A Parable

There once was a man who’s daughter was strung out on drugs. She had been using for years – now she was reeling, sick, dying really. The Father had to do something, now. She wanted more drugs. If only he would help her get some, she would, she promised, stop using after this – next year she would get straight, really, she would quit. If he didn’t help her, she would have to steal again and she could go back to jail. She would have to continue selling her body, surely he didn’t want that. She would commit suicide. She could not handle life without her drugs. She cried, screamed, begged — if he lloved her, help her score.

He had heard of something called “intervention.” He was told it was painful, difficult, demanding – extremely painful for her as the drugs were forcefully removed from her life. She would be miserable, others around her would suffer from the inevitable fallout. It might not work. Even with the best of intentions thing could go wrong. Her whole body and mind had been altered by the years of drug abuse. It would require hospitalization, constant supervision, long hours, day, weeks, months of difficult work – while she hated him every moment for what he was doing.

Without it – she would die, period. Sooner or later that would be the result. She was too far gone to ever return by her own will or power. It was up to him, now, do it – or don’t.

OK, Dad. Make the call.