Through the Red Door Blog

This is my first time writing for this blog. I’m excited, and a bit nervous. I’m full of self-centered fear, wondering if you will like it. Fortunately, I have a program that helps me with that.

My name is Shane. I’m in recovery from alcoholism, from compulsive eating, and from my family’s alcoholism. I’m a miracle – and so are you! That’s what I know from the rooms, and my life.

I grew up in an alcoholic home, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t know our family was different from any other, so what I learned there I took out into the world. I learned that I couldn’t trust anyone to care for my feelings, that I wouldn’t be believed if I spoke my truth, that I could be shamed for showing weakness. I learned that I should make everyone proud, I should and could impress people, but that I would not be loved.

I was given room to develop my talents, but they weren’t a substitute for safety and love. As my rage built, I began looking for outlets and expressions of that rage. I found alcohol and drugs when I was 13, and I dove into the deep end. I went to all the places that the Big Book predicts – jail (juvenile detention), asylum (mental hospital), plus some that aren’t mentioned. By the time I turned 16 I had done these, I had gotten pregnant and miscarried in silence, I had tried to kill myself. I didn’t know that alcohol and drugs were helping me go to those places – I just thought I was crazy, and I didn’t care.

I got sober in 1985, when I was 28. Someone had me read the Promises at my third meeting. I cried because I couldn’t imagine ever experiencing any of them. It was like the universe inviting me to sing a song I didn’t know how to sing. But I kept coming. I wanted to feel better.

Since then, my life has been an adventure. I went back to school, got a Ph.D., taught for years. Then a new round of step work helped me leave and enter an Episcopal convent. After nine years, another round of work helped me leave there and serve a parish, and eventually found a new community with another woman. Now, eight years later, the community is flourishing and so am I.

When I got sober people told me to eat sugar if I wanted to drink. I did. I ate sugar long after I stopped craving alcohol, long after my weight became a problem. I didn’t get it. I’m an alcoholic, I’d say; food is not my issue. I just like to eat.

Finally, God sent some people into my life who helped me see that I was doing the same thing with food that I had with alcohol. I would try to control it, but it didn’t go so well. I didn’t diet, because that would be vain – and it would be hard. I thought, “I can use the Steps on this too,” but I never did.

Once I got that I had the same reaction to some foods that I have to alcohol, the path was clear. There was a place for me, another place. I could take all that I had gained in one and still learn more. Now I have the same freedom from compulsive eating that I had found from alcohol.

So, here’s the miracle: not that I entered the rooms, not that I stopped drinking and overeating. Those are indeed miracles, but the one I treasure is the hope, the reality of the Promises. If I will work, if you will work, the whole world opens up to us, to become the people God intended and dreamed of.

Whatever you have been through, whatever you’re struggling with, there are others who’ve been there. I’m one of them, waiting for you to reach out. Life is sometimes a struggle for me now, but only because I forget to use the tools offered by the programs. When I pick up the phone, the pen, the prayer book, I return to serenity. A new way opens up in the wilderness. One day at a time, miracles are happening.

Blessings on your journey, all year, every year.

In her book The Alchemy of Us, materials scientist Ainissa Ramirez discusses “how humans and matter transformed one another.” The opening chapter is about time, perception of time, clocks, and relativity. Ramirez explains that during intense times of novel experiences--childhood, for instance--the brain stores huge amounts of sensory data, Words, scenes, actions, emotions all become embedded into our brains in vivid detail. As we get older, we store fewer sensory images because not so much is unfamiliar anymore. Monotony creates few lasting impressions and days drag on one after another in a predictable way.

And here, now, today, we all are dealing with a novel coronavirus, a new disease called COVID-19, and an unprecedented pandemic. We are standing six feet away from others, our faces are masked. We don’t gather together; we stay away from our beloved activities and places.

What is this novel monotony doing to us? I’m thinking about images I first saw more than fifty years ago in Sociology 101: of children playing with sticks which were guns, bats or dolls, depending on how they were held. Kids make do with what’s available and do what children do: imagine and play. We adults, also, look at what’s available and cope by using the blessings at hand to do what adults do--live and breathe and have our being.

