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I’ve been blessed all my life in spite of being a functioning alcoholic while my children were growing up. Because of a faithful and forgiving wife, I’ve been sober 47 years.

As I drive around and see all the cars at different barrooms, I think, “But by the grace of God, I would be one of those people, wasting time, spending money and drinking — trying to find happiness.” My heart goes out to the wives and children of those people who never know what time Daddy’s coming home.

I once read that the drug, alcohol, has wrecked more families than anything else.

The following poem was written a few years ago by a convict in a Joliet, Illinois prison:

THE BAR

The name of each saloon’s a Bar, The fittest of its names by far.

A Bar to Heaven, a door to Hell, Whoever named it named it well.

A Bar to manliness and wealth, A door to want and broken health; A Bar to honor, pride and fame, A door to grief and sin and shame;

A Bar to hope, a Bar to Prayer,

A door to darkness and despair;

A Bar to honored useful life,

A door to brawling, senseless strife;

A Bar to all that’s true and brave,

A door to every drunkard’s grave;

A Bar to joys that home imparts,

A door to tears and aching hearts; A Bar to Heaven, a door to Hell,

Whoever named it named it well.

 

 

 

If you have any questions, or comments, please write to Get High on Life, P.O. Drawer U, Reserve, LA 70084, or e-mail hkeller@comcast.net.