Through the Red Door Blog

“A man who persists in prayer finds himself in possession of great gifts. When he has to deal with hard circumstances, he finds he can face them. He can accept himself and the world around him.” As Bill Sees it 293.

Not too long ago I was asked: “Where are the A.A. principles. I never saw them in the Big Book?” I remember in my early days in the program hearing folks say, “We place principles before personalities.” I had no idea what these principles were or where to find them. My self-esteem was such that I could not bring myself to ask for fear of being laughed at.

I had always grown up with prayers being said in our home and, periodically, I would say prayers on my own. Prayers were the answer, but to what? Prayers were what we said in church and before bedtime and in a crisis situation.

The Roman Catholic catechism taught that “Prayer is the lifting of the mind and heart to god.” In my formative years there was no one doing Yoga, or Meditation. There were no Gurus. In seminary, meditation was a time to shut down the brain and be quiet and it was done in church.

As my addiction to alcohol increased my spiritual life and spiritual practices decreased. I talked about a loving God but the God in my head was going to send me to hell. My conscious awareness of god was that of a ring master with a whip and I was running round in circles like a clown with a smile and tears no one could see.

Working the steps and learning to live the program opened my heart and mind to the eleventh step; Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with god as we understood Him, praying only for god’s will for us and the power to carry it out.”

Somewhere on my journey I came across the Principles of A.A. and realized they were a one word summary for each of the steps: Honesty, Hope, Surrender, Courage, Integrity, Willingness, Humility, Love, Responsibility, Discipline, Awareness and Service. Prayer—lifting the mind and heart to God, meditating, asking only what is God’s will for me and the power to carry that out—was a new way to look at the world around me. Doors opened. I felt free of the guilt and shame that had been eating me alive. The principles and prayer began to knit together.

Bill Wilson found an answer for difficult times—prayer. My solution had been alcohol. Now, thanks to the Fellowship and the program I could face the worst day and still remain at peace with myself. I was “in possession of great gifts,” the AA principles which had restored me to life. I had learned to “accept myself and the world around me.”

Prayer is my conscious contact with God who is within and all around me. Thanks to my new life in the Fellowship, I learned to be Honest with self and others. And, thanks to ACOA, I learned how my family of origin survival methods impacted my life. Working both of these programs increased my Honesty with myself and gave me Hope for a better future. It took a few years to Surrender and, when I did, I felt the new peace and the new happiness of the promises.

False Courage changed into an inner strength I did not know I had and with it I became whole, at one with self, others and God. My willingness to do anything but the steps changed into a Willingness to work all the steps and learn to put principles before personalities.

My extremes of either being the best or being the worst found a balance in the true meaning of Humility. My God-given gifts and talents were given to me, as St. Paul says, “for the good of the community.”

Selfishness gave way to love of others, respect for others. I learned that helping others was and is a Responsibility. The discipline of taking a daily personal inventory curtailed many of my character defects.

As my conscious awareness of God’s presence increased, my mind and heart were opened in ways I would never have considered. I joined a different denomination, continued with my priesthood, and respected the teachings of other Faith communities.

I learned about Service by watching and listening to my parents. However, in my active addiction, service became something of “look at me.” Recovery through Alcoholics Anonymous and ACOA, the steps. and the principles have given me back the true meaning of service and the understanding of doing God’s will not mine.

Séamus P Doyle.

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

“We”—the first word of the first of the twelve steps and the prerequisite to recovery from substance use disorders characterized by selfishness, self-centeredness, and isolation. Groping, lurching ahead on the “road to happy destiny,” we face an array of “we” encounters: our own tormented Jekyll and Hyde selves; our sponsors and companions in recovery; the elders, counselors, and clinical specialists who nurture us; the employers, creditors, and institutions we have shortchanged or bilked; and fatefully, the intimates and bystanders we have harmed and whose forgiveness and support we now solicit.  We, the lonely, now rely upon the universal “we” for healing and hope.

