Through the Red Door Blog

“The path of descent is the path of transformation. Darkness, failure, relapse, death, and woundedness are our primary teachers, rather than ideas or doctrines.” — Richard Rohr

My mother passed away on January 20th.

The last three weeks of her life were painful to watch. They had to be even more painful for her as she struggled to breathe, each attempt more difficult than the last. Recovery helped me be physically and emotionally present for her. Letting go of my resentments and expectations around her allowed me to love her where and how she was at that moment.

At one point, mom arched her eyebrows, and her eyes lit up. She saw something beyond. Someone or something I could not. A few breaths later, she was gone. The Hospice Chaplin told me that a look of expectation and recognition often appears on a dying person's face. It is proof that what awaits us on the other side is worth the pain of the human experience.

As a recovering addict and card-carrying member of Al-Anon, this experience has exposed me to what happens when hope is fulfilled. Growing up in church and a lifetime of ministry taught me the seminary definition of hope. Knowing what hope is from an intellectual standpoint differs from experiencing it as a spiritual being. It is one of the things I missed in Bible College. I didn't understand my need for hope until I hit the bottom of my addiction.

Step Two embodies hope amid hope-lessness. In both S.L.A.A. and Al-Anon, I now realize that it is in Step Two where hope is no longer ethereal but becomes incarnate. The same hope available to me in recovery is the hope that was real to my mother as she saw her dad, her mom, Jesus, or just eternal peace as she crossed over. I saw an ending while she saw the realization of purpose and wholeness. A beginning.

My sponsor says that there must be a death before there can be a rebirth. That sounds a lot like the apostle Paul.

All around us, we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it's not only around us; it's within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don't see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

Romans 8:24-25 (The Message)

I wish I had space to write at length about these few paragraphs. Let me sum it up as best I can. I joyfully stay connected to my recovery and others on this journey because of hope. There are days and moments when recovery is a struggle, and every second of sobriety is hard-won. But those moments are just birth pangs. The longer I have them, the more distance I put between me and my bottom. Doing so only pours more joy into my expectation.

Someday, my hope will be made real. My eyes will arch in recognition that the past years of embracing recovery, struggling with it, and the myriad of phases in between were not in vain. It is hope which keeps me in the fight. That hope will reunite me with my mother and result in me laying down my struggle once and for all.

I do not know what heaven is like, but I hope I just got a glimpse.

By Shane M.

And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. The people were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority!” 1 Mark 26-28

I can imagine a psychologist/psychiatrist in the early 40’s, having treated a client for his drinking, and now the individual has been to A.A. for a few months and is “clean and sober.” The person returns to the counselor and is asked: “How did you get sober. I’ve been treating you for years and you never stopped drinking. What gives? Who did this to you?”

Without a doubt it must have been a strange phenomenon back then for a person who was considered to be “beyond help,” then found to be sober, rational, and spiritual. “What is this? A new teaching—with authority?” Yes. When asked, how did they get sober when no one could help them, the answer was the Twelve Steps; “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable.” They knew that. They knew the drink had gotten the better of them. They had tried all kinds of ways of stopping, changing patterns, drinking milk, anything they could do, but it didn’t work. And they knew their life was unmanageable. They had lost their jobs, been fired, threatened with jail or prison. None of this stopped them from drinking.

Their stories were documented in the “AA Bible,” the book, Alcoholics Anonymous. I was fascinated by the stories. They made sense. These men and women drank and could not be helped. But I was different. I didn’t do the things they did. I could suspend my drinking --for a few days—but then I was still under the influence even if I was not consciously aware of it. They turned their will and their lives over to the care of God as they understood God. I was a practicing member of my denomination. I knew all about God. I didn’t have to “make a decision” about turning my life over to God. I was Baptized, Confirmed, and I attended church. That was enough. As for steps four and five, I went to confession, so I didn’t have to get a sponsor and tell him all my deep dark secrets.

No priest told me I had Defects of Character I needed to work on. I really didn’t have any. Other people made me angry, caused me to… therefore I did not have to make Amends. And the other steps I did anyhow, like prayer and meditation. Big deal!!

As each year passed, I was still not happy. I wasn’t drinking but I didn’t have what those who were “living the program” had. They had peace of mind, the ability to be honest with themselves and others. “What is this? A new teaching—with authority?”

