לֵץ הַיַּיִן, הֹמֶה שֵׁכָר;    וְכָל-שֹׁגֶה בּוֹ, לֹא יֶחְכָּ

“Wine is a Mocker”

Proverb of King Solomon

A solid article today by Christina Caron in the New York Times caught my eye. High intensity drinking is rising among my peers—30 & 40 somethings. The numbers must be even higher for Active Duty and Vets due to our culture. “Drink to the foam” —we sing pulling away from the Pier. “The Corps was born in a Tavern,” my Marine buddies tout. Ms. Caron says that well north of 10 percent (1 in 8) are throwing back ten drinks a night, regularly, to forget, cope, & loosen up. Studies conclude that it’s leading to total blackouts & memory gaps, ER visits, physical fights, brain damage, memory loss, & that the bingeing wires our brain to alcoholism. 

I know it’s a tough problem. Of course we want to gather & unwind. We know that a beer with the Mess, Wardroom or unit buddies lubricates our rusty mission-driven exteriors. And it’s a reality how tasty IPAs, cask-aged bourbons, whiskey on the rocks at a friend’s fire pit, or a Sonoma red, can be.

But, as a military chaplain, I feel as serious as can be about the effects I’ve witnessed: self-inflicted death by hanging, sex assaults endured, careers lost, even imprisonment for murder. It’s harder to quantify the lesser known losses: divorce, estranged kids, unhappy marriages, & a stuck cycle at work, home & in friendships.

It seems there’s a myth to this idea of “Drink Responsibly.” As if it’s easier to conquer alcohol through self control as we age; that as we mature, so does our will power to handle liquor.

I’m not writing this urging tea-totaling, but really to enter the conversation about the risks of alcohol to all of us warriors.

But the truth is, that as harsh as tea-totaling sounds, it would save thousands of lives of my battle-buddies who think they can handle their booze.

Culturally reflexive drinking is undercutting many of my brothers & sisters, who understandably want their hearts to chill, for the noise in their brain to go away, who want to relax, & just celebrate. They’ll tell me they’re “freaking” tired of the unwelcome images in bedtime darkness of GWOT losses in war & at sea. My Corpsmen buddies have sorted body parts, my chaplain friends sanitized bloody spaces with sponges & a prayer.

In Okinawa, I can see the sobbing junior Marines shell-shocked after their smiley Lance Corporal best bud ended his life in the barracks after a call with his girlfriend Stateside. Just 21. Alcohol at work. What a heartbreaking November morgue visit.

Okinawa’s Camp Kinser Morgue. Entryway.

My SEAL buddy Drew reminded me recently that even our Nation’s elite operators aren’t immune from cultivating a toxic relationship with alcohol in their Platoon high bay or while turning a wrench on the Harley —when what’s happening is the unraveling of their lives & hopes.

My mom died this May, precious Judy Raye. She would quote to us Carlson kids from Ancient Scripture that, “Wine is a mocker & beer a brawler, those who go down their path are not wise.”

Her Dad, Elmer Thomas Nelson, was called “the Poik” -the Boy- in Swedish. He had 6 kids and adopted his wife’s nephew. But into his forties, there in East Saint Paul, MN, he was an alcoholic.

A ton of pain rained down on Grandma Mabel, when he’d rage, gamble & be absentee out with the fellas. Then a miracle came, he met Jesus Christ, cold turkey quit drinking, & turned his life around. 

He loved President Ike, Fran Tarkenton of the Vikes, Harmon Killebrew & the Twins.

He died in his 70s, an esteemed man. A green thumb. Angler. Father-figure to my dad. Occasional door-to-door Gospel evangelist. He was an usher. And in an age of suits & ties, each Sunday he’d mix it up and wear a Hawaiian shirt greeting newcomers at First Evangelical Free Church. Quite a comedian; he was generous too. He provided a home to his aged Norwegian mother-in-law Marta.

Ahh Elmer. He turned it around. Despite the temptation of “high-intensity drinking” in his 40s.

I pray we will too. 

My mom’s life was forever changed. Her dad was 39 when she was born. All she knew was a steady, stable Dad. Grandpa Elmer cherished & protected her. His eyes were on Home. 

He steadily worked at The Emporium for decades as a blue collar foreman of that Twin Cities department store’s warehouse.

What if he’d been just looking every day for another drink. To forget. To rinse & repeat his way through life.

I’m middle-aged now. But Elmer’s will power, his redemption & walk with God changed my life before being born.

I’ve got 18 years in the Navy. And I write today with a prayer that someone will read this & reject the allurement that alcohol offers. It’s all temporary: brief peace of mind, falling asleep quicker (but with worse sleep), perhaps a fast track to intimate dating exchanges, even the goodness of a buzzed man-den & story telling with fellow battle brothers. But the habit becomes a well-worn ritual. And now our spouse is making excuses for our 3-a-Day habit on week nights…

“Wine is a mocker. Beer a brawler.”

So may we make a change this Holiday. Pick up the phone this Thanksgiving and call that friend in need. At Christmas, we swing by their place with carols, frosted sugar cookies & a check in.

Let’s shock our spouses & pour the stash down the drain. 

Commit to AA.

I led a group aboard USS Bunker Hill at the urging of a Senior Chief. Though not an alcoholic myself, the camaraderie & transparency changed my outlook permanently. 

Join a twelve-week Reboot Recovery course. The organization founded by Jenny & Evan Owens is amazing. 20,000 graduates & counting.

Call your Chaplain. Head to a church & worship. Tell your wife you’re hurting.  Tell someone you trust that you’re “pissed” & how Dependence has crept in.

Pray for me. I’ll pray for you. 

This 2024. Thanksgiving just 48 hours away. We can turn the Ship of our future…And bodyslam the Bottle.

Call it what it is. An entrapment that’s taking over, stealing fleeting days with our Lovers; eviscerating the potency of our giftings & Destiny, even mortgaging the precious time left in the receding childhoods of our beloved kids.

But always, Christ. He’s standing at my door, knocking, offering a drink from which I’ll never thirst again.

He longs to come in & sup. He’s making maps for our forever adventures with Him. Lover of my Soul. Our Eternal friend. Let’s open the door to Him & slam it on alcohol’s misuse.

About the Author:

Kit Carlson has served alongside Marines, Sailors, Soldiers & Special Forces, and has completed three deployments. In 2020, the Navy assigned him to Duke University’s Divinity School to earn a specialized Master’s Degree, ThM, in Pastoral Care, where he focused his studies on challenges to Active Duty personnel, Veterans and their families. His specific areas of interest include care for persons with Complex Trauma, strategies for healing from PTSD, Moral Injury, & mild TBI. A key personal mission of his is to leverage the strengths of faith-based Veteran Service Organizations as strategic partners to chaplains, the VA, and the DoD in their ongoing resiliency & suicide prevention initiatives. He is married to his Chilean sweetheart, Damaris. They have two young children, who are the delight of their hearts.