Prodigal Daughter: A Family’s Brave Journey through Addiction and Recovery

Praise for Prodigal Daughter

This book doesn’t shy away from the truth of addiction, but it also doesn’t shy away from the message of grace and freedom that God has for every one of his children. Danielle and Rob’s account of their family’s journey through recovery from addiction is full of encouragement and hope. Prodigal Daughter is a perfect reflection of the Father-heart of God—unconditionally loving, free of judgment, and always gracious.

Christine Caine, bestselling author and founder of A21 and Propel Women

Almost all families hit challenging times, but many don’t know how to recover. Pastor Rob Koke and his daughter, Danielle, have written a powerfully transparent book describing the journey toward healing. If you’re looking for hope and freedom for you or someone you love, read this book.

Craig Groeschel, pastor of Life. Church and author of Soul Detox: Clean Living in a Contaminated World

I have watched Rob Koke shoulder the heaviness of life with unbendable faith in Jesus. I have known him to be transparent in both life and leadership—a rare and endearing quality that I know blesses any person given the opportunity to have a conversation with or sit under Rob’s teaching. The journey that Rob and his daughter, Danielle, so honestly share will undoubtedly impart hope into every reader.

Brian Houston, global senior pastor, Hillsong Church

When you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom, when everyone should have given up on you long ago, God always has a different plan. Prodigal Daughter is a beautiful story of redemption and the love of a Father who has a future so great that he won’t allow you to miss out on it. I’ve known Pastor Rob Koke for many years now, and I’ve always admired the faithfulness and love he displays for all around him. His story of his family is a beautiful picture of God’s love for us. Anyone who picks up this book will be blessed by Prodigal Daughter and the message of grace and redemption that Rob lays out.

Chris Durso, author of The Heist: How Grace Robs Us Of Our Shame

ZONDERVAN

Prodigal Daughter

Copyright © 2019 by Rob Koke and Danielle Koke Germain

Requests for information should be addressed to:

Zondervan, 3900 Sparks Dr. SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

ISBN 978-0-310-35603-5 (softcover)

ISBN 978-0-310-35605-9 (audio)

ISBN 978-0-310-35604-2 (ebook)

Epub Edition August 2019 9780310356042

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.Zondervan.com. The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®

Scripture quotations marked AMP are taken from the Amplified® Bible. Copyright © 1954, 1958, 1962, 1964, 1965, 1987, 2015 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org).

Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation. © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Any internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Published in association with the literary agency of The Fedd Agency, Post Office Box 341973, Austin, TX 78734.

Cover illustrations: Shutterstock

Interior design: Kait Lamphere

Printed in the United States of America

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 /LSC/ 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my amazing husband, Fredelin Germain,

who has supported me through thick and thin.

To my parents, Rob and Laura Koke,

with deepest gratitude for never giving up on me

and always fighting for my freedom.

To my brother Caleb in heaven,

for being the best guardian angel a girl could ever have.

To my brother Luke,

for never judging me

and always cheering me on.

To Pastor Cheryl,

for calling out the gold in me.

Last but not least, to all the people,

both friends and extended family,

who have made my recovery journey possible.

Danielle

To my wife, Laura—

we have walked together through the best

and the worst of what life has to offer.

Your deep faith, resilient spirit,

insightful intuition, and unwavering support

were among the most significant contributions

to Danielle’s recovery.

Your strength gave us strength to write.

Without you, this story doesn’t get told . . .

Rob

Contents

1. Reckless Deception

2. Hitting Rock Bottom

3. Going All In

4. Rehab

5. Dealing with Tragedy

6. Family Week

7. Sober Living

8. Who Am I?

9. The Danger Zone

10. Who Is Your Crew?

11. I’m Sorry

12. Pay It Forward

13. Living Free

14. The Serenity Prayer

Afterword: In the Crucible

Acknowledgments

chapter one

Reckless Deception

Danielle

I stumbled around the living room floor, unable to string words together that made a complete sentence. I said out loud to no one in particular, Crap! I really have to get home, or my parents are gonna flip out. At least this is what I thought I was saying. What actually came out of my mouth was a slurred mess.

