By Carol A. Strazer
Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.
~Matthew 26:41
My husband Bob and I took turns puffing on our last cigarette until all I held was a charred filter. In a nearby planter, I partially buried it with other cigarettes. They reminded me of miniature headstones. While I gazed sadly at the tiny cemetery, I said farewell to my best "friend" of twenty-two years.
We, my cigarette and I, met the summer before my senior year in high school. Terribly shy, I was delighted to be included in a summer picnic with a few of my classmates. After lunch at the city park, the other girls lit up. "Wow," I thought, "this is grown-up stuff." I pictured sophisticated ladies holding cigarettes between polished nails while dashing gentlemen flicked silver lighters.
Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.
~Matthew 26:41
My husband Bob and I took turns puffing on our last cigarette until all I held was a charred filter. In a nearby planter, I partially buried it with other cigarettes. They reminded me of miniature headstones. While I gazed sadly at the tiny cemetery, I said farewell to my best "friend" of twenty-two years.
We, my cigarette and I, met the summer before my senior year in high school. Terribly shy, I was delighted to be included in a summer picnic with a few of my classmates. After lunch at the city park, the other girls lit up. "Wow," I thought, "this is grown-up stuff." I pictured sophisticated ladies holding cigarettes between polished nails while dashing gentlemen flicked silver lighters.
When a friend offered me drags on her cigarette, I readily accepted. Soon she corrected my crude attempts saying, "Inhale and exhale, like this."
"This is easy," I told myself. "All I have to do to be accepted is smoke." By dusk, I was hooked.
In the decades that followed, I smoked at least 154,000 of those gleaming white tubes of tobacco. I could always depend on my "friend" to give me a boost, calm my fears or blow away my anger. My doctor disagreed. He said my friend gave me bronchitis, asthma and poor circulation. When he said my buddy and I would have to part, tears filled my eyes, and I choked out, "Really?" He just nodded.
Following his orders, I tried to quit. I refused to buy any more cigarettes. If I didn't have them around to tempt me, I reasoned, I wouldn't smoke.
When smoking friends visited and left my home though, I grabbed the ashtrays, searching for viable butts I could finish. I had flashbacks of Seattle's Skid Road's homeless retrieving discarded smokes from the dirty sidewalk and I chided myself.
I gained weight, eating instead of smoking. Soon I broke down and bought cigarettes. I was skewered on the old adage, "Quitting smoking is easy, I quit many times," but I couldn't resist my cigarette "friend's" siren call.
A luncheon with a former smoker reinforced my guilt and frustration when she inquired about my attempts to quit smoking.
"You know I quit," she said. "I don't even think about it. When I decide to do something, I do it. No problem... easy as pie."
I stared at her, secretly imagining throwing that pie right at her.
At another lunch, this time with a friend who still smoked, I heard, "I know I should quit. But this isn't the time. You know the divorce and all."
I thought that getting a divorce would be a perfect excuse to keep smoking.
I tried every stop smoking technique I knew. Once I quit for three weeks, but always found a good excuse to start again. My husband was determined to stop too. I thought if we both quit at the same time, it might be easier. When I heard a local church was sponsoring a smoking cessation program, we signed up.
Bob and I snuffed out our "last" cigarette and entered the church auditorium. After the program director's brief introduction, the room darkened and scenes from an actual lung cancer operation flashed on the screen. The grim images erased all desire I had for cigarettes that night.
Terrifying facts may work for a while, but we learned it takes more than fear to erase an addiction. Successive nights of instruction bolstered our weak intentions. We learned more about tobacco's harmful effects and healthy alternatives to smoking. Fellow smokers supported our efforts.
When our leader suggested asking for God's assistance, I realized that was one technique I had not tried.
I begged God for His help. Without His intervention, I knew I would smoke again.
In the morning, when I craved a cigarette with my coffee, I prayed. When a friend offered me a cigarette, I prayed... and refused. After dinner, when a smoke would have tasted the best, I prayed -- always the same prayer. "Lord, I'm helpless. Please help me. I can't quit." And I truly believed I couldn't.
