God, I’m Done

The Prayer That Broke 50 Years of Addiction

Here’s the story of a man who changed his life—and needed to.

My brother-in-law was on a bender. Weeks of hard alcohol, no food, everything unraveling, he was, literally, just this side of death’s door.

Then it happened. He said the prayer. You know the one. “God, if you’ll save me, I’ll never drink again.”

Well, God saved him. He didn’t die. He lived to tell of his prayer, and tell of the answer, and tell of what’s happened since.

The prayer was spoken by Brian, Joyce’s older brother, 64 at the time, after fifty years of being a raging alcoholic. Yes, 50. And yes, raging.

But he hasn’t touched a drop since. And it’s been three years. The beautiful thing—the amazing thing—is that he doesn’t even want it. In fact, he loathes it.

Joyce and I can’t believe it. We never would have predicted it. Nor would anyone who’s known him and endured the tormented binges, the dreadful detoxes, the eternal rehabs, the flagrant promises, and then, in the later years, the full-fledged embracing that he’s an alcoholic and he’s going to go out that way.

We were waiting for the phone call.

We were waiting for the sad funeral.

But instead, we got this call: “Brian’s changed.” Uh, okay, but how long will it last?

A month went by, and still. Then six months, and still. Then a year, and still. Now over two years, and still.

I share this story, realizing that many of you can’t relate to the alcohol part. And maybe some not the ‘God’ part. But personal change is personal change. And its hard. And it dogs us. And it’s a part of life. And we can learn from anyone who makes a dramatic change in their life.

I sat down with Brian at a Mexican restaurant near Sedona three years ago. I asked him to tell me the story from top to bottom and recorded it on my phone. Later I told him of the recording and he was fine with it. Below is a lightly edited transcript of his retelling.

Brian Johnson, summer of 2022

“I'm gonna tell you a story, a true story, the greatest thing that ever happened in my entire life, Ken. And I'm an old man now … I've been around a lot, as you know.

All right, let me start. This all happened. I don't need to go into my history, my years of drinking. You know that very well. For my birthday, uh, Kevin and I got a couple airboats and went down the river. I wanted to party because it was my 64th birthday. It turned out to be almost a three-week run. And when I go on a run, it’s a hard run. I don't eat. I only drink whisky. I drink it till I pass out. Then I wake up and drink again until I pass out. This went on for three weeks. I mean, I've always been a hard drinker, but this was ridiculous. I'm too old for this.

Then on a Saturday, it was about two in the morning, and I saw some whiskey left in the fridge. I wanted to drink it, but I wasn’t feeling so good. But I want that whiskey in my system. Be thankful you're not an alcoholic. Instead, I took a sip of Ensure cuz I hadn't been eating. Then for three days I got hit hard. I thought I was going to die. I heaved until there was nothing in my stomach. My stomach felt like it was gonna come shooting out of my throat. At times I couldn't breathe. Every time I tried to drink something I would convulse. I couldn't drink anything, I was parched, I was dying of thirst, but I couldn’t keep anything down. I felt like I was being tortured from the inside. It's the worst thing I’ve ever gone through in my life, and I've gone through a lot.

Then on the third night, I begged God, I said, ‘If you get me through this, I swear I'll quit drinking forever.’ And I was serious. I couldn't take it no more. ‘If not, make this quick, because I'm done. I'm tired of suffering. Either kill me or give me another chance and I won't drink again.’

The next morning, I woke up and got a little reprieve. I had actually slept a couple hours. And I knew I was gonna be okay. And, uh, I said, ‘Thank you, Lord.’ My roommate saw me that morning and said I looked like I came out of the Holocaust. I weighed 128 pounds and I’m six foot. But I still had a kind of shitty attitude, my Brian attitude. And I said, okay, I gotta figure something to do, cuz I can't drink anymore. God pulled me through and I can’t break that deal. But I'd been drinking for 50 years. So I just thanked the Lord for keeping me alive. And I waited. What would happen next? I was in limbo for like three days. I couldn't stop crying. I cried off and on, mostly on, for three days. It's like all my sins were getting washed from me. God was forgiving me. I knew I was forgiven. And for three days I never left the house and barely left my room, but I still had my Brian attitude, especially when I saw any of my roommates.

