FOCUS ON THE BROKEN FAMILY

I was recently invited to a local high school as one of three community members for a discussion about drug abuse among high school students. Twenty-five students showed up as part of their urban school program.

“What was it like to smoke crack?” asked fifteen year old Kayla. She was a frequent pot-smoker and had tried ecstasy and several other common drugs.


Josh, an eighteen year old high school student who had recently been through rehab sat forward in his seat. With eyes bulging and teeth grinding he blurted, “It’s like nothing else. I’d take a hit and my brain would race. It was a powerful feeling of being somewhere else… being someone else. It was so strong that I would do anything to get more and use again. I’d rob people, steal old ladies purses, it turned me into a monster.”

“When and how did you start using?” Asked Mister Rollins, the urban school program facilitator.

“When I was a kid, my dad used to beat me senselessly. He threw me down the stairs. He was an alcoholic. When I was thirteen my best friend asked me to try his joint. Right away I knew that this is what I wanted.” Josh spoke with understanding gained from rehab and his friendship with Mr. Rollins.

Sixteen year old Carrie spoke up. “I was thirteen when I first smoked pot. People say that it doesn’t damage you, but it made me lazy. My marks were in the sixties and then my parents found out that I was smoking it. They confronted me and what hurt the most was my mother saying she was disappointed in me. I stopped after that and now I’m on the honour roll with marks in the nineties. I still drink at parties, but it’s under control I think.”

Carrie’s boyfriend Devon tells his story. Mom was addicted to prescription pills and dad was a cokehead. Devon remembers his dad always using drugs and having strangers in their house. Dad went out west on a job saying he would be back in a couple weeks. Two years have passed and dad never even said good-bye. With a lump in his throat Devon talked about his own pot-smoking and cocaine use.

Mr. Rollins and Ms. Morgan are in their late thirties and teachers at a local high school. They are respected by these kids. They find acceptance and love, obvious by their willingness to share drug stories in front of us strangers.
One of our group asked the students, “What could the community do to help you? What would be meaningful at this stage in your life?”

Devon spoke up. “My family has failed. If the community wants to help us, we need this group to become a new family for us. That’s what I need.” Several student voices echoed this felt need. They were not prepared to go somewhere else, but felt secure with these teachers at their school.

For two hours I sat silently listening to their stories. I wanted to cry as Alicia described her dad’s deteriorated mental state from years of hard drug use. She talked of childhood in a house full of addicts. Her own drinking was becoming problematic. I recognized that Mr. Rollins and Ms. Morgan were the closest people she had as parental figures. Her own parents were still dad and mom even though they had failed miserably.

I thought about Devon’s words. “We need this group to become a new family for us.”

These kids are the same age as my own. What would it be like as a parent to be so distracted and damaged by addiction to have your own children crying out for love elsewhere? What is it like for a young person to be so traumatized by their upbringing that they are willing to destroy their own life with substance abuse?

I am thinking about what it means to be a follower of Jesus. He defined a new family for everyone that needed to leave father, mother, sister, brother behind. He invites broken people into His family, the church. I want these broken kids to find a new family. I know that my kids will accept them. They will be welcome at our table.

But they are not going to knock at our door. We have to find them and allow our brother Jesus to work through us. Our churches need to learn how to express a deeper love that is inter-generational, non-threatening and filled with grace. The Father has a big table with room for everyone.