“But there is One who has all power—that One is God. May you find him now!” Whether our God, our primary “we,” be a He or a She, an Essence or a Presence, their cardinal trait is not likely to be some sovereign superpower that overwhelms our addictions. Raw strength does not elicit our trust or entice our surrender. The Samaritan woman at the well, a notorious outcast, knew that Jesus saw through her and read her soul, and that he offered her relief, release, and redeeming love. This shunned woman’s transformation drew the entire village to Jesus, and he stayed among them for two days (for we who are counting one day at a time, that is, all of us).

No other “we” but Thee, O Jesus. An anthem for recovery by grace, in faith—

We Cannot Measure How You Heal

We cannot measure how You heal or answer every sufferer’s prayer,
yet we believe your grace responds where faith and doubt unite to care.
Your hands, though bloodied on the cross, survive to hold and heal and warn,
to carry all through death to life and cradle children yet unborn.

The pain that will not go away, the guilt that clings from things long past,
the fear of what the future holds, are present as if meant to last.
But present too is love which tends the hurt we never hoped to find,
the private agonies inside, the memories that haunt the mind.

So, some have come who need Your help and some have come to make amends,
as hands which shaped and saved the world are present in the touch of friends.
Lord, let Your Spirit meet us here to mend the body, mind and soul,
to disentangle peace from pain and make Your broken people whole.

John L. Bell, Copyright 1989 by the Iona Community, CIA Publications, Inc. Agent

The first time I spoke to anyone about not drinking was at a conference on alcoholism. I was there not because I personally had a problem with alcohol, but because I, a high school English teacher, was concerned about the effects of alcohol on my students.

A few months before that conference, through will power and a desire to prove that I was not an alcoholic, I had put down the drink. I was slogging along in an unfamiliar world. It had been gin-and-tonic that had made me a great singer, a fabulous dancer, an effervescent storyteller. It had been white wine that had helped me relax in the face of obstacles, ignore problems, or laugh off baffling situations.

Without those spirits and that wine, how could I live? Deep down inside, I didn’t know who I was or what I liked to do, and I certainly didn’t have the coping skills to face any challenges. But I put up a good front.

So, this woman told me people could recover from the disease of alcoholism. She said there were only three things a person had to do to stay sober: Don’t Drink. Ask for Help. Go to Meetings.

She looked at me and added, “DD, AH, GM—even you can remember that. Six letters. DD, AH, GM.” I was affronted that she thought that I was incapable of remembering all her words. I had not mentioned to her that I had not had a drink in almost three months. I had been engaging in a generic, theoretical conversation about a serious social and educational problem. Was it not apparent who and what I was: an educated, intelligent, professional woman? What did she mean, “Even you can remember six letters…”

Something was missing. I was as dry as a bone and quaking in my boots that day when I spoke to the woman I met at the conference, the one who gave me the gift of six letters.

From my vantage point today, I believe that woman knew exactly who and what I was. She clearly saw a woman who was struggling, new to the idea of not drinking, foundering, and headed for some mighty challenges in the months to come.

She had told me, “DD, AH, GM.” I remembered those six letters. I recited them to myself like a mantra, “DD, AH, GM; DD, AH, GM; DD, AH, GM ” and no matter what was going on, I would keep chanting them until the moment of despair or craving or hopelessness passed I would still be breathing. I would still be sober. I didn’t drink. But I was pretty miserable.

I needed help. I needed people who wouldn’t let me snow them with multi-syllabic words, an erect carriage, or confident delivery. People who would see that underneath it all, I had no idea how to live a life without alcohol. Sure, I had put down the drink. But who was I? I couldn’t sing, dance, or tell stories while sober. I couldn’t ignore or laugh off complex situations. I had no skills, no tools. Nothing to guide me.