The first three months of my pandemic were simultaneous with the final illness and death of my beloved John. Now these ongoing days of social distancing are my days of grieving the loss of a love. My mourning is more hidden than it might otherwise be, but friends, family, my church and 12-step  communities let me know every day--gently, kindly, lovingly--that I am not alone. Three generations of our extended family--siblings and cousins, children and grandchildren--gather weekly for our weekly Sunday Family Zoom--more interaction than we’ve had for years. Friends who are themselves widowed reach out to me--checking in and assuring me that my feelings of confusion, bewilderment, and exhaustion are “normal.”  Incredibly and wonderfully, I live where my neighbors are Saints from our church, and we exchange baked goods and stories from across the COVID chasm.

I am developing new rituals and routines and solidifying others. I attend to my morning devotions and journaling much more faithfully than in the past. I Zoom around the world for 12-Step meetings and have made good friends in Dallas and Vegas and dotted all across the country--folks whom I will travel to meet in person when the world is a safer, gentler place.  I am more efficient in my shopping. Our golden retriever BridgetAdams and I walk a couple of miles almost every day. I can continue my work coordinating care for people recovering from substance abuse because of video conferencing.

The novelty of the pandemic is long over and monotony has set in. But I can smile. As a wise woman said to me once, “Look around--there is always something to be grateful for.”

Christine H.
Peterborough NH, December 4, 2020

Waiting…for what?

Once again, the old year has rolled ‘round, and we cross the threshold into the new. Advent is my favorite liturgical season: the light at night, the rich colors in church, and the music that gives voice to longing. At my age, one might imagine that I know what to expect. But, every year, I am initially disoriented.

What’s really going on? What am I supposed to pay attention to? The prophecies? The manger? The Second Coming? As an addict, I tend to think in categories of either/or, rather than the confusing and uncomfortable both/and.

I’m often not very good at waiting. Of course, much of it is sheer impatience; here I’m in good company with our ancestors in faith. They, like me, prefer decisiveness…immediately.

Isaiah cries to God, “O that you would rend the heavens and come down.” The Psalmist pleads, “Restore us, O God of hosts; show us the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.” In Mark’s gospel, we hear Jesus speak with urgency, “Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come.”

That’s a lot of anxiety. But, if I allow myself to be still, I begin to sense that Advent has a great deal in common with a 12-Step program. It never moves along as quickly as I would like, it goes places I couldn’t have predicted, and there’s a lot of work involved.

Today, when I hear the majestic language of Isaiah, Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, I think about the Ninth Step promises. If I have been diligent in working to level the obstructions, both within myself, and in my relationships, the promises will come true, no matter how far down the scale I had gone.

Did I want all those things to happen immediately? Of course I did. Did they? Of course not. I had stopped using, but I had no idea how to live, as an adult, on life’s terms. Time has given me the space to learn to live.

2020 has had more than its share of “life’s terms”: COVID, the economic devastation that has followed, and the cries for racial justice. It’s tempting to anesthetize the discomfort, to ask God to restore us right now, to wish it all away. But here is where we are, maxed out on waiting for things to “get back to normal”.

Recently, I found myself suggesting that Advent is an invitation for us to pay attention to the here and now, to be where our feet are. After all, we sing, “O come, O come, Emmanuel” – “O come, O come, God-with-us”. Not “God who was with us”, or “God who will be with us”, but “God who is with us”.

This year, in the quiet of these weeks, I will try to wait patiently. And, in the waiting, I hope to become attentive to God’s light peeking through the cracks in my everyday world.

Advent’s a funny time, isn’t it? What exactly are we waiting for? I know that more will be revealed. And I know that God is already with us. How blessed are we!

Paul J.

Ezekiel 36:24-28

“I will take you from among all nations; *
and gather you from all lands to bring you home.
I will sprinkle clean water upon you; *
and purify you from false gods and uncleanness.
A new heart I will give you *
and a new spirit put within you.
I will take the stone heart from your chest *
and give you a heart of flesh.
I will help you walk in my laws *
and cherish my commandments and do them.
You shall be my people, *
and I will be your God.”

Enriching Our Worship (Church Publishing 1998)

This Song of Ezekiel speaks about our recovery. In recovery, we receive a new heart and a right spirit. Our higher power takes out our stone heart and replaces it with a heart of flesh. We could not do this on our own. God helps us to walk by his laws, and we learn to cherish them and practice them.

I have one friend who has memorized this canticle and sings it every morning in the shower.  He is meditating and connecting to his higher power in the shower, no less. When people ask how to start their day, this is one suggestion that keeps coming to mind, especially if the person starts her day with a daily bath or shower. This is an image that has stayed with me for many years.