Then on the third day, I got hit with this overwhelming compassion, I loved everyone. I mean, I've never felt nothing like it. I didn't have any hate whatsoever. I couldn't stop crying with that good feeling. I had to stay in my room because the tears were so much. Then I started hearing music. I'm not kidding you. And it was gospel music, like a chorus. And it was beautiful. It was the Holy Spirit. And I'd never heard nothing like it. When I went to bed at night, I heard it. When I woke up, I heard it. A friend came by and when he looked at me, he goes, “Wow, you got a glow about you.” My mom said the same. And I didn't know, I just knew the Holy Spirit was in me. This went on for three days.

Because of all this stuff, I’d missed some anger management classes I was supposed to attend. But I didn’t care. I was changed. I didn’t need those classes anymore. Instead, I wrote an eight-page letter to the county, telling my whole life story, how I'd screwed up, how I'd messed up, and how I'd hurt my whole family. I told them about what happened to me, the retching, how I swore I’d never drink again, and how God saved me. I marched in there and handed them the letter and just turned around and left. I wasn’t going to those classes no more. They didn’t help me. They annoyed me. I didn’t care if they’d arrest me or what they’d do. I was compelled to write that letter and it was the truth. God told me to write it.

When I walked home, I felt like I was walking on a cloud, delivered from my sinful life. I heard the gospel music again. You know what I'm saying? I felt free first time in my life. I didn't have all that weight on me anymore.

Later I told my court-assigned therapist, “I don't care if anybody believes me. I says, I just know I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I'm blessed cuz I know when I leave this place, I know where I'm going. You could offer me a million dollars to take a drink, and I wouldn’t. Why would I wanna mess up eternal life for a stupid ass drink?”

And you know, I think there’s something to the way the days were, my sickness, my lying there in limbo, and then the music and Holy Spirit coming. They were 3, 3, and 3. It was like a 3-3-3, shot (Kamikaze.) Or it’s like the threes in the Bible. I don’t know. But I just know I’ve changed.”

I asked him if he’d had a similar God-experience before and he had. When he was fifteen, only one year into his alcohol abuse, he had a similar moment with God and almost pushed away the stuff. But his friends influenced him and he was off to forty-nine more years of misuse.

I asked him if he would join AA and he said no. He can’t stand the repetition and social aspect of it.

I asked him if he would join a church and said no for the same reasons. But he loved God and he would read his Bible and he would pray prayers like the one that saved him.

I asked him about his story. Did he want to share it? Did he want to help others by telling of his experience? He looked down and said yes, but he’s not much of a sharer. “But if I could help one person with the change I made in my life, how God answered my prayer, I would love that.”

I asked him if he was afraid of relapsing. He said no, there was no way he would ever touch the stuff again. I said that’s what all addicts say. He shook his head and looked me in the eye, “I will never touch the stuff again.”

And if I were a betting man, I’d say he won’t.

So, what does this story mean for me? And you?

Does it mean we have to hit bottom before we change? I don’t think so.

Does it mean we need to pray the prayer he prayed? I don’t think so.

But change is hard. And change is individual. And sometimes it's mysterious as hell.

I don't pretend to understand what happened to Brian. I can't explain it or prescribe it or make much sense out of it. But I've seen it. I've witnessed a man shed fifty years of something that was killing him. He got desperate enough to mean what he said to God. And something shifted.

And if Brian can do that—cranky, stubborn, I’m-going-out-in-a-blaze-of-glory Brian—then maybe I can change. Even the deep stuff. Even the stuff I’ve carried for so long that it feels a part of my skin.

Maybe that's the message. Maybe knowing it's possible is good enough for now.

So yes, Brian, your story helped one person. Me.