Through the Red Door Blog

Last night, I had one of those drunk dreams. You know the kind I’m talking about. You thought you were at a party and suddenly you realized you had a “bit too much,” as we used to say. Maybe a recollection was thrown in of an old extra-curricular activity, a car wreck, or a run-in with your spouse or employer, or the sheriff. I couldn’t work my way out of this parade of sleepy nightmare horribles. It felt like a real drunk, but suddenly, it ended. An overwhelming feeling of relief came over me. I awoke. It was all a dream! I was still “clean and sober!” But it was disturbing, and the recollections of those past horrific days prompted by my nightmare stuck with me the whole morning.

I don’t keep track of these “drunk dreams,” but I seem to pick up one of these nightmares every couple years or so. They aren’t tied to any event or number of meetings I’d made that month, or some incident that reminded me of one of my more notorious drunks. However it came about, it was just an overwhelming embarrassment of “the old days” -- before those moments of surrender and the early days of the Program, and the emergence of a strong belief that this time I was going to work it -- a resolute belief in that old saying, “It works if you work it.”

I guess we reluctantly should remember those “thrilling” days of yester-year replayed in these dreary drunk dreams.

The Big Book promises in our recovery our lives will be “happy, joyous and free” and reminds us of that healing Grace of our Higher Power. 

It is important for us to remember above all else, that by adhering to the Program, the future is indeed bright, that our past is the past and need not be repeated if we but go to meetings, read the Big Book, and reach out to those still suffering.  

So, it’s just a dream; sleep well tonight and wake up free and go to a meeting.

Jim A/St. X Noon, Cincinnati

In the Big Book in the section, “How it Works”, Bill W writes: “And, with us, to drink is to die.” I missed that point in my first few readings of this section. I missed that for the first few years of my life on a dry drunk. Not drinking did not mean serenity and peace. Not drinking was like drinking in a sense. I was, as I looked back later, a walking corpse when I entered treatment and for a few years afterwards.

I clearly remember one night, and I was angry, the car stopped outside a bar. The music from the bar, the music in my car, and my attitude seemed to gel. I opened the door, one foot on the pavement and sat there. I have no idea how long I saw or why, but I did, and I am grateful to my higher power I did not drink. However, I maintained the attitude of one who was drinking.

“To drink is to die.” I finally understood that at the point I crossed over into alcoholic drinking – which for me, my first drink – part of my brain latched onto that substance which give me a good feeling. I drank from a variety of bottles that night, but I kept returning to whiskey. Whiskey did for me what I could not do for myself – made me feel good, worthwhile, part of the group. Such is insanity. Such thinking was the beginning of the tolling of the death bell. “I need this. I like what it does for me. In fact, I like what it does to me.” I did not say that, however, I might as well have said it. I was off the mountain and skiing with no idea where I was heading or what I was to face.

Mistakes, like bumps on the ride down the mountain, some larger than others. I laughed, picked myself up and kept going. Guilt and Shame caught up with me and drink killed them quickly. Death to emotions. Who needs them? Bury them quickly and they won’t bother you. Again, I didn’t say that, but I might as well have. Another death in the spiritual system.

“I have a better memory when I’m drinking” I proclaimed. And yet, when I began to make amends, I discovered I had no memory of much of what I was told and some of it was quite frightening. Then I began to recall times when I “Came to” and thought I was just tired. I needed more rest. My brain was dying, and my values seemed to have died a long time ago.

I believed if I drank with others, I could not become an alcoholic. I told the staff in the treatment center that I never drank alone. Weeks went by and, in one or another conversation, I had glimpses of pouring myself a drink – at least one – right? Yes. I said I would never drink on my own and I did so many times – alone in an airplane, alone in a crowd.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, socially, I was dying. I was spiritually dead. “And with us, to drink is to die.”

For me, sobriety came slowly. I learned to work the steps and live the program. I learned to go to meetings and listen to what others have to say. Go to meetings and share if it is appropriate. Talk to my sponsor about what is going on inside of me. Read the Big Book and apply it to myself.

