I’d listened to that track I couldn’t remember how many times. Coldcut and Benjamin Zephaniah—spoken word and beats. Loved it. But this time, it was different.

It wasn’t a special day. In fact, it was more of the same―walking home after getting my script. I’d been back on the methadone for a couple of weeks. Working towards rehab. I’d had enough and set my heart on change.

I begged and pleaded with drug services to send me off. Got my wish. The brochure for the rehab fell on my lap. My chemist had it for some reason.

I read the brochure on my way home, and I just knew it was where I was supposed to go. What got my attention was a chainsaw course, tree climbing and a trip to Guyana in South America upon completion of the programme. A year before, I’d tried to get on a similar course while on a DTTO, but the college didn’t want to take the risk. I couldn’t blame them!

The rehab was run by a Christian family—nutters, if you were to ask me. I joked with probation about becoming one of those Bible bashers. Not a chance!

But God had other plans. He started preparing my heart months before I got to the farm. The seed started with these lyrics: ‘You’re listening to the wrong radio station.’ My head got hold of it and started to unpack it. Day after day, the same thing went through my thoughts.

I’d been listening to everyone else. Performing for everyone else. Living a life that wasn’t me. Drowning out the noise by any means necessary. And yet God was waiting for me to listen, to give Him my attention.

It came to me in my house, when I was on my own, after a few beers and a bag. I was set on rehab, as I said, but it was weeks away. What else was I going to do?

‘You’re listening to the wrong radio station.’ God wanted to speak to me, to get my attention. The Creator wanted me to listen to Him. That was the seed planted in my mind. But I forgot that moment within a few days and struggled my way into detox and rehab. I was convinced that I was going to be sent home on the first day due to a failed test. Thankfully, though, they let me stay, and I spent the next few weeks trying to detox as quickly as possible.

Log fires, hot baths, Horlicks, paracetamol, ibuprofen and manual work. The first two weeks were rough, but then, slowly, I started to feel better. My days were busy—early mornings and loads of graft. But I ate as much food as I could eat. The nights were slow, though. Restless, on edge—I was raw.

I started getting to know all the staff. They were great. I was suspicious at first. Why were they so nice? I began to realise that it was because of Jesus. It didn’t make sense, but I wanted what they had, so I did what they did. Church twice on Sundays and Bible study on Thursdays.

A few weeks in, I recalled those lyrics: ‘You’re listening to the wrong radio station.’ But now I felt like I was tuning in. I felt different inside. For the first time since I was nine—no substances for three months. Something was happening.

I just kept going, listening, letting God speak to me through His Word, through His people. I’ve been listening for twenty years now. Trying to stay tuned in amid the noise. It’s amazing what can happen if you stop to listen.

Liam

After 16 years in the madness, Liam now lives in Bournemouth, with his wife and four children, and leads Hope Community Church. He is a regular speakers at Fixed.