Early one morning, I woke, prepared coffee and drank an entire cup before I realized... I hadn't craved a cigarette! Astonished, I held my empty cup and looked out the window. To the dawning sky, I whispered, "You did it, Lord. You really did! Thank you!"
It had been three weeks, just when I usually started smoking again. My craving for cigarettes had really died. Before, my nicotine addiction had screamed for relief. Now, there was silence. I could live without cigarettes.
Later I helped a group of anxious smokers and told them how many times I'd failed to quit. I recounted my winning technique... I asked for God's help and He answered my prayer.
Thirty years later I live high in the Colorado Mountains where I hike, kayak and ski with my husband and grandchildren. I'm free -- no longer a slave to cigarettes, thanks to my Best Friend.
"This is easy," I told myself. "All I have to do to be accepted is smoke." By dusk, I was hooked.
In the decades that followed, I smoked at least 154,000 of those gleaming white tubes of tobacco. I could always depend on my "friend" to give me a boost, calm my fears or blow away my anger. My doctor disagreed. He said my friend gave me bronchitis, asthma and poor circulation. When he said my buddy and I would have to part, tears filled my eyes, and I choked out, "Really?" He just nodded.
Following his orders, I tried to quit. I refused to buy any more cigarettes. If I didn't have them around to tempt me, I reasoned, I wouldn't smoke.
When smoking friends visited and left my home though, I grabbed the ashtrays, searching for viable butts I could finish. I had flashbacks of Seattle's Skid Road's homeless retrieving discarded smokes from the dirty sidewalk and I chided myself.
I gained weight, eating instead of smoking. Soon I broke down and bought cigarettes. I was skewered on the old adage, "Quitting smoking is easy, I quit many times," but I couldn't resist my cigarette "friend's" siren call.
A luncheon with a former smoker reinforced my guilt and frustration when she inquired about my attempts to quit smoking.
"You know I quit," she said. "I don't even think about it. When I decide to do something, I do it. No problem... easy as pie."
I stared at her, secretly imagining throwing that pie right at her.
At another lunch, this time with a friend who still smoked, I heard, "I know I should quit. But this isn't the time. You know the divorce and all."
I thought that getting a divorce would be a perfect excuse to keep smoking.
I tried every stop smoking technique I knew. Once I quit for three weeks, but always found a good excuse to start again. My husband was determined to stop too. I thought if we both quit at the same time, it might be easier. When I heard a local church was sponsoring a smoking cessation program, we signed up.
Bob and I snuffed out our "last" cigarette and entered the church auditorium. After the program director's brief introduction, the room darkened and scenes from an actual lung cancer operation flashed on the screen. The grim images erased all desire I had for cigarettes that night.
Terrifying facts may work for a while, but we learned it takes more than fear to erase an addiction. Successive nights of instruction bolstered our weak intentions. We learned more about tobacco's harmful effects and healthy alternatives to smoking. Fellow smokers supported our efforts.
When our leader suggested asking for God's assistance, I realized that was one technique I had not tried.
I begged God for His help. Without His intervention, I knew I would smoke again.
In the morning, when I craved a cigarette with my coffee, I prayed. When a friend offered me a cigarette, I prayed... and refused. After dinner, when a smoke would have tasted the best, I prayed -- always the same prayer. "Lord, I'm helpless. Please help me. I can't quit." And I truly believed I couldn't.
Early one morning, I woke, prepared coffee and drank an entire cup before I realized... I hadn't craved a cigarette! Astonished, I held my empty cup and looked out the window. To the dawning sky, I whispered, "You did it, Lord. You really did! Thank you!"
It had been three weeks, just when I usually started smoking again. My craving for cigarettes had really died. Before, my nicotine addiction had screamed for relief. Now, there was silence. I could live without cigarettes.
Later I helped a group of anxious smokers and told them how many times I'd failed to quit. I recounted my winning technique... I asked for God's help and He answered my prayer.
Thirty years later I live high in the Colorado Mountains where I hike, kayak and ski with my husband and grandchildren. I'm free -- no longer a slave to cigarettes, thanks to my Best Friend.
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