Bill W said that there was nothing in the Twelve Steps that could not be found in religion and or philosophy. It was an old teaching packaged in a simple manner so that a bunch of drunks could understand it if they worked together. It wasn’t “I admitted,” or “I did this” or “I did that. It was “We admitted…” We made a decision…” Together we discovered we were spiritual beings trying to live a human life with all our faults and failings. Together we supported one another to live honestly with ourselves and with others. Together we found a Higher Power that was greater than us who “could restore us to sanity.” Oh, yes. I was insane.

No matter how much I understood about the disease, I was neither sober, sane, nor spiritual. My problem was my EGO. It was I who was Easing God Out and leaving me spiritually dead.

What I was hearing was, for me, a new teaching indeed. It was a new way of looking at myself, others, and God. How often had I been told by my parents to listen to the teacher. Now I had to relearn, “Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth for you have two ears to listen twice as much as you talk.”

Just as people were amazed at Jesus, so too were professionals, co-workers, and family members surprised at our recovery. Jesus simply trusted in his Abba, his Father, his Higher Power and restored people to sanity. We too, reach out to those who are suffering from this disease, teach them to “go to a meeting, read the Big Book, and talk to your sponsor.” It’s that simple. It works if you work it. It works if you live it. Keep coming back.

Séamus P D
Séamus is a retired Episcopal priest in the greater New Orleans area.

The snow is deep and beautiful here in New Hampshire tonight. The road in front of my house is not a major road, not even a secondary road. Not a tertiary road. So, although it has been plowed a few times since the storms began (we’ve had two back-to-back and expect a third one to arrive tomorrow), the little road is nowhere near scraped clean. BridgetAdams, my seven-year-old golden retriever, loves to get outside and make snow dog-angels in the drifts and then run a few yards and lie down in the middle of the quiet street to roll back and forth, grunting and groaning with delight. She’s like a puppy in her glee.

But—what does this have to do with Recovery. Faith. Twelve Steps. The Church?

Everything.

In my sober life, I have learned to be grateful for what is here, now, in front of me. For the snow and for the snowplows and for the people who plow the snow. For witnessing the joy of a dog and feeling the joy of a sober human. For the little, tiny 12” snowman that I built and put on the stoop and for my nephew thoughtfully clearing off the steps a few hours later, not noticing the little guy and scooping him up and tossing him away.

In recovery, I’ve learned to identify, not compare. I have friends in Buffalo and Minneapolis. The snow in my front yard doesn’t seem so deep and the storms don’t seem so fierce when I hear about what the winter has been like for them. But I’ve learned that differences don’t mean hierarchy…there isn’t a better and a worse. Their huger quantities of snow don’t take away the breath-taking beauty of the snow on my branches or the sunlight glistening on my snowdrifts.

I have a friend who found her family in the fellowship of AA. She had gone to many Al-Anon meetings where she had always felt welcome and where she had learned a lot about serenity. She was a woman of deep faith and commitment to God and the church and had never missed a Sunday service or a chance to serve the community.

But when she came to an AA meeting, she knew she was home with a certainty that she hadn’t felt before. At first she was afraid she didn’t really belong because she didn’t have the “war stories” some speakers talked about, but she came to understand that she belonged because she knew she belonged. She could identify, no comparison needed.

Generosity, acceptance, appreciation, gratitude—those are some of the deeply beautiful gifts of recovery. Praise God.

—Christine H.

The last couple weeks of December I was ruminating about 2022. Our family had dealt with major medical issues and moving to assisted living quarters, a 100% transition of our lives. Throughout the arduous and often emotional work to make this move, we had reminders from our daughter to seek the Will of our Higher Power for directions as we walked this path.

Then, after all this, the other day, I prayed for a “better 2023.” I am ashamed of myself. How could we have had a better year, for through our Higher Power’s love and guidance, we did it without coming apart as a family and in fact seemed unconsciously to use this emotional project to build stronger relations.

I’m most ashamed because my 85-year-old ego quietly suggested, “Pray for something better in 2023.” Did I thereby turn my prayer into God’s shopping list? But what could be better than this family’s positive transition following our Higher Power’s guidance?