A therapist brought me back to redo some of the IQ testing and I discovered just how bad I had done on it eight weeks earlier. Mentally I began to think about one day at a time; think about others; think about what is really important in my life. Emotionally I learned to say “I was wrong. I am sorry. Can you forgive me?” I learned to say “When you said that, I felt angry. When you did that, I felt embarrassed.” No one makes me feel anything but myself. Physically, I began to go to the doctor; the dentist; to other therapists, exercise, watched what I ate and finally stopped smoking. Socially, I learned to be comfortable in a variety of settings and not drink and not let the drinking of others bother me.

“And with us, to drink is to die.” At the end of How It Works, Bill could have added “And to work and live the program is to come alive mentally, emotionally, physically, socially and spiritually.”

Séamus D.

New Orleans

Do your thoughts trouble you? Does passion disturb you? Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you. Dhammapada 24.       

Two and a half thousand years ago the above was written by Siddhartha Gautama, better known as The Buddha (The awakened one). During my active drinking I not only read the Dhammapada, but I quoted it in talks and sermons. It was quite good advice to give to others and tell them how to be more moderate in their life. The problem was, I was an active alcoholic. There was no troubling thought that Jack Daniels could not erase. There was no passion which John Jameson would object to my following either in fantasy or reality. I was thirsty. My wishes became desires and I became blind to how I was hurting others. I became numb to the hurt I was causing myself.

 I have been active in the program now for several years and it never ceases to amaze me, when I listen to those still actively using or who are in and out of the program, how they justify their behavior. I want to tell them – live the program and you will be happy; work the steps and you will find a greater peace than you can imagine. Sadly, I heard all those words in my early years of the program and paid no attention to it. I did not want to be there. It took me four and a half years before I began to understand a glimmer of the depth of the program.

 “Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you.” In other words, “Admit you are powerless, and your life has become unmanageable.” Early in recovery I was thirsty for the limelight. I was thirsty for what I saw was the glamour of being on the Speaker Circuit. I was thirsty for the attention given to those who came and shared their story to a packed hall on a Saturday or Sunday night. I was thirsty for the attention I was not giving myself. And, at times, I was thirsty for a drink. Thanks to my Higher Power/God, there were those individuals who knew me better than myself who told me the truth about myself and helped keep me on the narrow path to sobriety and sanity. Today, I know I am powerless over people, places, and things. There are those I would love to control. There are those in whose presence my anger begins to rise. There are those around whom I feel jealous of their gifts and talents. But, today, I can put my hand in my pocket, hold my recent “chip,” say the Serenity Prayer, and laugh at myself. Working the steps, living the program really works.

“Do your thoughts trouble you?” Not today. Today I am free to change my thought process thereby changing my behavior. And, if I slip, I can and do make Amends. “Does passion disturb you?” My passion today is for Peace and Justice and doing what I can to make it a reality in the world around me. My passion is to be the best I can with my God-given gifts and talents.

“Beware of thirstiness lest your wishes become your desires, and desire binds you.” Today, my thirstiness is tempered by working and living steps ten and eleven: “Continued to take a personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood him praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry it out.” My desire today is to live joyous, happy and free and in working and living these steps I have achieved this desire the majority of my days thanks to the program and the good example of the men and women who live it one day at a time.

Séamus D.

New Orleans

I’d like to add a couple thoughts about the familiar problems of the addict who cries, usually just as he or she leaves rehab, “This time I’m really gonna’ try.”

It seems sometimes relapses are encouraged by merely “trying” to work the program. Oh, I suspect there will be the normal period of involvement with the Program. But not too long after release from rehab, the good news is followed by bad news — our lives seem to become out of control for our life returns to “same old, same old.”

Why does this seem to occur more often than we’d like? “Why did it happen to me? Is it really necessary?”