The scene around me started to blur. The shadows of my friends merged together in a vibrant haze. I remember playing some card games. Then some drinking games. Lots of games and lots of drinking.

Their voices confused me. First they sounded far away, like listening to someone on the phone with bad reception. But then I blinked hard, and I could hear them loud and clear. My friend was shaking his head at me. You’re not driving, he said. Someone else appeared alongside him, nodding. Her words were more forceful. Seriously, Danielle, you’re not going anywhere.

I was annoyed. First of all, did they know how loud they were, and right in my ear? Second, had they met my parents? I don’t think so. All I could think about was how much trouble I would be in if I didn’t get home. How come no one understands this? I tried to straighten up, appear less sloppy . . . major fail. This was hard to do when a slew of vodka shots and salty margaritas was sloshing around in my body.

I wanted to open my mouth and try to defend myself and maybe prove that I was fit to drive. But that won’t work. I didn’t know what I’d end up saying. Truth is, I didn’t want to throw a tantrum and ruin everyone’s good time. I just wanted to leave. I have to get home.

So I nodded and tried my hardest to keep my mouth shut. Play it cool, D. I call myself that sometimes. Don’t cause a scene.

The room blurred. I’m not quite sure what happened next. It’s like time froze. For me, at least. I was alone. No one knew where I was. Shoot, I barely even knew.

Then time resumed, although it was still a blur. I heard a loud noise. It was the sound of the door shutting. I jumped a little but then refocused. From the corner of my eye I thought I saw my friends outside on the back porch of the house. Though drunk, I recognized an opportunity. The house was quiet except for the keys jingling in my pocket. My balance was shaky, but I slipped out.

Unnoticed.

Invisible.

Numb.

Everything went black.

I woke up on the floor of my bedroom with my clothes on backwards . . . not a great look. The world moved in slow motion. My head pounded, and my hands trembled. My first thought: Where’s my cell phone? I slapped my hand around the floor looking for my phone. No luck.

My heart raced as I tried to remember how I got home. But with my scrambled brain I had nothing but bits and pieces.

The party. So much alcohol. Wanting to leave. The keys. Leaving.

The memories of the night before were few and faint. But I guess the fact that I was home was good news. Maybe I got lucky. But then the thought hit me: Holy fudge nuggets! What about my car?

I gasped. I must have driven home! Where did I park? Maybe that’s where my phone is.

In extremely slow movements, I gathered myself off of the floor and tiptoed to the garage. The house was painfully silent, and at that moment I was not the most graceful human on the planet. The wood floors began to creak under the weight of my clumsy steps. I winced, hoping the noises would go unnoticed by my sleeping parents.

I spotted my car parked in the driveway. Phew! That was a close one. I didn’t really remember driving, so this was a major relief. The open air began to clear my head. Though still buzzing a tad from the alcohol, I couldn’t believe I had made it home. Stars glistened above as I took a few calming breaths. Still trying to flounder my way out of the mental haze, I looked at my car again. This time the other side.

My stomach dropped. I gulped hard.

The driver’s side was a mangled wreck of twisted metal. I stared at the tire. The rubber was unrecognizable, shredded to pieces. It must have blown out. Fragments of tread stuck out all over the place like bedhead. I’d been driving for miles on nothing but metal.

Rapid-fire questions shot through my mind. Dang it! I was so close. What on earth happened? What did I hit? What am I going to tell Mom and Dad?

I had no answers. But I was sure of one thing. As I stared at the wreckage, I knew I had no choice but to lie my way out. My mind racing, I thought of every possible lie I could tell.

I went back inside the house and sat on my bed, my heart beating out of my chest, so freaked out I could barely feel my pounding head. With the alcohol fog still waning, I tried to clear my brain. I needed to finalize a lie—I mean, I needed to make a plan. Once I settled on a story, I started rehearsing the answers to the questions I knew they would ask. Though this was the first time I had to tap dance my way out of wrecking my car after driving drunk, I wasn’t new to lying to my parents. At this point, I was essentially a master manipulator.