But wait, I did have a tool. DD, AH, GM. As hard as it was, I had, for now, done the DD part: I hadn’t had a drink in three months. But that woman had given me six letters, not just two.

DD: Not drinking was the first thing—Don’t Drink—okay, sober, no alcohol—but now what was I supposed to do?

AH: Ask for help. Who do I ask? I asked God to send me a group I couldn’t BS, and I had found myself at a conference on alcoholism, learning about the disease and recovery, and listening to a woman assuring me that I could certainly remember six letters and that using them would make my life better.

I thought of the last pair of letters that woman had challenged me to remember—GM: Go to Meetings. I had learned at that conference that there were meetings where a way of life based on “The Twelve Steps” was practiced and discussed.

These were meetings of people who admitted they had a problem, that their lives had become unmanageable. Meetings of alcoholics. Meetings of drug users. Meetings of people who had spent their lives trying to control someone’s behavior. Meetings of people who were raised in homes affected by active addictions. Meetings of people who were addicted to food or sex or spending or gambling.

There were meetings where people spoke about themselves and their lives and how they enjoyed or coped with what life was offering without using alcohol, drugs, trying to control others, or any of the other things people can become addicted to. Meetings where people were living life now, in the present, on life’s terms. Meetings where people talked about gratitude and acceptance. Yikes.

In all of these meetings, people were admitting that they were powerless over their addictions. And they were asking for help. They were learning who they are—what hobbies and interests they had and how they could spend their time and enjoy life. They were being adults who accept that their actions affect themselves and others and learning how to behave responsibly and kindly. They were talking about the difficulties and challenges they face and how they cope.

And they were learning, profoundly, deeply, that no one is alone.

I could go to those meetings: I was not alone. I am never alone.

I don’t know that conference woman’s name. But she saved my life and showed me that I could be restored to sanity. Thank you.

Six letters, that’s all it takes:

DD, AH, GM.

Christine H.

I’m an avid gardener. I have been pretty much since I got sober. I remember my mother didn’t like to garden—too much work. So, I guess I didn’t come from gardening stock.

My gardens are entirely flowers, flowering bushes, and trees. No vegetables for me. I did try to grow them once, but I was too impatient. I pulled up some carrots long before they were ready. I wanted to see their progress—of course that killed the carrot—I couldn’t put it back in the ground to grow.

Recently I heard at a meeting: “Don’t water your defects.” It got me thinking about my garden and my defects. I water my garden almost daily in the summer. My dahlias, daisies, and delphinium love the water and the summer sunshine. I have zinnias, roses, fuchsias, and coneflowers as well as pots that brim with annuals (the ones that only last a season).

I also have weeds. I do not love them. I hate them. Just when I think I have gotten them all they come back, often much stronger than before. I’ve used vinegar to kill them sometimes. I tried mega chemicals as well as organic weed killer. All my efforts fail to remove them for good and often I end up killing some of my beautiful flowers!

So, what to do? I must accept that the weeds will always show up. Resisting them, hating them, or getting angry about them never gets rid of them. Like my character defects, my determined will, will NOT get rid of them. I can work on the weeds. I can pull up and throw out the weeds as they come up. Do my flowers hate the weeds? I think not. They don’t stop blooming just because of the weeds. They only need a bit of fertilizer (support) and sunshine (hope) and water (nourishment).

Ah the water! The gift of life we all need. If I water the flowers, I water the weeds, such a dilemma! I have come to accept that my defects will always be with me, just as my blooming positive qualities are. I can make sure not to water the weeds more than the flowers. I will water and know that my higher power can sort out the weeds if I do my part. I need only pull weeds when I recognize them (sometimes they even look like flowers) and let them go! Then I do my best to clear my garden of them, celebrate, and share my flowers.

I don’t water my defects by encouraging them or feeding them much anymore. I know my higher power, if I only ask, will take care of them.