Can I just blame this request for a “better” 2023 on human nature, the one that says. “I always want something better?” Again, no, I cannot. So, what’s OK to say about 2023? Crudely stated, we can and do express a profound appreciation to our Higher Power for His guidance. But is that it?

Puzzled, I turned to the Big Book, for where else would we followers of Bill W. and Dr. Bob look for aid, and there it was at p. 87. In our prayers, we are to ask “what our next step should be,” and for whatever we need “to take care of problems.” We ask for “freedom from self-will,” never asking for “our own selfish ends” and making no requests “for ourselves only.” The Big Book continues at p. 88:  for we are “to remind ourselves we are no longer running the show.” And for me, perhaps, the most important aspect of this discussion is to realize we are not trying to “arrange life to suit ourselves.”

So accordingly, my revised prayer for 2023 is merely, “Guide me in all things to seek thy Will and strength to carry it out.” and yes, I am not trying to “run the whole show.”

We see yet another non-alcoholic situation not attributed to our old alcoholic living but to a higher calling and reliance on our relationship with our Higher Power whom I call God.

 JRA, Traditions Assisted Living, Lebanon, Ohio

I have just spent thirty minutes holding my mom as she cried, tearful over her declining health due to late-stage COP and Emphysema, a direct result of her addiction to nicotine since the age of fifteen. Watching my mother at the end of her life is heartbreaking, and my recovery has allowed me to be present for her as she reaches the end of her life. Without it, I would be either in prison or dead.

Mom and I have a complicated relationship. Both of us addicts, we often bring out the worst in each other as much as the best. For much of my life, I held resentments against her for what I felt were wrongs. Working the steps in SLAA enabled me to forgive her, and I offered amends by caring for her as she aged. Step work helped me realize that mom loved me as best as possible. Perfectly imperfect.

As a member of Al-Anon, I now see that no matter what, I cannot talk, pray, or manipulate mom into health. I sure tried. I threw away cigarettes. I asked her to quit for her great-grandkids. I showed her videos about what it is like to die from COPD. For a season, I just avoided her. As I review the past seven years I lived with her and my stepfather, I felt so damn sad.

The kind of sadness that resides deep in my bones.

My relationship with the Bible is just as complicated as that with my mother. But in the silence of my room, I asked my Higher Power to give me some sense of presence. I was so tired of holding everything in - of having everything together. Then I came across this passage, and the love and presence of the Holy Spirit wrapped me in a warm embrace.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you ’ll recover your life. I ’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won ’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you ’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

The Message Matthew 11: 28-30

In the depth of my sorrow, I felt love seep into cracks and crevices. I accepted that my best defense to this challenge before me - the challenge of being a good son to a dying mother - was to accept that I was not alone. In addition to my family and friends, my Creator was in the middle of this transition from life to death to life for my mother. All I had to do was quit trying to do God ’s job.

Acceptance is the first of twelve spiritual principles of recovery. It is another way of describing the positional change Jesus calls us to make in Matthew 11. We must ‘come” with Him. We have to stop working for our spirituality. We must watch the one who bore our pains and sorrows as He goes about His God ’s business. We must be so openhearted that we allow lightning bolts of love, mercy, and grace to penetrate our rebel souls. In short, we give up control. I am not the greatest at doing that.

But I am learning.

Shane M
Conway, AR
January 2023

There are times when I wish I could remember “Christmas past.” Most of my drinking was blackout drinking. My daughter once said that my brain was made of Swiss cheese; it was full of holes. It’s true that there is much of my drinking life I do not remember and, what I do remember, is embarrassing, and shame filled.

I began drinking in seminary and my memory of this time of year is one of visiting friends in Dublin where there was a table set aside and loaded up with all sorts of alcohol. Oh, at that time, it was heaven to me.

I remember one Christmas when I took a bus to the center of town and walked the streets now empty of people except the few who were begging for money “for some food” but I knew they would use it for alcohol, and I gave it to them anyhow. Then I returned to my friend’s home and drank myself into oblivion while talking about “those poor alcoholics” on the street.

My heart goes out to those who do not remember the trail of sadness and sorrow they left behind them as they wrecked the family gathering and ‘came to’ in jail. It was not until they got into recovery that they were able to hear about their abusive and destructive past and are grateful for the ‘nudge from the judge’ who offered recovery as an option to jail.