No, it’s not “necessary” to the Program; it just sometimes seems that way. When we really “do” the deal, it becomes our life changing decision. We need to sign-on each day.  It’s not the old shilly-shallying around when we merely “tried.”

Maybe, I have to post a sign I will see every day,

“This day, I mean it, and “Yes, Sir,” I know I have to re-up. Yes, I’m going to a meeting today, and maybe 2 or 3, as needed. I'll stick with my sponsor will not let me lie, alibi or “forget” to do it. I will study hard – not merely read - but study hard - the Big Book, the 12/12 and all the other literature. I will not let an issue or problem eat-me-up but will talk to my sponsor about it and maybe raise it as a discussion topic at a meeting. I will search for a spirit-filled life and I will carry this message to the still suffering addict.”

With “doing” the Program, in turning it over to our Higher Power, I find a joy and comfort — “we will know peace.” Happy serene days have come.

Jim     St X Noon

As one enters the treatment center, the chapel is on the immediate left.

Once inside the quiet and dimly lit space, the eye is immediately drawn to the front of the room, where the words “Came to Believe” emerge from the rock wall in raised metal letters.

Came to believe.

Those words, of course, are borrowed from Step 2 of the 12: “(We) came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

During my 26-day stay in 2018 at this particular treatment center, I would learn to draw great comfort from those words as I sat in the chapel for closing meditations on gratitude each day. Or, if I simply happened to be in the neighborhood of the chapel on other matters, I found myself drawn to the space or even to its glass entry doors, simply to look again at those words.

Came to believe.

As a priest with 12 years of parish experience, I thought I had this “belief” business down cold. And, in truth, I did. But not as it is envisioned by the church or the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

I came to believe that a drink could fix anything. That was especially true in the last three months before I entered treatment, when my drinking was at its worst.<</p>

I came to believe that if I woke up bleary of mind and shaky of hand, a drink or two was a perfectly acceptable way of righting the ship.

I came to believe that if my chronic anxiety disorder was especially severe, several swallows of bourbon and water was a quick, easy and harmless way to steady my nerves.

I came to believe that as a “sophisticated social drinker,” I couldn’t very well live my best life without observing cocktail hour, which began promptly at 5 p.m. 

Except, of course, when it started at 4. Or 2. Or 12:30.

I came to believe, all right, and believe strongly in a power greater than myself. It was a power so strong that it pushed aside other aspects of my life of any importance: the recitation of the Daily Office, meaningful sermon preparation, pleasure reading, even my social life.

With regard to the latter, at some point I began finding it necessary to drink a substantial amount before get-togethers with my friends, so I could get through the evening with only drink or two, or perhaps even a couple soft drinks, so as not to arouse any suspicion. Never mind how much I must have reeked of whiskey.

I came to believe I was fooling people.

But now, more than two years and probably a thousand AA meetings later, I have now come to believe other things, different things, better things. I am once again faithful to the Daily Office. I read much and often for the sheer pleasure of it. Around 5 p.m. these days I can usually be found with a big glass of iced tea.

And even though I’m no longer working in a parish, I have come to believe I’m a better priest and that I’ve learned more about my vocation through being an alcoholic than I did in seminary.

And I came to believe in myself again, a priceless gift of God’s mercy and grace.

Laird M.+
Lawrence, KS

Recently I came across a piece of paper on which was written, The Lakota Way of Strength and Courage." It begins like this: “I will always be thankful for any amount of good health I have. I will always be grateful to wake up to a new day. …I will not let the good or the bad of the past own me, but I will let it teach me...I will never forget those who have helped me along the way, and I will endeavor to forgive those who tried to hinder me…..”

I have read this more than once since I first got it and it fascinates me in terms of my own recovery. In the beginning I was neither thankful nor grateful. Also, as time passed and I slowly began to come out of the fog and into recovery, I learned from others about my old behavior and attitudes which brought to my attention just “where I came from.”  Initially, I had the attitude and belief that “I’m not that bad.” “I never did that .” “No matter how drunk or high I would never have…” "Oh yeah?”