It was scary how easily the manipulative thoughts entered my mind. It was like instinct at this point. Owning up to my actions wasn’t even an option. The lies and manipulation were second nature to me. On my most devious days, I could even convince myself that my lies were true.

Hours passed. I didn’t sleep a wink.

When morning broke, I went downstairs. Crappity crap crap crap, this is going to suck! I was nervous, but I hid it well. It was time to put on a show. I didn’t want to be too dramatic, but I also didn’t want to come across as flippant. It had to be the perfect blend of both; there’s a sweet spot, after all. Master manipulator, remember?

Oh my gosh, guys, you won’t believe what happened!

My dad looked up at me, turkey bacon in hand. My mom stopped whatever she was doing and raised her eyebrows. What’s going on, Danielle?

Thump-thump-thump raced my heart, threatening to explode.

I was texting and driving and hit a guardrail. The one by the front of the subdivision. I messed up the driver’s side of the car. I tried to look sheepish. I’m so sorry. At least part of that was true. I really was sorry.

Mom shook her head. Dad sighed. He piped up first. Danielle, you cannot be texting and driving, but I’m glad you’re okay.

I know. I know, I said. You’re right. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. They hugged me, and it was over. I wasn’t in trouble. I got what I wanted. But what you want isn’t always what you need.

Rob

When Danielle told me she hit the railing of the subdivision entrance where we live, I believed her. Why wouldn’t I? Everyone hits that thing. It seems almost every week, a maintenance crew is repairing it. And the damage from the shredded tire? I chalked that up to teenage ignorance. Danielle probably wasn’t aware that if your tire gets blown out, you shouldn’t drive on it.

Nothing about her story sounded far-fetched. I made arrangements to have the car fixed. But later that day, compelled by a quiet gnawing in my heart, I pulled her aside. You promise there was no alcohol or drugs involved?

Her answer came fast. And she sounded very self-assured. Yes, Dad, I promise.

Okay. Good enough. I went about my day.

But there’s a reason I asked.

Six weeks prior to Danielle’s accident, my wife, Laura, and I sat at the kitchen table sorting through the day’s mail. Danielle was a freshman in college, and Laura was taking care of a few things for her. At some point I glanced over at Laura and noticed a surprised look on her face. Babe, take a look at this, she said, handing me a bank statement.

The statement belonged to Danielle. Each month, I would deposit money in her account to be used for school-related expenses. Scanning the statement, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: $21.99 to this Liquor Mart, $19.75 to that Wine & Spirits. On and on were charges to different alcohol and liquor establishments. There were at least fifteen in that month alone.

My wife and I were shocked. Danielle wasn’t even twenty-one. How was this happening? More important, why was this happening? Concerned, we immediately called her at college.

Is there anything you want to tell us? we asked.

Silence fell. Uh, no, she finally answered.

Well, your mother and I never look at your bank statements, but today we decided to look. We saw some things on there—a lot of charges from liquor stores. What’s going on, Danielle?

More quiet. Uh, she began. Yeah, well, I guess those charges, uh, are mine. Her voice sounded shaky. A lot of stuttering. She hemmed and hawed about her drinking and then said, Okay, well, there’s probably a bit of a problem. Maybe it’s best if I come home. Uh, I think if I leave school now, we can get our money back.

Laura and I were stunned. We never imagined that Danielle would be drinking this young, let alone drink so excessively she would need to come home from college. Even though she was great at lying, to her credit, my daughter had always been forthcoming when confronted with the truth. That day was no exception. She opened up a little about her drinking the more we talked on the phone. Danielle understood she had a problem. We understood she had a problem.

I can’t say I was outraged though. Four years ago, when Danielle was fourteen, our family had lost Caleb, our seventeen-year-old son, to a tragic car accident. Our grief was unspeakable. I imagined Danielle coped with the loss by drinking. I got that.

When Laura and I hung up the phone, we just stared at each other. As tears welled up in her eyes, I stepped in close, and we hugged. And then we did what we had done a thousand times—we grabbed hands and prayed. What sobered us was that Danielle herself, not