The Christmas season is, without doubt, a difficult time for many of us in recovery. It is a time of togetherness and extra meetings, Christmas-eve midnight meetings, and all-night meetings filled with joy and the sharing of really good food and a wide array of mixed non-alcoholic drinks.

There are those who are recently separated, divorced, widowed and it’s their first Christmas alone, or alone with kids, and they are more than grateful for the support of the Fellowship to carry them through to the New Year. Then there’s the joy of welcoming the newcomer on Christmas-eve or Christmas day, who is in deep emotional pain and cannot fathom why the rest of us are laughing and having a good time.

Like the newborn child, we experience a new birth in recovery. Gratitude is new. Emotions are new. Honesty is new. Open-mindedness is new. Listening—really listening—to others is new. Like the newborn child, we are carried by the home-group until we find our feet and begin to think clearly for ourselves

Christmas can be “the most wonderful time of the year” despite the snow (or lack of it), the lack of sunlight, the ghosts of Christmas past, etc. The Christmas season is one of renewal, of coming together to celebrate our new life individually and together. We celebrate because we have been given a new lease on life which is the biggest present we ever received or will receive.

Like Scrooge, we can be brought back to our Christmas past and take an honest look at how we once behaved and the attitudes we carried, the contempt for others which was in fact a projection of our contempt for ourselves. The Ghost of Christmas present shows us that those who are less fortunate than ourselves can be happy because they accept their situation in life. The ghost of Christmas present shows us that presents and financial success is no guarantee of happiness

The ghost of ‘Christmas yet-to-come’ can be the most frightening as families struggle with being in debt; struggle to keep old traditions alive even as change in family situations change. Change is not always easy for the newly sober member.

Celebrating Christmas sober and serene is a gift. We may not recognize this gift at first but by our second and third Christmases, we will have seen how our past can help others, that we don’t have to worry about finances, that God is doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves. This is our Christmas every day.

However we choose to celebrate this Christmas season—alone, with family, or at a fellowship meeting or two—let’s celebrate the occasion of new life as Moses told the people of Israel that God said: “Choose life that you and your descendants may live.” Choose life and live with every fiber of your being and love your neighbor as yourself. Live it one day at a time and know that you are a special gift to all from God.

We celebrate because we have been given a new lease on life which is the biggest present we ever received or will receive.

Folks like to remember the family Christmas with its religious and social events, the feelings of love and affection. The family together as one. The familiar music. Falling snowflakes, sledding down nearby slopes, neighborhood caroling.

But for the active alcoholic, there is usually a dark side.

Sometimes I think our Christmas traditions exist to remind those in recovery and their families of what it was like back in our so-called “fun days of rage” when the active alcoholic took advantage of all the seasonal gaiety.

When I finally made the choice of Unconditional Surrender and sought the help of my Higher Power and the Steps, my recollections of my past days of rage seemed to gradually fade away, and in their place, the Holidays came to be a loving family experience.

Fueled by our ego and its call for a return to the boozy days of old, they don’t just disappear. The memories sometimes return, perhaps weaker with the passage of time, but they never disappear completely.

Somehow various specific inebriated actions in the Christmas Season seem to hover around. For example -- slipping into the beautifully decorated tree; assembling a wagon at two-thirty on the morning of Christmas Eve and finishing up with an extra clamp, a bolt but no nut, and a handle; or your late, maybe noisy, arrival at the church pageant. An inappropriate toast to a friend, or inappropriate sleepwear is given to one’s spouse. But perhaps worst of all was our failure to get to Walgreen’s before it closed on Christmas Eve to buy a bag of batteries for the kids’ new games and electronic gadgets --late because you bumped into one of your old pals, Murph, a buddy from the Antlers Bar, and spent 45 minutes toasting Best Greetings to Murph and Sallie the bartender. Are all these incidents fictitious? Well, let’s put it this way: “What do you remember?”

Come Christmas morning, the active alcoholic exhibits nothing but shame, sour looks and words are hurled. Maybe he himself recognizes he’d messed up again and failed to even get that promised couple weeks in the Program. Excuses flow capped by that old self-pity favorite, “You’d drink too if you had my job.”