Libbie S

The Daily Reflection for August 1 is a quote from the Big Book: “The spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.” When I first read that I knew what it meant, or so I thought. After all, I had spent seven years in a seminary and I ought to know all about, or a good bit about, the Spiritual life. Sad to say, I knew very little in terms of the practice of the spiritual life. I knew that I said my prayers, did my morning reflection (not meditation), and daily celebrated the eucharist (Mass). What else was there to do?           

Fortunately, for me, someone gave me a copy of As Bill Sees It, which helped me to read the Big Book better. I could read the different topics and identify with them much easier than speed reading through the Big Book.

Beginning on page 5, I got hit with my first reality of living a spiritual life: “If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the sudden rage were not for us. Anger is the dubious luxury of normal men, but for us alcoholics it is poison.” I wasn’t angry. People made me angry. That mindset had to change.           

On Page 8, “Is sobriety all that we are to expect of a spiritual awakening? No, sobriety is only a bare beginning…a new life of endless possibilities can be lived if we are willing to continue our awakening, through the practice of AA’s Twelve Steps.” That was an issue.

My first few years in the Fellowship was that of a dry drunk. For a few reasons, I choose not to drink or used mood altering chemicals. That and going to meetings and reading the Big Book so I can quote it showed how smart I am. I did the 12 steps in order to show my After Care Counselor I was working the program. I wasn’t. I wasn’t even treading water. I was struggling for my life and didn’t know it.

“We are not cured of alcoholism. What we really have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition” P.27. I may have stopped drinking and using drugs, but I was anything but sober. I had resentments, anger issues, jealousy, self-doubt, fear, etc. etc. etc. As I had done in my drinking career, I kept what I thought was a good front, but I could hardly breathe for fear that someone would really discover how shallow I really was.              

“If we cannot or will not achieve sobriety, then we become truly lost, right here and now. We are of no value to anyone, including ourselves, until we find salvation from alcohol. Therefore, our own recovery and spiritual growth have to come first—a right and necessary kind of self-concern.” I didn’t think I was lost. I was like Pooh Bear who said, “I’m not lost. I’m right here.” I had no idea of where I was spiritually, and I splashed around thinking I was making progress.

“Following a gossip binge, we can ask ourselves these questions: “Why did we say what we said?... Were we not trying to feel superior by confessing the other fellow’s sins? Or, because of fear and dislike, were we not really aiming to damage him?” P 80. I did not consider myself to be involved in gossip. Afterall, I only told the truth about my boss or whoever it was whose character was being assassinated.

An old timer once said to me “Seamus, if you’re not living the program, you’re not working the steps.” I had no idea what he was talking about, and I took a dislike to him and his superiority (as I saw it) and I did not ask him.

When I got my spiritual awakening, an experience that changed how I looked at the Fellowship and the program, I began with step one and came to grips with my powerlessness and unmanageability and by step five I had a clear understanding that I had not lost anything materially. Instead, I had lost all the values I once held so proudly. I had been living in a hole and satisfied with shadows instead of reality.

When I finally got around to actually working the 12 steps, I began to realize what Bill meant when he wrote: “To the newcomer: Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the fellowship of the spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the road of happy destiny. May God bless you and keep you -until then.” P.164

Séamus P Doyle.

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

I am a person drawn to complexities, often choosing to make things more difficult than they need to be. Sometimes, it is a gift that allows me to think precisely. On the other hand, there’s a part of me that seeks out something to push against, to wrestle with…all the while telling myself it’s good for me. I realize, though, that while some complexities forge my soul, others drain it.

I can manufacture complications either because I’m caught up in something that really doesn’t matter, or because I’m avoiding something that does. There are days when I keep hammering away, wanting one result, and getting another. I wonder how much my creating (=controlling?) my own complications gets in the way of seeing the ones that arise naturally in a spiritual life, a life with God.

