A few years after accepting Christ into his life, Dana Burnham chose drink and drugs over God. He was in high school. The next ten years were a blur between the alcohol, marijuana, mushrooms, acid, and cocaine. Even so, he held his job at BIW, sandblasting and painting ships at BIW because he was a hard worker. One morning in July 1986, sick and hungover after a blow-out celebration of his 29th birthday, he and a friend went out to cut an old poplar. As the tree came down, his friend shouted, “Look out!” But Dana, still inebriated, only heard “Look,” and a branch lodged in his head. Blood gushed out. An ambulance raced with him to Portland. A doctor operated to drain a blood clot in his brain the size of a grapefruit. A pastor from Waldoboro prayed by the stretcher and throughout the operation beside his parents. And back in Waldoboro, a parish prayed, too. The surgeon put 35 metal staples in his skull. After Dana’s recovery in the hospital and then rehab, he moved back with his parents in Nobleboro, joined an AA program and went back to church. He worked on getting stronger and staying sober. Eventually he returned to work at BIW but soon realized that he needed to be in a different environment, without the pressure after work to drink with the guys. Dana returned to the dairy farm where he’d worked as a teenager to hay and care for the animals. Around the same time, he met his wife Micki, and they settled in Waldoboro. For the past 20 years, in between the work he does for First Baptist, Dana scraps metal -- collecting and selling various metals to the scrapyards for money. But being Dana, he makes sure to give some to the church in celebration of Jesus Christ who he credits for saving his life.
I remember lying down and crying in the road in the middle of the street in Damariscotta Mills about 2 or 3 in the morning. And God kept saying, “Dana, why don’t you come back?” And I’d sob, “I don’t want to come back. I don’t want you. Stay away.” It was like the book of Genesis when Jacob wrestled with God. That was me.
My dad was a chronic drinker. World War II really messed him up. And when you have alcoholism in your family, you have a lot of insecurities. There were many times I wanted to end my life.
But I didn’t. I just got progressively worse. By 1985, up to when I had the accident, I was taking a lot mushrooms, popping acid, drinking heavily, and snorting lines of cocaine. Thank God they didn’t have the Oxy or fentanyl then, or I’d be dead.
When Pastor Davenport of First Baptist was praying to God and Jesus Christ for me by my bedside, a part of me must have heard it. My mother said when I was coming out of anesthesia, I was saying, “There’s got to be a Jesus Christ.” I said it three times. I have an indent now on the side of my head from when they opened my skull up. I think that’s a mark God put on me.
During my stay in the hospital, I promised Dr. D’Angelo that I’d find help. I got in a program at Mercy Hospital for a week’s detox. And then I went into rehab for a month. I made good friends there, and sixteen of us graduated. But you know what’s really sad? Nobody but me has stayed sober. Some have even died.
When I moved back in with my parents, I started going to meetings. I’d been in AA before, and it’s a wonderful program. And I stayed clean then for about three months. And then someone at a party offered me a joint, and I was right back on the roller coaster.
The thing was, I had to make new friends. And that was difficult for my old friends. They took it hard. But I reconnected with childhood friends. I also started making new friends at church because I was attending services there and going to Bible study. Of course, I didn’t know anybody there. But they knew me. Or of me. Thirty people sent me letters saying they were praying for me, hoping I would get back on my feet. A few were my parents’ friends, but the other 25? I didn’t know them at all. And they’d invite me to dinner, and I felt that I didn’t deserve any of that. But that’s how the love of Christ is.
So, as far as getting back into recovery, I chose not to go to AA. My recovery was through Jesus Christ. The person that God used to save my soul was Mark Davenport. Because if you don’t seek godly help with this type of stuff, nine out of ten chances you’re going to fall right into the hole. There were times I wanted to drink, and I’ll tell you: I had to get out.
I’ll tell you about another time. Micki and I were staying in a little apartment in Waldoboro, and the landlord had spread cow manure all over the lawn. It was warm outside and it stunk, but the next morning there were mushrooms all over the lawn. I went out and got on my knees. They were everywhere, little psilocybin all over, maybe not as hallucinogenic as the ones out West, but they’d still get you high. I couldn’t believe it. Well, Micki — she saw me and said, “What’s the matter, Dana?”
I told her, and we got up and together praised the Lord and asked Him to remove them.
The next day, they were gone. I bet there were 10,000 mushrooms.
Micki’s always had my back. And I’ve had hers. But if it wasn’t for Jesus Christ, I’d be a mess. Or I’d be dead.
Leave a Reply