chance at a new life knows what I mean.

Mike required 24-hour care after he was discharged from the hospital. My husband Joe and I built an apartment in our walk-out basement for him. Mike had a caregiver during the day. My younger son David (a high-school junior), my husband Joe and I shared duties at night. We had no elevator. We could walk down the stairs to Mike but for him to join us on the upper level required pushing him up a steep ramp outside. Having dinner together took monumental effort. In winter, it meant dressing Mike warmly then one of us had to don a heavy coat, hat, and gloves, and roll him up the ramp. After dinner, we’d reverse the process. One night I decided to fix my signature spaghetti dinner and serve it downstairs, thinking it might be a better solution.

It was a disaster from beginning to end.

Joe and David were not home yet, and Mike’s caregiver was gone for the day. I was on my own. As I wore myself out with multiple trips up and down the stairs—setting the table, bringing down salad, bread, and drinks—the spaghetti sauce burned. I felt sick looking at the charred flecks bubbling up through the gravy that I had nursed for over three hours. Still, I refused to give up. I ladled sauce over hot pasta and hoped for the best. At last, the family gathered around the small table downstairs, held hands, and gave thanks.

David took the first bite then sat straight up. “Mom,” he said, “what’s up with the spaghetti? It tastes like bong water!” Michael laughed hysterically. I burst into tears.

I don’t know what all I said. I sobbed through a litany of frustrations about the dinner and my failures as a wife, mother, caregiver, and person. To put it politely, I was inconsolable. David put his arms around me and said, “Dad, I’m going to put Mom to bed.” Joe—wide eyed because I’d never lost it like this before—nodded and quietly gathered up the plates. David led me upstairs and tucked me in bed like I was a two-year old. It was oddly comforting. He closed the door softly behind him and then I cried it out.

Bong water? To have my cooking compared to the symbol of the rebellion that had led us to this point was too much. I wasn’t just upset over a ruined meal—I was overcome by exhaustion from a journey that I had not asked for. A journey I had done everything to divert Mike from. A journey that was far from over.

It is precisely when we realize we’re in a difficult place for the long haul that we most need the message God gives through the prophets. He says, “Don’t give up, pain doesn’t last forever. Cry, I hear you. Rest, I’ll restore you. Trust me, I will take care of you. I am using this tragedy to prove myself to you and everyone watching you.” It took a while before I could believe it, but God keeps His word. I found that out the hard way.

Ever so-often when I fix spaghetti (still a family favorite) one of us will bring up the bong water incident. Today, we can laugh about it because in the intervening years, Mike has come to the Lord, and God has sustained our family with miracle after miracle. Thinking about burned spaghetti sauce no longer brings tears because what God has done has stripped that moment of its power. The despair I felt then has been redeemed. That dinner is now a memory that binds our family together. It reminds us how far we’ve come and how faithful God is.

That’s what the books of the prophets will do for us. If God can redeem that stubborn, sinful people, He can redeem us. If He can give them a future, He can do the same for us. The Lord transforms tragedy into triumph. Every time. For believers, bong water is never the end of the story.