This brings me to a couple of Sundays ago when many of us heard this brief verse from Matthew 11: “Yet Wisdom is justified by her children.” I confess I never paid much attention to it before. This time, though, the invocation of Wisdom rang a bell, and drew my thoughts to the Serenity Prayer.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

When I first came into the rooms of recovery, there was a saying that all you needed for a valid meeting was two people and the Serenity Prayer.

The overwhelming intention of the prayer seems to be serenity—a sort of time-out, invoking a sense of detachment to slow down the hamster wheel of stressors. But, on that Sunday morning, I found myself recalling that the prayer asks for three things: serenity, courage, and wisdom. If Wisdom is justified by her children, I wondered how I could become one of those children.

The echoes of Wisdom got louder when we got to that famous invitation: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

For Episcopalians, these verses form part of the “Comfortable Words,” a series of Bible verses following the Absolution of Sin in Rite I. On their face, the words are comfortable, and have spawned countless samplers, greeting cards, and memes; not to mention some terrific music in Handel’s Messiah. But is Jesus’ yoke easy, and is his burden light? There’s a lot of evidence to the contrary.

Given my own battles with complexification (see? I even like using complicated words!), I wonder if some of the difficulty and heaviness that I experience within me and observe in others comes from the human tendency to try to do it all myself, to make my own damn way, rather than nurturing a connection with the One who is the Way, and who walks beside me.

Maybe, just maybe, this passage means that walking with Jesus (= a Higher Power of your understanding) isn’t necessarily uncomplicated, but if I’m focused on my relationship with him, the road before me opens with less resistance and less striving on my part.

I struggle with the image of a yoke. To me, a yoke indicates bondage or servitude, the lack of freedom and choice. But then, I realize that I have in my mind a single-user yoke, such as on a water carrier, or an enslaved person, or an addict. But what about double yokes, designed for working animals to pull in tandem?

What happens when I imagine a double yoke as the yoke Jesus was offering – a yoke that I don’t have to pull alone? A yoke that the God of my understanding wears with me?

If I nurture this kind of connection with the God who labors alongside me, it becomes possible to walk with courage through the complicated realms that my soul sometimes faces. I also have hope that I may be granted some degree of wisdom in choosing between the complexities that deepen me and those that deaden me.

When I am yoked with a Higher Power, I am set free to step off the hamster wheel of obsessions—of self and the world; free to live no longer for myself, but for the good of others.

Twelve Step programs were designed for people seeking to change those things to which they are yoked. So, I find it worth taking time occasionally to ponder exactly what I am attached to. I think that people are always bound, however subtly, to something: people, places, things, habits, possessions, beliefs, ways of being in the world. What or whom am I yoked to right now? Are these connections I chose, or have they been imposed on me? Do they deepen me or deaden me? Do they draw me closer to my Higher Power or drive me further away? Do they connect me to the power, freedom, and choice that God gives me, or do they diminish my power, freedom, and choice?

What if Jesus isn’t part of the God of your understanding? I like to think that when he addressed the crowd that day, Jesus was drawing from a deep and ancient well of Wisdom literature that continues to refresh and encourage us today.

Come to Wisdom with all your soul,
and keep her ways with all your might.

Then her fetters will become for you a strong defense,
and her yoke a golden ornament.
(Ecclesiasticus 6:26-30)

Paul J.
Muncie, IN

I have enjoyed sobriety for 36 years. The cure for my addiction has brought me so many gifts and miracles it is hard to name the most important one. A God of my understanding who is present to me when I need him, also a wife who has stood at my side and in front of me for 67 years. A child died from this addiction at the prime of his life, bankruptcies, and business failures—I cannot relate to you the pain I have gone through. But, we have had many joys too, which I would not have experienced had I not been sober. 15 Grandchildren, 16 Great grandchildren, with two more on the way, business successes, and grief assistance from stalwart members of our recovery members.

