Early in my recovery, my wife came to visit me in rehab. The question of me coming home—one that surfaced again and again—was finally spoken out loud. I was worried about my job. No one there really knew where I was, only that I’d had a “medical emergency.” That was partly true.
I wanted to come home.
I wanted my family back.
I wanted my life back.
I wanted to see my dog—God, how I missed him.
Then my wife said something that settled deep into my soul:
“John, if we don’t have you, we have nothing.”
At first, her words stung. They sounded almost heartless—No, you can’t come home yet. Fix yourself or we have nothing. And this was coming from a woman who had every reason to walk away. I had pushed her to the very edge. I didn’t even know why she was still there.
But her words weren’t cruel. They were loving.
She was giving me permission—to stay, to heal, to work on myself.
To clear my mind.
To build a real plan for long-term sobriety.
So I took her advice—and I didn’t look back.
I threw myself into recovery. I became the valedictorian of rehab. I got a sponsor. I worked the hell out of my steps. I began helping others. Slowly—quietly—my world started to change.
My wife became my wife again.
My children and I grew closer.
Our home healed.
About six months into sobriety, I was walking my dog one morning. I stopped, felt the warmth of the sun on my face, and watched a tree sway gently in the breeze. And from somewhere deeper than thought, I said, “Thank you, God.”
That’s when it finally became clear to me:
Salvation begins within.
For so long, I had been looking outward—to the world, to other people, to money, to a better job—hoping something out there would fix what was broken inside me. But nothing external could heal an internal wound.
Scripture says, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21).
Not ahead of you.
Not earned later.
Not waiting once everything is cleaned up.
Within.
Recovery taught me to stop searching outside myself for relief and to finally look inward—to my soul, to God’s quiet presence already there. When I stopped running, fixing, striving—and instead allowed God to work on me from the inside out—everything else began to fall into its proper place.
Prayer
God, help me stop looking outward for what only You can restore within.
Quiet my striving. Heal what I’ve tried to outrun.
Teach me to trust the work You are doing in my soul, even when I cannot yet see it.
Amen.
