But I was most impressed with the guys who dropped by. These weren’t the boys I’d been used to cheering for in junior high. These were high school football players, 17- and 18-year-old hunks who drove to the car wash in their sports cars just to talk with and gawk at the cheerleaders. And I was a cheerleader!

As I watched those older guys with their cars and their muscles, I told myself, Becky, this is a whole new ball game. I made up my mind right there that I’d do whatever it took to stay with the “in” group. I even dreamed that one of those big handsome guys would become my personal prince.

Another World
As the summer progressed, I discovered other advantages to being a cheerleader. With my new status came instant access to an older crowd. While most of my old junior high friends still had to ask their parents for rides, members of my new circle had their own wheels.

From seventh grade on, I’d pushed and pulled at my parents’ restraints. Fights with my mom became more frequent and intense as my frustration with house rules increased. Now, easy access to cars gave me more freedom. I could go places without my parents’ knowledge or permission. In the process, I encountered choices I never had before.

Though I’d never had a drink, I knew a lot of high school kids who did. I was curious to find out what the big deal was. So during the Fourth of July weekend, I didn’t even have to think about it when my friend Wendy asked, “Do you wanna get some beer for tonight?”

“Sure. Let’s do it. I know where we can buy it.”

I’d heard friends talk about a small grocery on the other side of town where the clerk never asked for ID. Wendy pointed to a pack of cigarettes in the display rack. I grabbed the pack, set it on the beer and turned to wink at her as the clerk rang up the purchases.

In the bushes between the parking lot and the lake, I popped the top of my first beer. It tasted awful. Maybe I should have bought another brand. Or maybe it’s better cold, I thought. Eventually I finished my can, and when Wendy opened her second one, so did I.

We finished off the six-pack before we came out from the bushes. Then we joined the rest of the crowd and found a spot to sit on the grass. By the time the first burst of fireworks exploded high above the lake, I was already experiencing a strange buzzing sensation. I slowly maneuvered myself to my feet.

“You OK?” Wendy asked.

“Sure,” I replied. I felt great.

Later, we finished off another six-pack, then smoked the cigarettes we’d purchased earlier.

We walked back to Wendy’s house, and she quickly drifted off to sleep, but my mind raced over the details of the night again and again. Suddenly the curtains and the window began to spin, and I felt very sick. I moaned and rolled over on my back to relieve the pressure on my stomach, but it didn’t help. The ceiling was spinning as fast as the rest of the room. So I closed my eyes for a while and tried not to think about the gymnastics my stomach was performing.

Wendy and I woke up the next morning feeling terribly groggy. We laughed about each other’s hangovers.

Behind Their Backs
A few weeks later, I told my parents I was spending the night at Wendy’s, but instead headed to a rock concert downtown with a new guy named Ben. As soon as we turned onto the entrance ramp of the expressway, he pulled out a wrinkled cigarette. I knew immediately it was pot.

“You ever smoke any of this?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted. But not wanting to sound like Little Miss Innocent, I added, “But I’ll give it a try.”

By the time we’d parked for the concert, I’d helped Ben finish off three joints. I was so wasted he had to prop me up just so I could walk into the auditorium. I don’t remember one song the band played all evening.

As the summer progressed, I discovered how drinking loosened me up. A few beers gave me all the courage I needed to talk and joke and laugh with the most gorgeous football players. When I drank, I never had to worry about what my older friends thought of me. I felt sure drinking would be my secret weapon in capturing high school popularity.

Because school started on a Friday and the first varsity game of the season was scheduled for that very night, being a cheerleader solved the question of what I’d wear to school: My first-day outfit was my cheerleading uniform, which guaranteed my acceptance and assured me I’d be noticed even in the midst of the crowd. I walked through the halls with confidence and pride that day. I smiled and waved whenever I spotted a football player wearing a jersey.

* * *

Throughout high school, Becky’s relationship with her parents deteriorated, her grades slipped, and she lost many of her friendships. She continued to rationalize her drinking, though it was slowly causing her life to self-destruct.

Following graduation, she worked as a waitress at a local Denny’s restaurant and later enrolled at Northern Illinois University. She was eventually introduced to Quaalude, a prescription sedative that can be deadly when mixed with alcohol. During her college years she built quite a reputation as a drinker and put away as many as 12 to 15 beers a night, four nights a week.

* * *

I was invited to a big frat party one Saturday near the end of the term. The guests, many of whom I didn’t know, made the beer disappear almost as fast as the hosts could roll out a new keg. As usual, I downed more than my share.

The fraternity guys began singing drinking songs with the crudest lyrics I’d ever heard. The drinking and the singing looked as if they’d go on all night. I had more beers than I could count and began to feel very woozy. So, leaving behind the booze and bawdiness, I wandered into a bedroom, climbed onto a mountain of coats on the bed and promptly dozed off.

