God Is Still Working

"I drank every day for 12 years. Then 20 strangers started praying."

I had my first drink at 19. By 22, I was drinking every single day. Not just a beer after work — I mean a bottle of whiskey before noon. I lost two jobs, my apartment, and every friend I had. I moved back in with my mom at 31 and she barely recognized me.

I tried quitting on my own more times than I can count. I'd make it three days, sometimes five, and then the shaking would start and the voice in my head would say, "Just one more. You deserve it." And I'd give in. Every single time.

My mom found Freedom Through Prayer online. She submitted my name without telling me. I didn't know 20 people were praying for me by name, every day. But about three weeks in, something changed. I woke up one morning and the craving was just... gone. Not faded. Not weaker. Gone. Like someone reached inside me and pulled it out.

I don't have a scientific explanation. I don't need one. I know what happened. God heard those prayers and He set me free. I'm 8 months sober today. I have a job. I'm saving for my own place. And I pray every morning for the next person who's where I was.

"I submitted my husband's name at 2 a.m., sobbing on the bathroom floor."

My husband Brian was a good man. A great father. But when he drank, he became someone I didn't recognize. The yelling. The broken promises. The kids tiptoeing around the house like they were walking through a minefield. I spent years making excuses, hiding bottles, lying to our families.

One night, after he passed out on the couch and our 6-year-old daughter asked me, "Mommy, is Daddy sick again?" — I broke. I locked myself in the bathroom and just wept. I didn't know what else to do, so I Googled "someone pray for my husband to stop drinking." This ministry came up.

I filled out the form at 2 a.m. with tears running down my face. I didn't tell Brian. I didn't expect much — I'd given up hoping. But something started shifting in our home. Brian started sleeping better. He seemed calmer. One day he came home and said, "I poured it all out. I'm done." He didn't know about the prayers. He just knew something changed inside him.

He's been sober for 4 months now. Our daughter draws pictures of our family smiling. Our son isn't afraid to bring friends home anymore. I got my husband back, and my kids got their dad. I will never stop thanking God for those 20 strangers who prayed when I couldn't pray anymore.

"AA, rehab, therapy — nothing stuck. What was missing was the spiritual foundation."

I don't want anyone to think I'm against rehab or AA. I'm not. They saved my life more than once. But for me, something was always missing. I'd get clean, stay sober for a few months, and then fall right back in. The cycle was exhausting — not just for me, but for my wife Sarah, who stuck with me through all of it.

What Freedom Through Prayer gave me wasn't just people praying. It was the knowledge that I wasn't fighting alone in the spiritual realm. For the first time, I felt like the battle wasn't just me white-knuckling my way through each day. There were 20 people standing in the gap for me, asking God to do what I couldn't do for myself.

I started reading the Bible again. I started going to church. Not because someone told me to, but because something inside me was waking up. My wife says she saw the change before I did. She said my eyes looked different — like the real David was coming back.

I'm 6 months sober today. My marriage survived. My kids have a present father. And I finally understand that freedom isn't something you achieve — it's something God gives you when you stop trying to earn it.

"I prayed for my son for 15 years. Then I found 20 more people to pray with me."

My son Tyler started drinking in high school. By college, he was an alcoholic. By 30, he'd been arrested twice, lost his license, and was living in his car. I am his mother, and I watched helpless as my baby boy destroyed himself one drink at a time.

I never stopped praying. Not one day. But after 15 years, I was tired. Not tired of praying — tired of praying alone. My church prayed when I asked, but life moves on for everyone else. Your son's addiction doesn't stay on the prayer list forever.

When I found Freedom Through Prayer, I felt seen for the first time in years. They didn't just say, "We'll pray for him." They prayed for him. By name. Every single day. For 30 days. And then they asked if they could keep going. I sobbed.

Tyler checked himself into a program two months later. No one forced him. He just called me one day and said, "Mom, I'm ready." He's been sober for 10 months now. He has a job. He's rebuilding. And last Sunday, he came to church with me for the first time in 12 years. I looked over at him during worship and he was crying. So was I. So was everyone around us who knew our story.

"Nobody calls it alcoholism when you're a young mom drinking wine. They call it 'self-care.'"

I was the Pinterest mom. The Instagram mom. The one with the cute wine glass that said "Mommy Juice" and the group chat where we joked about needing a bottle to survive bedtime. It was all so normal. So acceptable. So funny — until it wasn't.