But thanks to our Higher Power, the recovered alcoholic now arrives at the family festivities with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude: to his whole family for sticking by him during his troubles, to his home group at the Church, his sponsor, and probably Bill W and Dr. Bob for seeing the light of their Higher Power and learning how to seek and follow His ways.

But listen to this reality: Attend an AA meeting close to Christmas. The speaker with thirteen years of sobriety is well into her regular extravagant Christmas drunk-a-log. Are folks nervously looking around, embarrassed by the stories being told, maybe worrying about their impression on the two newcomers?

No sir! You’ll hear laughter, cries of “I did that!” and “Just like me” and “I couldn’t get that &%lksc# bike together to save my life!”

The joys of recovery, of new starts, of love and hope all come forth. We now live on all the good stuff we get from the Program and have gratitude for those who came before us who responded to our shame and showed us the way they had taken. But alcoholics need reminders of the past to remember our vicious alcoholic conduct.

But dwell on the muck of the past? No! We don’t look at it in shame. We were sick and had lost our Higher Power. Making amends, we moved on. We know this as a bright new life, so we go to our next Twelve Step call to carry the Message we ourselves had embraced.

And with that, on this day, we pass along the Glorious Greetings of the Season to all.

Jim A/Traditions of Lebanon

It came to pass in the 2^nd week of Advent there went out a decree to post a blog about recovery. And it came time to deliver the blog and it was taxing to talk about the words of the prophet Isaiah from this week’s lectionary Old Testament readings. The rod of his mouth shall he smite and the wicked shall be slayed by his breath. This does not sound like the countdown to Christmas the Hallmark channel promotes.  

But there are great promises here too that we can view in the time of Advent—and through the lens of recovery. Righteousness, faithfulness, children and animals playing together. We shall not be hurt or destroyed and the dwellings shall be glorious. These are kinder promises and look a lot more like the images on the Christmas cards we may be preparing to send. 

The reality is the story of the birth of Christ, the day we are long-expecting during this season, is one of great hope and promise especially for those of us in recovery. The prophet tells us a shoot shall come from the stump of Jesse and in the least expected place a king will be crowned. Generations later, a babe in a manger of the lineage of David will be given for all people. Humble beginnings, unexpected places, the rough ways made smooth. This is often what we see in the lives of individuals in recovery. It is in our own humility and transparency we are restored. When we admit our powerlessness we are made strong. And one day becomes 30 becomes six months and the next thing we know we are in long-term recovery because we took one day at a time.    

Of course, along the way we may have met with the Baptizer’s winnowing fork and been swept into the granary. We may have had our own experiences of being denied room at the inn, forgotten, alone and scared. We may have been burned as chaff emotionally and spiritually. But over time, with a sponsor, doing step work, finding sober supports, talking to a therapist, getting our house in order…we begin to be restored. Our own internal lion and lamb lie down together. We make peace with ourselves and learn to forgive. Because of this, we escape the unquenchable fire of our own making. Our true selves, our little child, leads us.  

This is the Christmas card and the Hallmark movie that can be ours this Advent season. And this is also what recovery can begin to look like after 3 days or 40 weeks or 16 years. This can be our hope, our consolation, for which we can say, Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth, good will to ourselves.  

Deborah M., MA, LPC
Lancaster, PA

“Were not ten made whole. Is there no one to return to give thanks but this outsider?” Luke 17:11-19.

I was in the Fellowship almost five years before I accepted, I am an alcoholic. Then it was a while longer before I could verbalize thanksgiving for this simple suggested program of recovery.

Recently I read the gospel of Luke about Jesus healing ten men with leprosy. Only one returned to give thanks. I identified with “the other nine.” I did not return – at least initially – to give thanks.  Many of those who talked about gratitude were people who did not attend church or at least not attend it regularly. This is not a judgement on them. This is a judgment on myself. I was the one going to church on a regular basis. I was the one who taught “Sunday school.” It never dawned on me to be thankful for my recovery.

In fact, I was anything but thankful. I did not believe I was an addict and when one doesn’t believe the reality of their addiction there is no way they can be grateful for the program of recovery. I was at meetings to warm a chair; to make coffee ahead of time, stay afterwards and clean up, do anything to look good and learn to say “the right things.”