I came to, as someone roughly rolled me over. I opened my eyes to see a drunken guy standing over me. Another stranger’s face, leering from beside him, came slowly into focus as I felt their hands and realized what was going on. They were pulling off my clothes!

Suddenly wide-awake, I kicked at them and screamed.

“Get away! Leave me alone!”

Now they were laughing. One of them pinned me down; my screams weren’t much of a defense.

The next instant, a familiar face appeared at the doorway. “What’s . . .”

“Doug! Help me! Please! Help!” I screamed.

As Doug stepped into the room, the two guys backed away. I jumped to my feet, pulled my clothes back into place, grabbed my coat and bolted out of the party.

Shocked and badly shaken by what had almost happened, I ran back to my room. There I wept in despair at the realization of how messed up my life was. My grades were plummeting. I didn’t have any friends. Now this. I felt more down and defeated than ever before.

* * *

Without finishing college, Becky and a friend decided to move to California to obtain freedom, sunshine, the beach and new relationships.

* * *

Because my friend Sarah had never seen the Pacific Ocean, the first thing we did when we reached Southern California was head for the beach. I called my cousin who lived in Los Angeles, and she quickly organized a beach party for us.

That night as the sun set over the Pacific, we took off our shoes and waded into the surf. Then we lit a bonfire, roasted hot dogs, and I loaded up on booze until I began to feel sick.

“I gotta lie down,” I told Sarah, wishing I didn’t have to miss out on the fun.

She and my cousin half-carried me over to the parking lot as I tried to walk and helped me into the back of my cousin’s pickup. I awoke just enough to lean over the side and throw up. I also noticed silhouettes milling around the fire on the beach. But it wasn’t until I roused the next morning at my cousin’s house that I felt regrets. To think I’d spent my first glorious night in California on a moonlit beach, sleeping off my drunkenness in the back of a pickup. Why did I always overdo it?

Rotating Seasons
Christmas rolled around, and I awoke in utter solitude to an empty apartment. I tried to fill the aching hole by delivering some decoupage Christmas cards I’d made for some of my co-workers from the Buick dealership where I was employed. At each home I was welcomed with wine or champagne and finally lost count of the drinks I’d downed.

The intense loneliness and dissatisfaction I experienced forced me to face the fact that something was missing in my life. Maybe that’s why I decided to stop at a church.

I introduced myself to the minister and explained that I’d recently moved to California, but I quickly ran out of things to say. As a passing thought, as much to fill the increasing gaps in the conversation as anything else, I asked if the church ever needed help with the youth group.

To my surprise and sudden uneasiness, the pastor replied, “As a matter of fact, we could use some help. If you’re interested, you could meet the man who teaches our high school Sunday school class right now. Ralph doubles as the church janitor. I think you’ll like him.”

Wishing I could graciously leave, I instead followed the pastor out of his office. We found Ralph in the church basement. As we talked, the only thing that made me uncomfortable was the way he spoke about God — using the name “Jesus” as if He was some everyday friend. Ralph even recited a couple of verses from the Bible, right in the middle of our conversation.

“Be glad for you to join us this Sunday if you can make it,” he said as I left. I promised to be there.

A Different World
For some reason, I kept my promise — partly because I knew something was missing in my life and partly because I knew I needed to make a fresh start.

But the doubts descended on me the moment I walked into Ralph’s Sunday school classroom and heard him exclaim, “Welcome, Sister!”

Whoa! This is weird, I thought. And that opinion seemed confirmed during Sunday school when he wandered off on a tangent and began warning the kids in the class about the dangers of Ouija boards. Everyone I knew had played with Ouija boards at one time or another. They seemed pretty harmless to me, hardly deserving of the kind of dire warning about satanic power Ralph delivered.

Yet I realized that Ralph knew more about God and the Bible than anyone else I knew. I also recognized I wasn’t living up to the standards of conduct he talked about in his lessons. So, telling myself I didn’t want to be a hypocrite — but mostly because I felt uneasy around Ralph — I decided to forget church altogether.

Now What?
Back in my apartment, I walked past my roommate’s old cat, sleeping on the corner of the sofa. The cat had recently contracted a bad case of fleas, and as I passed by, suddenly I thought I felt something jumping around my feet. In fact, I felt as if fleas were crawling and jumping all over me. I completely lost control and began to scream. Then I thought they were in my mind, just like crazy thoughts — jumping, twisting and tormenting me until I fled, crying, back to my room where I eventually regained my composure. By then I felt certain I was going crazy.

Not knowing what else to do, I checked a local paper and learned there was a local Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) chapter for young people. I went.

I couldn’t believe all the young faces I saw. Some looked familiar enough to make me wonder if I’d seen them, maybe even partied with them at one of the local nightspots.