I have not been nice about a few of my acquaintances who have forgotten just where they came from. To listen to them one would think they arrived in this world with a silver spoon in their mouth. Just because I remember where I came from physically is not the same as where did I come from in terms of my sobriety and my addiction.

I did not like my first A.A. meeting because they were sharing stories that hit home to me and I did not want to hear it. In fact, it took another ten to twelve years before I was able to hear about where I had come from.

As I grew into the program, I realized more and more that my initial attempts at the steps were a farce, were completely superficial as I attempted to just ‘look good” and get away with superficiality. My superficiality was like a banana peel on which I slipped and fell into the darkness of a dry drunk for a few years. Trying to forget or ignore where I came from was keeping me from growing, keeping me from taking a daily inventory, keeping me from the ‘maintenance of my spiritual condition.”

“You really want me to tell you what you did?” asked a friend to whom I had gone to make some amends. I was not prepared for his honesty nor his compassion. I listened. Then I had to remember there were others who told me things I denied but they never quite went away. As I became willing to entertain the possibility that I did XY& Z then my mind was open to hear what else I may have done, what other amends did I have to make?

In the sayings of the Buddha I read, “Do not make light of your failings, saying, “What are they to me?” A jug fills drop by drop, so the fool becomes brimful of folly.” How often in my early years had I participated in a drunkalogue, “Let me tell you…” and we laughed. Yes, I remembered the past only as a way of having a better story than the other person. Then, as I really remembered where I came from, those stories had to be put away; the stories that I could no longer verify their truthfulness I stopped telling. Instead, I began to remember where I came from with a deeper sense of humility, a sense of connection to others, an awareness of my humanity. Where I came from was that place many of us have been, dark and empty.

“It’s Okay. I’ve been there, done that. Hang in with us and you will be okay.” This is the importance of “I will never forget where I came from.” Remembering where I came from is the place where I can intersect with the newcomer who is still in the dark and I can be there to bring the message of hope that others brought to me. Now, I remember.

One of the reasons I am grateful for the opportunity to contribute to this blog is that doing so allows me to consider the whole of my life as a priest in recovery. There are times in meetings when my reflections are too “churchified” to be a suitable share. Likewise, sermons are not the appropriate arena for program talk. For me, then, these occasional musings occupy the intersection of these two worlds.

Over the past several weeks, we’ve been listening to Jesus describing the kingdom of heaven with agricultural images. Having just moved from the East Coast to the Midwest to take up a new call, the parable of the sower, and that of the wheat and the tares, have a new resonance.

I think back about my first couple of months in the rooms. There was wisdom being scattered everywhere: slogans on the walls, the literature, the old-timers. But I was so broken and fearful that I poo-pooed much of that wisdom. I knew that they just didn’t understand me, I thought the slogans were simplistic, and on and on and on. I was the hardened path and the rocky soil and the thorny thicket – all at the same time.

Still, my yet-to-be friends kept at it. “Keep coming,” they said. And then one day, without my noticing it, some of those seeds of wisdom found a little sliver of good soil. And something took root and began to grow.

My now-new-friends taught me how to care for that new shoot, and rejoiced with me at my growth, telling me that it was now my turn to help someone else. My new life was off to a good start, but it wasn’t as smooth a road as I would have liked. “Oh,” I thought, “that’s what they mean by people, places and things.” Well, there’s a parable for that, too.

We are told that the kingdom of heaven is like someone who has sowed good seed, yet an enemy comes and sows weeds among the wheat. This is not good news, right? I identify with the household servants, and squirm at the messiness. My fear-driven sense of control wants to fix it. I want the world to make sense to me. I want that to happen now.

But Jesus says, “no.” Actually, Jesus says “no” and “wait.” Hmm. Why insist on patience and restraint? Why are we told to accept his timing instead of ours?

And then I picture myself as a triumphant toddler, standing in a big pile of flowers, having “helped” in grandma’s garden. Then slogans like “easy does it” “live and let live” “clean up your own side of the street” and “let go and let God” echo in my mind, and the “why” becomes clearer.

