I’m sitting in my driveway on a Tuesday. It’s pitch dark. The motor is running. It’s 5:45 AM. I live in a nice neighborhood, nothing fancy, just a mid-starter type of subdivision. We’re all young here. The men are young lions looking to climb the ladders of life. The women are young and attractive.
I have a wife and two small children. Somehow, I’m actually growing up. I’m gaining a sense of responsibility in life. I look at the clock in my car. It’s 5:46 AM and my heart is pounding so hard that I can feel in my brain. I feel guilty to the bone and sick to my stomach.
I’m the average guy. Average height, weight, eye color, and average life. People mistake me for an employee in Wal-Mart. They ask me for directions when I shop there. I don’t smoke. I drink very little, yet I have an addiction that has grabbed hold of me like a hot pulsating hand on my heart. Right now it’s squeezing me. I can feel it pulling me to this secret place. It’s 5:47 AM. What am I going to do? God, what am I going to do this morning?
As I told you, I’m trying to grow up. I’m not in college any more. Stupid things I did back then, really seem stupid now as I look on them. Somehow, and I’m not sure how, I actually think things through to their conclusion now. I think about the end result and how it affects not only me, but now my wife and my two boys.
At night, I sit down and read the newspaper. My boys sit next to me and look at their books. They do everything that I do. I have come to realize that they watch me and copy everything that I do. God, I feel so guilty. It’s 5:49 AM. I am addicted. My addiction is throbbing throughout me. This wicked addiction guides my thoughts and my feet. I find myself going to a place where I know I should not be going.
Perspiration is on my forehead. My armpits are wet. I see Pastor, in my mind, preaching his sermon. We started going to church three months ago. It’s the right thing to do. We’ve made friends there. They have a different perspective. I look at the clock. 5:51 AM.
One of the deacons asked me to meet him on Tuesday mornings for prayer. That was three weeks ago. I haven’t made it yet. I’ve tried, but this addiction has a hold of my heart, my very soul.
Three weeks ago, I left my house to meet him. I live on a street that is a loop. I can go either left or right. Either way takes me to the same road that takes me out of my neighborhood. I always turn left. It’s shorter. That Tuesday morning, in the dark, I left to meet him.
As I turned left, I followed the street to the Stop sign. It’s dark and no one is around. As I look to the left, there is a light on in her house. It wasn’t planned, but there she is in her shower. The window is tall and there is no curtain or shade. She is naked. She is beautiful. She is washing herself with intimate innocence. Her hair is dark. She is no more than 26 years old and her breasts are young. I find myself absorbed. It’s as though there is an invisible thread pulling her nipples heavenward. I watch her wash herself. She has a habit of pulling her dark nipples when she washes them. They become hard as the end of my little finger. I missed prayer meeting that morning.
I’ve watched her eleven days in the early morning from my car. God, I feel guilty. I watched her yesterday morning. They way she touches herself. It’s innocent, but unbelievable. 5:53 AM.
Last Sunday, Pastor preached from the book of 2 Samuel. That’s where King David watched Bathsheba bathe. ”From the roof he saw a woman bathing.” I don’t know how Pastor did it. It felt as though he had been watching me all that week when he preached.
I feel sick to my stomach but I want to go there again. Heroin is nothing compared to this. This addicts the soul. 5:55 AM. She bathes at 6:00 AM.
I pull out of the driveway and stop in the middle of the street. I look both ways. I am being seduced to go and turn left with a compulsion that I can not explain. I lower my head.
“God, help me.”
I turn, and go to the right. For the first time, I made it.
That was twenty years ago. I never turned left again.