At 72 years of age, I headed to the seminary, and after 3 hard years of study, I was ordained a deacon in the Episcopal Church. These last 11 years have been a miracle. I don’t have the words to explain the joy and love I have found in my duties as a deacon. This is my 87^th birthday so I will retire at the end of the year. What a ride, and if I hadn’t got on my knees 36 years ago, I would have missed all the beauty of living a sober life.   

—Bob L

Six months after I got sober the International AA/Alanon convention was held in Seattle, WA, my hometown (it was the last time the two met together as the conventions had grown so large). My first meeting of Alanon had happened many years before and at that meeting a yelled “What do you mean I can’t stop my husband from drinking!” My first meeting in AA was a woman’s meeting and what I most remember about it is that I laughed so much at the meeting. I realized that I had not really laughed for years until that night. The women were telling the most outrageous stories of what their life had been like while drinking and laughing about it! I felt that I had found my tribe. I was still scared and worried but there was some hope in me too.

As the convention got closer, I heard people at all the meetings talk about the program, when they were attending, and who they were going with. I wanted to be asked to join them, but no one was asking. I was scared to ask—again—for help. Finally, I did, and two women said yes and told me where we would meet for the opening ceremony in the Kingdome. I was happy yet still scared. I felt like the cool girls in high school had let me join them but that I knew I wasn’t cool.

As we moved into the Kingdome (Seattle’s multi-use stadium at the time), I felt excited and calm even though I didn’t usually feel calm in big crowds. I am short and often can’t see above anyone’s shoulders so it’s scary for me that I can’t see ahead. But I wasn’t scared there, and it hit me: I felt safe with all these Alcoholics! I trusted no one was drunk or on drugs and that often in crowds it was the unpredictability of people that scared me.

We took our seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. There was to be an introduction, a reading of the 12 steps and traditions as well as everyone saying the Serenity Prayer. I felt myself getting very emotional and tearing up. The stadium was not yet full. Then the parade started.

Slowly, delegations of recovering people (both AA and Alanon) walked in behind their country’s flag. There are about 195 countries in the world and AA is in 180 of them! Each nation was introduced. I would guess there were close to 100 countries there that day.

Suddenly, I was on my feet, just like most of the attendees. With each country named I clapped and smiled and then something miraculous happened. I heard myself say, “I can do this. There are enough people and enough support for me to stay sober—I am not alone!”  

That moment has stayed with me until this day. I even experienced it while writing this blog. I am not alone. The hand of AA and Alanon is always there if I need it and ask for it. Whenever I forget this (and I still do sometimes) I close my eyes and I am back in the Kingdome with all those recovering people—I am not alone.

The International Convention happens every five years and moves around the world—often in the United States. It falls on the weekend close to July 4 and that seems appropriate: to celebrate our independence from alcohol, drugs, codependency, and other addictions.

The next convention is in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, on July 3-6, 2025. I hope to be there. Maybe you will too.

As I scrolled through Facebook this morning, I came across the following quotation attributed to Marianne Williamson: “Until we have met the monsters in ourselves, we will keep trying to slay them in the outer world. For all darkness in the world stems from darkness in the heart. And it is there we must do our work.” Earlier this morning I was talking to a friend about a sermon preached by his minister. While the minister seems to have good intentions, his sermon was not only dour, boring, but also negative.

As we discussed the sermon it dawned on me that this man’s sermon had something of the quality of sermons I might have preached when I was active in my addiction. Recovery has changed me, my attitudes, my approach to sermons/homilies. There was a time when I saw the world as negative, and in my mind, I was convinced that God was going to send me to a place of darkness for eternity because the god I believed in was a punishing, vengeful God.

The more we discussed the sermon it became clear to me that my friend and I had something that the minister did not have; a Twelve Step program. I went on to explain that no one in their right mind would take a fearless and moral inventory of themselves, then call someone to listen to it.

