Through the Red Door Blog

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.

My oldest friend died almost exactly a year after my daughter's first steps. I traveled to San Francisco many times to help Sarah and care for her. I was able to see her for the last time just twelve hours before she died. We got to have our last goodbyes.

I was devastated. Old people die, not childhood friends, not at 33 years old. Some six months after her death, I was sad, depressed, and lonely. They were dark days, and I went to see a counselor.

In one of our first few meetings, she asked me if I drank alcohol. She knew that I was on medication and was not supposed to drink while taking it. I answered, "Occasionally.”

The truth was I watched the clock every day for my husband to come home so I could have my first glass of wine. I was drinking two? three? More? glasses but never when I was alone with my daughter but, in truth, since Sarah's death, I had noticed that I felt I had to have those glasses.

My counselor asked me to see a friend of hers for an alcohol assessment. My issues were not alcohol, I thought. I didn't drink and drive, I never "had too many” (although I did at a party a few weeks before and had thrown up (something I had never done, not even in college). I didn't consume alcohol during my pregnancy, though it really annoyed me. I went to see the woman just to prove to my counselor that I didn't have a problem with alcohol.

Randy said she would meet with me three times and then give me her assessment. Towards the end of the first session, she announced that she did not need to see me two more times.

Vindication! I thought. See, I'm not an alcoholic; I don't have a problem!

But what she said stunned me. "You are heading down a very dangerous road. You're drinking rather than dealing with your feelings and life. It appears that chemically speaking, you still may have a choice about drinking. You might keep that choice for some time but because of all you have told me about your family's history of alcoholism and alcohol abuse, especially your mother, I am concerned for you. It's my opinion that if you continue to drink, the disease of alcoholism will take over and you will lose your choice and your body will make you drink even if you don't want to. It may not happen tomorrow, you may have perhaps four more drinks, or four years, but it will happen.”

"My advice: stop now while you still have the choice. You may think that you will know which drink in the future will be the one to create complete chemical dependency. Do you think you are clever enough to figure out which drink it will be? Just before you take that drink though, the sky will not open, and God will not make an announcement alerting you that 'This is the drink'."

I was silent. I knew she was right. Would I take the chance of destroying my life, my daughter's life, and my husband's life for a glass of wine? I saw in an instant that I wasn't smart enough to know which drink would take my choices and my life away from me. I didn't want to be an alcoholic mom, like my mom. I didn't want my daughter to look at me with pity and anger.

I could see that for me drinking was like playing Russian roulette with my life and hers. If l stopped now, I wouldn't have to wait to see which chamber the bullet was in. Perhaps, I could start a new family legacy of sobriety and health.

In AA they speak of "reaching your bottom," the point where you are given the gift of realization that you must quit. Like an elevator in a skyscraper, the elevator lets you off on any floor. I didn't want to go all the way to the basement.

The sky did open that day. It wasn't like in the movies. God didn't grab a drink out of my hand and stop me. God doesn’t work that way—at least not in my life. The voice that I heard came from an older, petite woman with kindness in her eyes. Her voice spoke to the quiet knowing part inside of me. God gives us a choice. We must make it and keep it. I did hear God and I got off the elevator and stepped into a new life. It has made all the difference.

Libbie S - from her book - God Shots: Moments & Lessons, A life in Recovery, Motherhood to Covid

Sometimes I like to hold on to things. 

This is especially problematic when those things are my defects of character. I do this even though, deep down; I know they hinder my progress in becoming the person I believe my Higher Power has created me to be. I have a remarkable ability to resist change, even when it's for my well-being and growth.

In the sixth step, I read to be "…entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character." This step calls for a genuine openness to let go of my self-defeating behaviors and attitudes. As the Big Book of AA emphasizes, "When ready, we say something like this: 'My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad'" (Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous). For me, willingness begins with acknowledging the need for change and recognizing that my Higher Power can guide me toward growth and healing.

What hinders my ability to be willing? Often, it is the relentless grip of my ego, that little voice within that tells me I don't need to change or that my defects somehow define me. I may fear losing control or mistakenly believe holding onto certain behaviors or relationships provides security, comfort, or validation. However, true freedom lies in releasing my attachments to these false sources of stability. By surrendering to the process, I open myself to the possibilities of a more fulfilling life, liberated from the chains of our defects.

I recently reconnected with self-reflection as a powerful tool on this path. Taking regular introspection and honestly evaluating my attitudes and behaviors has allowed me to recognize patterns contributing to my defects. Through compassionate self-awareness, I've identified areas where change is necessary, and genuine willingness emerges from this place of honesty.

After 13 years in 12-Step recovery, I still seek support and accountability. Surrounding myself with individuals who understand my need to be willing and my resistance to doing so has made a world of difference. Engaging in recovery meetings, therapy, and support groups have allowed me to share my experiences, challenges, and triumphs with others on a similar path. I cannot overstate the importance of connection and support for my recovery. The adage "our secrets make us sick" rings in my brain as a reminder to get current when I am holding on to my character defects.

Letting go of the illusion of control and trusting in my Higher Power's guidance has been liberating and challenging. It's a continuous practice of releasing my grip on outcomes and having faith that I am creating space for positive change and growth by surrendering. Surrendering is an act of vulnerability and courage, but through this surrender, true transformation begins to unfold.

I read in Matthew 16 where Jesus addresses the outcome of not being willing to let go of the things that may stop me from becoming who I am meant to be.  