As I listened to the confessions and stories, tears ran down my face. Embarrassed, I tried to wipe them away, but no one seemed to notice. Finally, after the woman next to me had introduced herself, I slowly rose to my feet and said, “I’m Becky, and I’m an alcoholic.” I might have said more, but I was crying too hard — crying with shame for having to stand in front of a group of complete strangers and admit what I had become.

In the desperate days following my visit to AA, something made me think of Ralph, the youth worker. Figuring I’d nothing to lose, I went to see him at the church.

I tore into the church, ran down the steps and stopped dead in my tracks in the basement hallway when I spotted him pushing a buffing machine across a freshly waxed floor. “Oh, Ralph,” I exclaimed. “You’re here!”

As he looked up in surprise, I blurted out, “We have to talk!”

He shut off the buffer, studied my red, puffy face and shook his head. “No, Becky,” he said. “We have to pray.”

He took my hand and led me into the first-grade Sunday school classroom where we sat down in little kiddie chairs. Ralph then asked, “Do you want to pray?”

I couldn’t say yes fast enough.

“Do you want to ask Jesus to come into your life?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” I cried out.

Right there on those little chairs, sitting with our knees tucked under our chins, Ralph explained that he would begin the prayer, and I was to pray after him.

He began slowly, “Dear Jesus . . .” Within a few sentences I knew that everything pressuring me from the inside was going to come spilling out. And it did.

“Jesus,” Ralph prayed, “I’ve been a sinner. . . .”

Once Ralph got me started, I wasn’t about to stop. I told God what an awful sinner I was. I told Him I was sorry for all the things I had done. I admitted I’d made a mess of my life and asked Him to help clean it up. I prayed on and on, begging for help in every area of my life. I spilled out my whole messed-up life in that little room.

As I prayed, a steady, gentle stillness flowed over and through me like a soothing shower, washing down over my head and shoulders into my heart and right on down to my toes. I wanted to laugh because it was all so wonderful.

Ralph paraphrased a verse from 2 Corinthians, saying, “When someone becomes a Christian, he becomes a brand-new person inside; the old things pass away, and new things are begun!”

I knew it was true. I was different. I could feel it — and God had done it. I couldn’t wait to get back to work and tell everyone.

* * *

God began to show Becky the specific things she needed to change in her life to maintain a close relationship with Him. Her best friends wanted nothing to do with God, so she began developing new Christian friends. She regularly attended church, joined the choir and became involved in a Wednesday night Bible study.

Eventually, Becky felt God calling her to leave California and go back to her old high school to share her testimony. She became a volunteer staff member with the Campus Life club in her high school, under the direction of Roger Tirabassi.

Becky’s faith grew consistently, and her friendship with Roger also blossomed. A year later, he asked her to marry him. The couple eventually moved west and accepted the position of senior high youth ministers on a church staff in Southern California.

Becky now travels as a national speaker and has written several books.

What Does Becky Have to Say Now?
I realize now that I blew it when I left my stable junior high friends and looked for a faster, older crowd. I should’ve taken the time to find some friends who loved to have good, safe fun.

We serve a powerful God. He’s made good things happen from my situation, but I continue to pay consequences for the sin I allowed in my life as a teen. Others are paying an even higher price: I know several young married women who can’t have children because of sexually transmitted infections they contracted during their immoral teen years or because of having an abortion.

Don’t kid yourself. Drinking is serious — all drinking. It doesn’t matter whether you’re sipping wine coolers, beer or wine; they’re all alcoholic! And the cold, hard fact is that it damages dreams, relationships and lives.

Editor’s Note:
What about you? With extra time on your hands this summer, will you be tempted in areas you’d otherwise be saying no to? Many teens begin experimenting with drugs, alcohol or sex out of boredom or peer pressure. Don’t fall for it! God can give you the strength, Brio Sisses, to stand above temptation.

If you’d like to ask Jesus to give you a brand-new start, the Brio staff invites you to pray this prayer:

Dear Father,
I’m so sorry I’ve tried to run my own life. I realize now that it’s impossible for me to be in charge and truly experience the peace, fulfillment and deep joy You want me to have.

Will You forgive me? Sin has kept me from becoming all You want me to be. I surrender my life to You, Jesus. I give up control, and I place You in ownership of my will, my past, my future, my all.

I want to be free from the bondage of (fill in the blank); therefore, I’m submitting myself to Your authority. Cleanse me, Father. Make me new and whole on the inside. Thank You for not only forgiving my sins but also for completely removing them from Your mind.

Help me to read my Bible and pray consistently. Remind me over and over again that I can talk to You about anything, and that You care about me and love me as if I were the only person in all the world to love.

Thank You, Jesus. Help me to get involved in church and a youth group or Bible study so I can grow closer to You and become a stronger Christian. And use me, Father, to make a positive difference in the lives of those around me.

I love You, Lord.

* * *

If you prayed this prayer, the Brio staff wants to know! Please send us a note by e-mailing us at brio@briomag.com.

You also may want to speak with your pastor about being baptized and getting more involved in your local church.