To become thankful is to be aware of what is missing in one’s life. Those who buy clothes at a second-hand store aren’t grateful because they can’t afford the same clothes at the higher price. They are grateful that they can buy clothes for their children to send them to school. They are well aware of their financial limits and grateful for the kindness of others.

There were a few times in my life when I had no income and depended on the generosity of others for food and shelter. I was, and remain, grateful for everything they did for me.

One would think that one who went to church regularly would have an attitude of gratitude, an attitude of thankfulness. Yes, I was grateful for what others did for me, but I did not have an “attitude of gratitude.” I was angry that I had to depend on others. I was angry at God, myself, and others. I had resentments about what “they did to me.”

To have an attitude of gratitude is to have a habit of being grateful. We can see it in a person who has the attitude of gratitude. Those with an attitude of gratitude are at peace with themselves, they are genuinely happy, and much less stressed than the rest of us.

“The other nine” were busy running to see the priest who would tell them they were cured and could return to their family and friends. They were looking forward to a good meal, a bed, and shelter for the night. No doubt they were grateful for these things, but they did not return to give thanks to the man who cured them.

As I began to work the steps and live the program I came to grips with the negative aspect of my life as an addict. I had to admit to myself that I was absolutely not perfect. I had to admit that my drinking had been out of control, that my life had become unmanageable. I had to admit that I am a human being with all the good and negative qualities available to me, but my addiction led me down a very dark, negative, and destructive path. How did I get out of it?

First of all, I did not get out of it by myself. Were I to follow my instincts I would more than likely to be dead and not writing this blog. Some folks get a nudge from the judge and others get a nod from God. God did not give me a nod. She kicked me in the derriere and, when that did not work, She set me up to feel Embarrassment and Shame in such a manner that I sought the help She was steering me toward. And for that I am grateful. 

Five weeks in a four-week program were not sufficient to make me acquire an attitude of gratitude. It took over four years and a declaration of bankruptcy that got my attention. That day I came home, and I laughed a good belly laugh. I could lose everything except my sobriety. It finally hit me, I am sober, I am at peace. I am grateful for sobriety and the Fellowship. That day was the beginning of recovery, the beginning of being thankful, the sowing of the seed of an attitude of gratitude for my Higher Power and the reality of the program and the promises.

Séamus D., is a semi-retired Episcopal priest in New Orleans.

Most of life seems so and it is really complicated when alcohol is introduced into the mix. Complexity appears in a fog which seems to hide the essence of the issue. Fog uses words we don’t understand, words perhaps made up by the speaker to appear to be the only person qualified to help. The discussion then turns to arguments about definitions—always a sure-fire way to delay dealing with the real problem. She complains, “How did all this happen to me?”

Then some old-timer breaks through the “poor me fog”, and says, “Wait! How long had you been drinking that day?” Silence follows for a few seconds. Then, someone in the group suggests, “We get the picture, just sit still, and listen.” The comments switch to the real issue: mixing addiction to alcohol with a busy life. The listeners’ stories emerge with their own experiences of the results of continued alcoholic behavior producing the dreary lives of a drunk.

As she listens to others, look what happens: suddenly there is a ray of hope suggested—for the group explains that their own alcoholic addiction caused their confusion, anxiety, depression and so forth. The Program worked for them and maybe it will do so for her.  

Yes, there really are complications that cause recovering alcoholics, strong believers in the ways of the Program, to encounter depression. At our best, we understand that we must seek help when this fog envelopes us. We go to a meeting and raise the issue and many others step in with the same theme, “Here is what I did, it might work for you, maybe not, but please never give up.” Some might suggest the making of a gratitude list to put problems into prospective. Another suggestion could be to “reach out to others, try a little Twelve Step work.” And maybe, “Give a lead at that Tuesday night group.” But it’s always an “into action” response.

Dr. Bob’s last words to Bill may say it best, “Bill, keep it simple.” It is remarkable when the recovering alcoholic who sees his confusion then seeks help from her group—and we are reminded of the consequences of our alcoholic dependency, plus we learn ways to deal with our complicated lives without that dependency.

“It works if you work it.”

Jim A, Traditions of Lebanon