I have to be reminded constantly that it's not my job to remove anyone from the power of God’s redemptive love by taking the work of judgment into my own hands. The good news is, if I can manage to leave the judgment bit up to God, I am freed to take up the responsibility for caring for my little corner of creation. It is God’s job to defeat evil and death. But I can do the work that God has given me to do. I can care for my neighbor, I can speak out against injustice, I can support those in need.

In other words, I can do exactly what I learned to do in my first months. I can surrender the fear that used to drive every aspect of my life. I can work to maintain my spiritual condition. I can offer to someone what was given to me without cost, a testimony that God wants to restore us to sanity.

Just think, it all started with a little seed. Come, ye thankful people, come!

Paul J.

One of the newer attendees brought up this topic. Lots of good comments, each from a different perspective and many good ways each achieved that status.

I’ve come to believe that a spirit-based manner of living is simply another way of describing the surrender experience. When we surrender, we turn our will and our lives over to the care of a Higher Power who in my case I call God. What are we to mean when we “turn it over”? We give up the feeling that we were in charge and when we were, we got into trouble. We couldn’t manage our lives 100% the way we wanted. We became anxious, fearful, and sought escape in our abuse of substances. What does it mean to “turn it over”? Perhaps a lot of things, but it certainly means that when we’re in a situation we can’t manage or change to our liking, we ask: ”What is God’s will for us in this situation?” We don’t give God a list of options. The issue is how do we react to what we have learned from the message of the Program. What’s the next right thing to do when we can identify that. We meditate and look for His will for us and the power to carry that out. We quietly ask God.

How do we reach the stage when we can come to know we found His will for us? Ah, the $64 dollar question: Takes time to see His will. We can’t clutter up the search with suggesting our own options. We have to shut-up and listen. It’s a “letting go” experience. We can bring it to our sponsor or to the group as a topic for discussion. We can sit and read the Big Book and think of what this passage is calling us to do. It’s finding and implementing that “next right thing.” It takes practice but it will come to you. Keep at it. It is after all the only option we addicts have available for we messed up when we thought we were in charge.

Jim A, Covington, Kentucky – St. X Noon

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the Love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Romans 8:38-39

On June 18 at 10:45 pm the love of my life, my partner, my mate, my best friend and confidant John A., a priest of the church and a recovering alcoholic, died of a chronic condition while I was asleep in the recliner next to his hospital bed. John always listened to my TtRD blogs as they were in process, offering occasional suggestions and unfailing encouragement. John supported me in whatever I chose to do – write blogs or sermonettes, play the piano, sing, work extra hours at my paying job, drive hours to visit grandchildren for an afternoon or try once again to establish an exercise routine. How can I manage without his support?

Because it’s crazy COVID-19 time, for the first half of his three-month hospice sojourn it was just him and me and the visiting hospice angels here inside the condo – I was afraid to let anyone else into the house for fear that the coronavirus would make John’s last days even worse and would take me down also.

We had planned a trip to Florence and Rome that we canceled in February after one of his hospitalizations, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to travel. So we took some of our travel money and poured it into our front garden. We worked with a designer and  bought many mature perennials that John could enjoy as soon as they were in the ground.

Finally, after many weeks of tears and prayers, confessions of concerns and conversations with allies, I was able to let go of my fears and so family started to visit inside. Sometimes I would get away to walk the dog with friends wearing masks. Once or twice I went into the guest room and just slept for a few hours. I wanted to let John and his kids be alone together without my hovering presence. The day came, though, when it became apparent that home hospice and I, along with some amazing 24-hour friends and family members, couldn’t provide enough care for John and so he had to move to the hospital. That was hard.