I am not good at memorizing scripture, but for those who are, I cannot think of a better way to start the day. Even if I cannot memorize the scripture, perhaps I can remember some lines. I am asking God to sprinkle clean water on me, to purify me from false gods. My favorite false gods are fame, recognition, work, and busyness.

I am asking God for a new heart, a fresh way to love, especially to love those who seem unlovable, different, those who seem to punch all my egocentric buttons that become harder and harder to hide, and those I perceive have harmed me. I pray for a new spirit, the Holy Spirit, God’s will, not my own will, to live inside of me and to lead me. I am well acquainted with and dislike the stone heart that quietly and subtly takes over and judges others and myself.

Take that hard, stone heart out of my chest. It is a too heavy and painful burden to carry. I pray for a heart that accepts my humanness and the humanness of others. I will try to follow the guidelines I think God has given me.

Help me not to believe in my hubris that I am better than others and above the laws you have asked us to follow. I want to stay connected today to you, God, even if it is a thin thread.

Perhaps I can remember clean water, no false gods today, a new heart, a new spirit, no stone heart, no hubris, staying connected for just one more day.

Some may have more time to be silent and contemplate in our prayer life during this coronavirus pandemic. We may have been given a gift of time, especially as we shower, to consider how God is sprinkling clean water on us to remove our heart of stone that we so carefully hide.

Joanna Seibert

In an October letter to the faithful in his Diocese, a Bishop of the Episcopal Church admitted he had a “problem with alcohol” and had checked into a rehab facility. He continued, stating that in part for this reason, he was retiring as Bishop of the Diocese effective the end of November.

We ask ourselves, “How can we help?” First of all, we can share our own story, “How did we get here?” For many of us, it was a sudden experience brought about by our alcoholic behavior. Maybe the family or our employer had “had enough” and presented us with an ultimatum. 

We can pass along to him that there was so much more: that the Program called us to take our inventory, to seek spiritual support and, where appropriate, make amends for our alcoholic behavior. In some ways, the beauty of the Program is that our assignment didn’t end there; we learned we were charged with a continuing obligation to periodically review our conduct and to change things where necessary. And importantly, we were left with a directive to cultivate our spiritual life.

I remember those first and early days of my surrender experience. I was relieved. A way to recover was freely given me. I felt cleansed. I found a new way of dealing with life’s issues. I saw joy in others when they had taken the same steps, the changes wrought in their lives, their new revived relationships with others. We attend meetings to learn but we also attend to see new lives come into being, new relationships growing, a deeper spiritual growth.

We don’t know how the Bishop entered our rooms or what drew him to seek us out. But we know that something called his attention to his addictive behavior—someone carried a message, a message of hope and a solution and a way to bring all of that about. We are relieved when someone enters our number for, we can hope and pray and in some way by our quiet examples, demonstrate that there really is an “easier and softer way” to respond to the life’s ills. Perhaps most importantly, when we surrendered, we learned we were not alone, we were blessed with our Higher Power to guide us, and yes, the Program was there when we sought it.

Maybe we will have a chance to share with the Bishop what we found once we took that first step of surrendering.

Jim A., St. X Noon

In an article in Shambhala Sun Magazine in September of 1999, Rachael Naomi Remen M.D., wrote: “Helping, fixing, and serving represent three different ways of seeing life. When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as a whole. Fixing and helping may be the work of the ego, and service the work of the soul.”

When I was in seminary, I had an opportunity to spend part of my summer with youth who were, in one form or another, “handicapped.” On my first day I saw one coming down a flight of stairs in a wheelchair. Feeling scared for him, and not knowing what to do, I reported what I saw and, to my surprise, was told: “He’s really good at that.” I wanted to “help” but didn’t know what was needed of me. I saw a person in a wheelchair and concluded “helplessness.” I quickly learned these youth focus on their gifts and talents, not on their “handicap.” By the end of that summer I saw them as the artist, the writer, the photographer, and not “the handicapped” which is what society had taught me. I learned to ask, “Do you need help with…” instead of saying, “Let me help you with….

A few years later, as a new therapist, my supervisor told me: “Séamus, your role is not to fix or help the clients. Your role is to guide and encourage them to look deeper into themselves and they will find the answer they seek.” Here again, I wanted to be ‘the fixer” the “helper.” No one asked me to help; no one asked me to fix. My self-esteem was tied up in “helping” “fixing” as that is how I perceived the world around me, broken or weak. In my mind, I was, the one to help or fix.