By the time my youngest was two, I was drinking a bottle and a half of wine every night. Every single night. I'd put the kids to bed and pour glass after glass until I passed out on the couch. I started hiding bottles in the laundry room. I started drinking before noon on weekends. And nobody — not my husband, not my friends, not my doctor — said a word, because wine culture told us this was fine.

It was my sister who submitted my name to Freedom Through Prayer. She did it gently, with love, and she told me about it. I was angry at first. I didn't think I had a "problem." But when I found out 20 people were praying for me, something cracked open inside me. I started being honest. I started letting God into the parts of my life I'd been numbing.

I'm 14 months sober. I'm fully present with my kids for the first time. I remember every bedtime story. I don't wake up with shame anymore. And I'm speaking out now because someone needs to hear this: just because it comes in a wine glass doesn't mean it's not a prison.

"Diane had the divorce papers ready. We'd both given up. God hadn't."

I drank for 20 years. My wife Diane endured every bit of it — the late nights, the broken promises, the holiday dinners I ruined, the vacations I slept through. She covered for me at family gatherings. She held our family together with both hands while I was too drunk to notice.

By 2024, she was done. The divorce papers were sitting on the kitchen table. Our kids, now teenagers, had stopped looking me in the eye. I didn't blame any of them. I'd failed them so badly that I figured they were better off without me. That was the lie alcohol told me — that they'd be better off if I just disappeared.

Our pastor's wife told Diane about Freedom Through Prayer. Diane didn't submit my name — she submitted hers. She asked them to pray for strength for herself and the kids. But the team prayed for all of us. The whole family. They prayed for our marriage, for our children, and yes, for me.

I can't explain what happened next except to say that God moved. I woke up one morning and the weight of everything I'd done hit me like a freight train — but instead of reaching for a bottle, I fell on my knees. I drove to our church. I told our pastor everything. He wept with me. That was 11 months ago. I haven't had a drink since.

The divorce papers went through the shredder. Diane and I are in counseling. Our oldest son told me last month, "Dad, I'm proud of you." I don't deserve any of it. But God is in the business of giving us what we don't deserve. That's called grace.

"I grew up terrified of my own father. Prayer gave me my dad back."

I'm 21 years old. I've never had a drink in my life, and I probably never will — because I watched alcohol steal my father from me for most of my childhood. Dad was either drunk or recovering from being drunk. Those were the only two versions of him I knew.

I learned early to read his moods. If he was quiet, it might be okay. If the garage door opened late, I'd lie in bed with my heart pounding. My mom shielded me and my sister as much as she could, but kids see everything. We heard the fights. We cleaned up the messes. We learned to tiptoe.

When I was 19, my mom submitted our family to Freedom Through Prayer. I thought it was pointless — I'd given up on my dad. But something started changing in our house. Dad started going to meetings. Then he started going to church. Then one night he came into my room, sat on the edge of my bed, and said, "I'm sorry for every night I scared you. I'm getting help." We both cried until we couldn't breathe.

My dad is two years sober now. We go fishing on Saturdays. We watch football together. He showed up to my college graduation and he was sober and present and proud. I'm on the prayer team now because I want to fight for other kids who are lying in bed at night, scared, wondering if their parent will ever come back. They will. God can do it. I'm proof.

"I drank for 40 years. My grandkids have never seen me sober. Until now."

I started drinking in the Army at 27. Never stopped. Forty years. My wife stayed — God bless her — but she stopped expecting anything from me a long time ago. My kids grew up and moved away. They call on holidays. They keep the visits short. I don't blame them.

What finally broke me was my granddaughter. She's five. She came to visit last Thanksgiving and she said to her mother — my daughter — "Why does Grandpa smell funny?" My daughter looked at me with those eyes. Those tired, disappointed, done eyes. And I thought: I have been this way for forty years. Forty years of smelling funny. Forty years of being the reason people cut visits short.

I don't know how I found this website. I can barely use the computer. But I typed in my request with two fingers and I told God, "If You can still use an old fool like me, I'm willing." Twenty people started praying. I felt it. I don't know how to describe it except to say I felt less alone for the first time in decades.

I'm 3 months sober. At 67 years old. My wife says she's seeing the man she married. My granddaughter sat on my lap last week and said I smell like cookies. I baked them myself. Sober. At 67, God gave me a second chance — or maybe a fiftieth chance. He lost count. I thank Him anyway.