The afternoon before John died, he crashed and it was touch-and-go, but his medical team finally got him stabilized. I was away visiting the kids, but Jamie, the rector of our church, was there with him. She had brought communion and made an altar out of the bedside table, moving aside IV kits and nasal cannulas and basins. Jamie started the service but John stopped her and whispered, “Invite them all in…” and so in came the doctors, in came the nurses, in came the LNAs and they encircled John’s bed and they communed.

And so it was evening and it was morning, another day. John was awake and agitated part of the time, but then became comfortable enough to sleep. Our golden retriever was allowed to come in to say good-bye and John moved his fingers when Bridget licked his hand, trying to scritch her on the head the way he always did.

So John died when I was asleep on the recliner next to his hospital bed. I think I woke up just as he entered the gates of larger life...

And now I’m writing my Red Door blog and trying to figure out how I can do this without my greatest encourager and advocate proofing my manuscript and praising a phrase or asking for an example.

But my point is – nothing can separate us – nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Loss and loneliness aren’t the only things I’m feeling today. It’s not even two weeks since John died so there’s also a lot of numbness, a lot of not feeling at all. But I am becoming aware of a deep well of gratitude. I’ve had many, many years of training in Alcoholics Anonymous in how to live one day, one moment, at a time without drink or drug. I’ve had the support and the example of thousands sober people who have shown me that there is nothing, nothing in the world…that can separate us from the love of God. And that love is made manifest in our Fellowship. You have shown me and taught me how to recognize God’s love all around me. An old-timer – was it John? – said to me recently that sobriety is growing to recognize that God is everywhere. Love is everywhere. Gratitude is everywhere.

So I’ll end with a list: I am grateful for the sober years that John and I had together. I am grateful for the easy sober laughter we shared. I am grateful for the sober spats and the sober reconciliations. I am grateful for going sober to church and for going sober to meetings together. I am grateful for our sober dinner parties. I am grateful for our sober symphony concerts and sober Red Sox games. I am grateful for the garden, a gift of our sobriety.

And most of all, I am so grateful for sobriety, for recognizing that God is here with me now, and that God always has always been with me--has always been with us.

Nothing can separate us from God’s love.

Christine A. H.

Saturday we will celebrate July 4^th,  the passing of the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia by fifty-six delegates of the Second Continental Congress in 1776. The cry was freedom from being repressed by a power that had become foreign and was now interfering with their lives. The fourth of July is a day to honor those who decided “enough.”  It was “a moment of clarity.” The delegates heard a call to an alternative life where they could become the people God had created them to be.

I suspect the delegates did not have all the pure motives for breaking away from England as we hear about in the orations in the days to come. Some motivations must have been financial.

This commemoration is beginning to sound unusually familiar to us in recovery. By some miracle, we have a “moment of clarity,” a moment of truth that gives us courage to make a decision for change.  My experience also is that even when our motives are not pure, we are still led to a change that will save our lives and the lives of so many others.

I think about my moment of clarity. It was not because I was driving with small children in the back seat of our car after I had had too much to drink. Rather, it was because I feared I might lose the career I had worked so hard to accomplish. Others also come to recovery not to seek help for themselves but because of a relationship with a spouse or child or employer or a court. They had not yet realized how they are captive to a disease that is unrelenting and will only get worse.

I remember when I first came to recovery that the promises spoke most clearly to me. I give thanks for the person who put the promises on the wall of our recovery room. “We will know a new freedom and happiness.” (Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 83)  NEW FREEDOM. NEW FREEDOM. Freedom to become the person God created us to be. Freedom from hiding alcohol. Freedom from carrying alcohol hidden in a suitcase on every trip in case there was none there. Freedom to speak and not fear that my speech would speak to my inability to speak. Freedom not to drink before a party so I could drink “socially” there.  Freedom to be an alert, awake, and conscious part of my family’s life.

As we all celebrate the birth of our nation, this fourth of July, I hope we also will celebrate the birth of an alternative life of freedom for each of us. It is truly a milestone to honor and give thanksgiving for our higher power who led us to “the moment of clarity” and for more people than we can number who carried us with them along the way. It is indeed a historical event.

Joanna Seibert