My first few years in A.A. were years in a dry drunk. It was my belief I didn’t need any help or anyone to fix me. I was in denial of my illness. I had to attend AA to keep my job. In those early days I just knew I was going to be a great resource to the people in AA. because I had degrees in theology and counseling. The horse I rode in on was called Pride and very tall. It would be a few years before I fell off this horse and realize I was really a mule - hard headed, stubborn. I went on 12step calls to help “that poor drunk” and his or her family. I just knew if they listened to me, I could help them. As a counselor I was trying “to fix” the clients - I had forgotten what my supervisor had taught me. My attitude had become one of self-service, not other-service. I had forgotten a lot and lost a lot in Blackouts which I finally accepted I experienced.

I had to come to grips with my powerlessness; a deep realization that my life had become unmanageable. My bottom came when I finally realized I was among the walking dead – spiritually dead. It was at this point I was open to listen to others, to being guided by the principles of A.A., really listening at meetings and reading the Big Book and applying it to me.

Coming in early, setting up the room, staying afterward to clean up. - this was and is service. Attending the home group meetings, accepting or offering to serve on committees, was and is a work of service. To serve was and is to set aside my ego and learn to be present to the other, to be there for others. To serve is to do what is necessary without seeking acknowledgement. As Bill said “Our leaders are but trusted servants."

Becoming service orientated took some training. Being of service meant setting aside my ego, my sense of my self-importance and what I could do for others. It meant learning to stand back and see a larger picture. Being of service meant learning to understand that, what is often needed, is a sense of presence, a ministry of presence. Remen writes: “When we serve, we see the unborn wholeness in others; we collaborate with it and strengthen it. Others may then be able to see their wholeness for themselves for the first time.”     

With recovery I came to realize that my tendency to want to fix and help others was preventing them from developing their God-given gifs and talents. Being a servant, is simply doing ‘the next right thing,” staying sober one day at a time, maintaining an attitude of gratitude, and being the hand of AA when someone shows up to begin the road to recovery.

“Being of service meant learning to understand that, what is often needed, is a sense of presence, a ministry of presence.”

Séamus D.
New Orleans

In his book RECOVERY - the sacred art, Rami Shapiro writes: “Twelve step recovery is not a self-help program, but a selfless help program. We do not change our lives, we allow them to be changed…we allow ourselves to be changed. Allowing this is perhaps all we control, and even here it is more a gift resulting from hitting rock bottom than it is any willful force coming from our ego.”

To tell some folk in recovery that AA is not a self-help program may sound like heresy. Initially, the programed seemed to be to be a self-help program. After all, I had to do the steps, I had to go to meetings; I had to call my sponsor. I had to do all the work. No one did it for me. I had to find where and when the meetings were held and find a way to them.

>After attending the same meeting for some time, I was invited to come early and help set up, stay afterward and clean the ash trays (that was a long time ago). I did, but for selfish reasons. And even as it was for selfish reasons, I was being changed. I was giving up control without realizing it. My Higher Power was working through others to bring me along until such times as I realized that it wasn’t me that was working the program as much as it was my Higher Power guiding me through others to do the next right thing.

Looking back at that time, it was as if I was being carried along in a river of recovery with cliches and acronyms as life-preservers; one day at a time; do the next right thing; let go and let god; stick with the winners, HALT; Don’t get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired; HOW: Honesty Open mindedness, and Willingness.

Bill W. wrote: “What I needed was the humility of self-forgetfulness and the kinship with another human being of my own kind.”*  I had no idea I needed that and yet that was what was happening to me. I was not doing this on my own. I was being led by example, patience, compassion, unaware of my being reformed, recreated, restored to health.

In time I got to know that some of the men and women with whom I spent an hour a day were people of influence and affluence in society and yet, when we sat in that room, we were all of one mind. All that I knew of them initially was their first name and that they wanted to get or remain sober, which was more than I wanted at the time. In that room we were all one day or one hour away from a drink. The selflessness of the people around me was inspiring and I wanted to be like these sober individuals, even if it was my selfish intention. I was one of those individuals for whom my Higher Power works overtime. I had to be  guided, sometimes pushed, into the straight and narrow road not only in doing what was the next right thing but, more importantly, for me,  having the right attitude about what was being done.

Becoming selfless was a process and, for me, a long slow process.  There are times when I look back at those early days and wish I could have ‘got it” much earlier. And yet, because I was a slow learner, hard headed (hearted), I can now appreciate the journey to sobriety. Sobriety is a gift given to me by my Higher Power. I had little to nothing to do with it beyond letting myself be picked up and carried till I was strong enough to become a wounded healer.

