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Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

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"Thursday's Fare"

I can remember my first cigarette.

Down in the woods, with my "closest best friend"... behind the big tree...

"There - no, hold it like this... No..., yeah - right..." The match sparking to life on the third try - the expectant look on my friends face, his cheeks puffed out as he held the initial draw in. My turn - hesitation... nervous... but then sucking deep like the first sip of a cherry smash after football practice. I expected to taste something good - something deep and rich and mysterious like the smell of tobacco when you first opened the pack.

But something must have gone wrong when we lit it, because someone had just filled my lungs with concrete and set them on fire. I coughed hard and long - the hot lava that had formed in my chest now searing my throat and mouth... involuntary tears welled in my eyes as I sputtered and wheezed....

"Wow, that's, (hack - hack) ...great", I finally managed... "Let's, (hack), do it again some time..."

"Like maybe in 25 years", I was thinking.

But we kept at it over the next several months, and before long we had it. We were smokers - real "Marlboro totin', lighter flickin', honest to goodness, as cool as the older kids", smokers. Which meant, of course, that we were one other thing...

Damn fools.

I smoked like the proverbial stack for the next 22 years, hitting my peak during college where a pack and a half a day wasn't out of the question. Hooked? I wasn't hooked. I was strapped down and bolted in, and I enjoyed the heck out of it. When the question of quitting came up, I often remarked that I thought it would be easy, "If I just didn't ENJOY it so much."

But I was enjoying myself to an early and excruciating death, and I knew it. Sooner or later, I was going to have to "kick the habit", but I had no idea how it was going to happen. I had tried the "cold turkey" approach on several occasions - once making an impassioned plea to the powers that be, as I hurled my pack of cigarettes into a stormy sea. But the melodramatics didn't seem to help. It was beginning to look like I was going to be a "lifelong smoker." (An oxymoron of a term if there ever was one.) But lucky for me an event occurred in July of 1993 that changed my outlook somewhat. We had our first child.

It was simple really - you don't smoke in a room with a baby, and in the coming years I was planning on spending as much time as possible with ours. I made my first rule.

1. No smoking in the house.

It took about 6 months to get used to it, but before long the inconvenience of getting up and venturing into the great outdoors had cut my consumption in half. More importantly, I began to look at smoking in a different way. I liked soft drinks, but I didn't drink 30 of those a day. Even if I wasn't ready to quit completely, I could cut way back. I made rule number 2 a short time later.

2. No smoking in the office.

This was going to be harder than the house. Most of us at the office were heavy smokers, and the ease of reaching into one's pocket as the next big project or phone call began, had become so routine as to be involuntary. The first 2 weeks were Hell - the next 2, Purgatory, and then finally I was free of the habit there as well. I was still smoking 5-7 cigarettes a day, but the heavy lifting seemed to be complete. I was no longer smoking habitually. I made some new rules.

3. No smoking in front of my children.

4. No smoking in the car.

5. No smoking in any building whether it was allowed or not.

By the Spring of 1996 I was down to 3 a day, and I was sure I could give these up if I really tried. But these were the ones I loved the most : after both lunch and dinner - upon completing a big project - with an occasional glass of wine on the porch in the evening. They were also the ones that took care of all those "special smoking times" - on top of a snow covered mountain in December - surfcasting on a deserted beach in June - on a leisurely walk with our dog late at night. I began to make some pretty determined efforts at letting these go as well, but it just wasn't happening. It became clear - if I was going to quit completely, I would need some help.

I have never been particularly good at lifting specific things up in prayer to the creator of the universe. Our conversations are usually of a more general nature. But I felt a nudge to ask specifically, so I did - making more of a confession than anything, "that I had done what I could, but could no longer see my way through to the end." And then asking simply, "if it be thy will..."

Several months passed and I persevered - not so much "religiously" as simply routinely, as a way of expressing my desire to be a better father - a better husband - a better "creation" than I presently was. I was still smoking my three a day, which was certainly better than 30, but a quick and ugly bit of math reminded me that I was still smoking roughly 1100 cigarettes a year.

"My God", came my unintentional prayer of the moment, "had I once smoked 11,000?"

I did not like what I knew to be the answer.

But that number wasn't as surprising as what happened on October 12th 1996. It was a beautiful and clear Saturday morning, and as soon as I awoke I heard the words or had the thought or however you're comfortable with the notion of how the Spirit might speak... "Today's the day."

I lay still thinking to myself that my brain was trying to remind me of something... "Today's the day... Today's the day... Today's the day for what?" I pondered. I could think of nothing. My mind began to wander elsewhere and then the words returned.

"Today's the day."

Again I questioned, "For what?" I really had no idea. Was I forgetting something? I wrestled for several more moments , but still came up empty. Finally I got up, took a shower and went about my day, the words getting quickly lost in the shuffle of a busy Saturday morning.

But that afternoon, as I was dumping some grass clippings in our back yard, I came across a piece of foil from an old cigarette pack. As I was putting it in my pocket it occurred to me that I hadn't thought about smoking one since waking up - not with coffee, not after lunch, not now. The words rang loud and clear one more time...

"Today's the day."

A split second later they were followed by 5 more that didn't seem to be something I thought, so much as heard.

"Don't ever refuse the gift."

For a moment time seemed to stop as a light breeze gently rustled the leaves in the Black Walnut above me. Somewhere a Cardinal sang his familiar 3 note song. I reached out and brought the words in, holding them close to my chest as I washed in their whisper... "Don't ever refuse the gift..., Don't ever refuse..., Don't ever..."

Perhaps the words themselves were the gift, or perhaps it included something more that I can't lay my hands or my "logic" on, but all I know is that whatever the gift was, I have somehow managed to receive it.

It has been 5 years.

I have not thought about or had an urge for a cigarette since.

Cold Turkey, Cold Smurkey.

*******

Thank you, Oh Ever Redeeming, Oh Ever Creating, Holy One - for the years you give and for taking away the foolishness of those long since passed....

Amen.