How could a church begin if the church planted told people: “You first have to admit you are powerless over people, places and things; that your life has become unmanageable. Then, you come to believe in a power greater than yourself, turn your will over to the care of that Power, and then you take a fearless and moral inventory of yourself and share that with a member of the church.”

In my active addiction, the problems of the world were “out there.” Other people were to blame. If only “they” would listen to me all would be well. Why can they not see that I am right? And the ones who were especially wrong were those individuals in positions of authority. “Who in their right mind put that person in charge?”

And, almost all the time, I was running into a brick wall with its negative consequences.

“Until we have met the monsters in ourselves, we will keep trying to slay them in the outer world. For all darkness in the world stems from darkness in the heart. And it is there we must do our work.”

I did not enter treatment with a positive attitude and certainly did not believe I had a problem with alcohol or other mood-altering chemicals. Five weeks in a four-week treatment program did not convince me I was an addict. Nothing people in AA said convinced me I was an addict. It was a sense that I wanted what they had. They were “happy, joyous and free.” I was tied up in knots. As one old-timer told me: “Seamus, that man who comes from the prison and tells his story is freer in jail than you are walking the street.”

Just over four years of what I later learned was a dry-drunk, I had my spiritual awakening. I grudgingly took responsibility for my attitudes, my behavior and slowly began to see how I had hurt other people. Slowly, I became aware of the monster living within me that I was fighting on my own. What fascinated me was that as I became open to listen to others, to identify with them instead of looking at our difference, I began to see the light to recovery and serenity.

I began to do the work of the steps. But another old-timer told me: “Seamus, if you’re not living the program, you’re not working the steps.” The program soon became alive, the lights went on in the darkness of my mind. Living the program meant that I had to make it a way of life and not just something I did.

In working the steps, I met the monsters, turned my will and life over to God, made a real moral inventory, shared it, identified my defects of Character, made amends, and began a life of being consciously aware of my Higher Power, praying only for knowledge of God’s will for me and the power to carry that out.

The darkness lifted. The world around me was brighter. I found the peace and serenity I wished for. At a meeting one day I was reading The Promises and I almost cried. They had become real in my life and all because, with God’s help, I did the necessary internal work to change.

Séamus P Doyle.

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

This month is the one-year anniversary of moving to an assisted medical living facility with all the necessary preparatory work and stress. This was necessary because of the surprise emergency surgery and hospitalization of my wife. After this passage of time, I can say we have done just fine in our new abode and believe without question we both were eligible for this manner of living. The process took all the stress and energy necessary for what had to be done and there were times I wondered if I or the children would be able to complete the transition without emotional or physical breakdown. We stumbled along for a bit until one morning following another early morning “To Do” list to the kids, I was met with a chorus of ”Hey Dad, what happened to easy does it, acceptance, let go let God, and you’re not master of the universe?” I stopped. Wow! The kids had heard a lot from me in my years in the Program.

I had forgotten the obvious. We decided then and there we would start following those ideas, and we got done, on time, with no emotional family damage, and even with some moments of laughter all wrapped up by these words of counsel from the Big Book and Bill W. and Dr. Bob.

You can’t get a lot done if you’re in a mental knot, nor thinking clearly, and your attitude doesn’t encourage others. “Easy does it” adds confidence to what you and others are doing.

Sometimes in life we just must accept something. I’m not talking about acceptance happily or angrily… take it as it is, just that. Make the best of it. That’s the key to living a life of serenity. “If you want what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it…”

“And Dad, look around. Who’s on your side? That’s right, your Higher Power. Think if we ask for His will for us, a way will open up? Can you find better support and assistance?”

I muttered to the kids, “OK, OK, I got it. I remember it now. Stupid. When I needed it, I forgot it. Thanks for the reminder. I am not the world-know-it-all, or its master. I need all the help I can get, as we all do. Let’s get ‘er done with some class and intelligence and love and support… and we did just that. Thanks to Bill and Dr. Bob!

Jim A/Traditions, Lebanon OH.