I did not change my life. From the example of those who lived the program and worked the steps I saw what selflessness was about. Like a selfish child who does not want a particular present but still opens it, I did not want sobriety but it was presented in such a manner that I could not help but want it, then accept it.

Four and a half years into the program I declared bankruptcy I laughed and laughed. If the government came, they could take everything but my sobriety. That was when it hit me. “I am sober.” I had hit rock bottom spiritually and was given this gift of freedom. I had nothing to do with it beyond letting myself be carried, even when I didn’t want to. I accepted it grudgingly until I realized I was a danger to myself and others. As a result of living this program and working the steps I was gifted with a new life for which I am daily and eternally grateful.

Séamus D. 
New Orleans

I am fortunate in that I have not been hospitalized for any period of time. But with age moving us on its never-ending path of deterioration of body parts, at age 82 it doesn’t seem all that surprising that I just came off a 10-day hospital stay to correct a leaky valve, stabilize my heart rate, and install a pacemaker to monitor all this. The recuperation has been slower than I wished. But I know I’m on the right track. I also know that the recovery probably would be a lot more comfortable (especially to my family caregivers) if I just “let go and let God.” And I know from a medical standpoint, that my progress of recovery would be faster.

This alcoholic has always fought delays (defined as not getting something done as fast as I want it). It’s that old demand: “I want it done ... now.” It doesn’t matter that there are unavoidable delays or that others may have projects with more important shorter timelines than mine.

I think this behavior of mine is just another reflection of my ego always seeking to “run the show, that I can complete an assignment faster and better than others.” We forget that life’s normal traps catch us. We must remember that those traps can produce self-pity and resentments and pretty soon we recall that in the past, we resorted to the only remedy we had. We found a phony comfort and solace in that alcoholic behavior. We covered-up our feelings and didn’t seek real life positive remedies for this cycle which always ended in our dark pit of alcoholism and its familiar consequences.

Yes, I was in the hospital and now I am learning to walk with a walker, to regain 20 pounds, and accept the wonderful kindnesses of friends and family.  I think I have learned another lessen and accept (most days) other ramifications.

But, I need to constantly remember to let go and let God, “easy does it”, to take it “a day at a time,” and all the other teachings of the Big Book and working our way through the Twelve Steps.

Jim A/St. X Noon<</p>

P.S. There are many lessons experienced during a period of complicated medical treatment. I’ll pass along a couple in future writings. JRA

I remember attending an A.A. conference where the speaker told a rather detailed story of his life leaving precious little to the imagination:  robbery, sex addiction, jail/prison; drugs other than alcohol. His sharing of “what happened, and what it is like now” was minimal. Afterward, I learned from others I was not the only one uncomfortable with the “tell all” aspect of his sharing. For some, it was “embarrassing to listen to.” As one individual put it, “If I were a newbie and thought I’d have to share my guts like that, I’d go and get another drink.”

Oldtimers knew there was a healthy balance in the triangular framework of sharing “Experience, Strength, and Hope:” “What we used to be like; what happened and what we are like now.” Even when the sharing of ‘What we used to be like” was raw, it was raw “in a general way” and the “Strength and Hope” left the listener with a sense that this program works and could work for them. One could see the pain but also was left with hope and joy that, despite the past, there was a life after drinking.  Periodically one might hear the sharing of a “Drunk-a-log” – forty-five minutes about the speaker’s drinking history and five minutes of strength and hope.

Oldtimers in the program did not take kindly to Treatment programs, especially those that said “a month in treatment is as good as a year in AA.” Treatment programs were seen as: “Hand holding.” “Taking care of your inner child.” “Talking about your damn feelings.” I am one of those who benefitted from a treatment program having spent five weeks in a four-week program followed by Aftercare and individual and group counseling. I thank my Higher Power for every bit of that help. And yet, I was one of those who lived by a statement I heard very often in my formative years; “whatever you say, say nothing.”

To “say nothing” was a way of hiding behind one or other of the many masks behind which I hid, or thought I was hiding.” I thought I was giving the impression of “I’m not that bad.” That, however, was what I wanted to believe. By “saying nothing” I was deluding myself into thinking I was “alright.” When asked to share, I would say something to the effect: “My name is Séamus, I’m  an alcoholic, I grew up in a good family, I started to drink at age ___ I certainly did not think I was an alcoholic. I’m grateful I didn’t have any accidents, blackouts, nor was I ever in jail. I’m really glad to be here. Thank you for asking me to share.”

While what I said was true, I had still “said nothing.” I covered a multitude of ‘sins’ with my superficiality. In my mind I was thinking, “There’s no way I’m going to tell these people I did…” I felt scared. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. The philosophy of “say nothing” allowed me to be superficial even to myself.

One afternoon, a few of us were playing a game of cards and the conversation turned into an unofficial meeting. In that relaxed atmosphere, I found myself opening up, admitting I had drunk alone; I acknowledged I had had blackouts, and, internally, I was beginning to feel remorse for my past behavior. I was becoming human, a fellow human being with character defects and a disease over which I had no control.           

“Our stories disclose in a general way what we used to be like, what happened, and what we are like now” wrote Bill W in the Big Book. There is a difference between public confession and “saying nothing.”

Today, I know I have something to say; something to share – in a general way – that allows others to say to themselves, “I know what he’s talking about” or “I feel like that too.” Sharing my experience, strength, and hope has helped me grow up in this program in ways I never expected. Sharing and listening has helped me remember things I had blocked, that I had suppressed, and which I now needed to confront within myself, with my sponsor and sometimes with a counselor.

While I never did “tell all,” I grew up and discovered that my experience; strength and hope are important to me and to some others. I’m still not going to “tell all” but I have come a long way from the mentality of “Whatever you say, say nothing.”

Séamus D.

New Orleans, La.

Amy Jill Levine¹ calls the parables, Jesus’ Short Stories. Well, this one for Sunday about the wedding banquet and the guest thrown out for not wearing the right clothes, is a doozy! This does not sound like the God of our understanding to throw out this second invited guest because of what she is wearing. One interpretation of this story is that it is an elaborate allegory where everything has a deeper meaning.² Perhaps the under-dressed wedding guest gets bounced because she refuses to CHANGE. And the storyteller may not be talking about changing into different clothes either.

Like everything else in this story, the wedding garment has a deeper meaning. It is not a white linen suit lined with silk. It is a whole new way of life. For us, it is an invitation to a life in recovery, in sobriety, in a relationship with our higher power, a change where our life no longer centers on alcohol but on the God of our understanding.

This parable also reminds us of God's countless, daily invitations to come into our lives, opportunities for us to change. I remember so many chances I had to change but refused to act on them. I was driving after having too much to drink with my children in the back seat, and I heard a message in my head, “This is not right.” But I drove on. We often do not pay attention to those constant invitations, the moments of clarity, because our minds are deadened by drugs or alcohol.

We receive this invitation daily. Hourly we are invited to celebrate a new life with the God of our understanding. Our life before recovery was a constant refusal to CHANGE, refusing to believe that we needed help, thinking we could control our life, refusing to put our life into the care of God. We had become too comfortable wearing the old clothes of our old life, denying that a new life with tailor-made clothes was a possibility if we only sought help from others. I can remember walking through my kitchen and thinking, “I know I am an alcoholic, but I simply cannot live life on life’s terms without alcohol.”

Paul describes the wedding garment as "putting on the mind of Christ." Putting on God means surrendering, laying ourselves open to being made new. It means staying connected to God and being in relationship with each other. Most of all, it means living in the promise that we will know God and that God will indeed change us. My moment of clarity came when I had a realization that I could lose my job if I did not stop drinking. Then when I heard that the answer to staying sober was connecting to a higher power, I knew it was hopeless, for I had a relationship with God whom I called my higher power. In recovery, I learned that God was my copilot, but I was the pilot, petitioning to God to get done the things I thought should be accomplished.

God constantly is looking and reaching out and calling us truly to a banquet where we become happy, joyous and free, where we change into wedding robes sewn from patterns God has given us since the world began: patterns of surrender, of making an inventory, praying to God with another in recovery to turn our life and our will over to God, making amends, meditation, silence, forgiveness, caring about others, loving-kindness to those around us, especially to those still suffering from our disease. When we stitch these new clothes up and put them on, we are GORGEOUS, absolutely GORGEOUS. I DON'T KNOW WHY WE WOULD BE CAUGHT DEAD IN ANYTHING ELSE.

1 Amy Jill Levine in The Short Stories of Jesus.

2 Barbara Brown Taylor in "Wedding Dress," Home By Another Way, 192-196.

Joanna S.