Then Jesus went to work on his disciples. "Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You're not in the driver's seat;  I am. Don't run from suffering; embrace it. Follow me, and I'll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self-sacrifice is the way, my way, to finding yourself, your true self. What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?*

I have experienced the profound impact of unwillingness to let go of my character defects. I am never pleased with the results. However, when I am willing, usually after suffering and pain, I am rewarded with the peace and serenity of a new level of integrity. 

Now I have to be willing to let go.

By Shane M

*The Message Bible, Eugene Peterson

Recently I was reading a book for a study group I attend, and I read the following: “Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear are essential ingredients for promoting the culture of encounter, in which we are prepared not only to give, but also receive from others. Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”¹ I had little to no intention of fostering good relationships with others when I came into the Fellowship, and I certainly wasn’t prejudiced [except toward the British.]

I did what I had to do. I was invited to come early and stay late, to participate in the preparation and clean up afterward. I was friendly and yet kept most people at arm’s length. If I didn’t, they would get to know me, realize I was a skeleton, a fake, and know I was stupid. Best to keep them at a distance.

The Steps don’t work that way. When I finally experienced my spiritual awakening and took the program seriously, I discovered that step one is about “concern for fostering good relationships with others.” All my life I had hid in plain view. I’ve no doubt that people saw through me, but for most people, I was superficial.

Step one created a level playing field for all of us regardless of our socio-economic status or our place of employment. Step one opened my mind to the chaos I had created for myself and others. While I did not want to be an alcoholic or belong to this fellowship, I wanted what they had. I wanted what I saw in others with long term sobriety.

Step Four brought me face to face with my prejudices and fears. I was prejudiced against more than just “the Brits.” I was prejudiced against WASPS, Asians, and others with whom I had never had a conversation. I was prejudiced against myself. I had no idea who I was, what I believed. I was a stranger unto myself. I wanted company.

“Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear are essential ingredients for promoting the culture of encounter…” First, I had to admit I was prejudiced; admit that I am human just like every other human on this planet, I made and make mistakes, have attitudes etc. Admitting that I am human brought me out of hiding, opened my mind and eyes to the goodness of “them,” of ‘those people” of whom I was one. It was essential that I begin to change my attitude and behavior in order to have an encounter with “them,” “us” and me.

The Fellowship, I discovered, is a place for a “promoting the culture of encounter.” I encountered people of all walks of life, all faith communities, all cultural backgrounds, all parts of the socio-economic ladder. I came face to face with them and they were me. This was no chance encounter. This was a real gut-level encounter that would not have happened in any other format—not even in church. This was a human encounter, a healing encounter, a spiritual encounter.

Our desire for fostering good relationships and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear broke down my walls and helped me encounter myself in a manner that no therapist had ever done. Steps one through five broke through my denial system and gave me the strength to reach out to others whom I otherwise would have judged or avoided.

I changed. Through working the steps and learning to live the program, I came to experience the promises coming true for me. I wanted what they had, and they gave it away freely by invitation and example: “Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”

The Fellowship is not a place for selfishness. Rather it is in this fellowship that I learned true “hospitality.” “It grows from both giving and receiving.” As Bill W. wrote: “Many of my dearest A.A. friends have stood with me… Oftentimes they could help where others could not, simply because they were A. A’s.”² I received so much initially that I did not understand. I was grateful for it, and I was selfish in the way I took it. In time I learned I too had something to offer, to share and it had nothing to do with currency or status—it was my experience, strength, and hope.

I came into this Fellowship as a stranger to myself and others and “too smart for your own good.” It was the genuine “Concern for fostering good relationships with others and the ability to overcome prejudice and fear’ [which created] ‘the culture of encounter in which we are prepared not only to give but also receive from others. Hospitality, in fact, grows from both giving and receiving.”

• 1)     POPE FRANCIS: A STRANGER and You Welcomed Me. Edit Robert Ellsberg. Orbis Books 108.
• 2)     AS BILL SEES IT.  303

Following his death and resurrection, Christ allowed His close followers to hide, to be afraid, to be angry that He was betrayed by one of His own, then tortured and hung on a cross to die with 2 thieves… and they did nothing to stop it. They hid in that room for 40 days, probably feeling sorry for themselves, fearful, not knowing what to do. Christ was dead but had risen. Could sadness be any deeper? The Risen Christ let them morn his death and let all the feelings of anger, guilt, fear, and so forth ebb and flow through the gathered. Christ waited. When He had waited long enough, He appeared to the hidden and told them what they were to do: He told them to move on, to leave their fears and pity pots, and go into the world and carry His message to all. He forced different languages on each, giving them access to foreign countries. He wanted these people in that room to carry his message of joy, of recovery of His Grace for all. So, I have no doubt Christ’s message today to those who hurt, those in deep sorrow and confusion, is, “Yes, morn, but at some point, you must pick up and move on, taking back your life.”

We recovering alcoholics know a thing or two about pity pots. For some that pot is the door opener to a return to one’s alcoholism— an excuse to drink. Sometimes the pot was deep— death in a family, divorce, any event having heavy emotional consequences— but for the addict, any size of pot will do. It’s just an excuse— you may know the game. “You’d drink too if you [fill in blank]” But the former active addict knows the Program, the Steps, the meetings, and his or her sponsor are there. He learns he’s not alone and that others have experienced the same feelings and have dealt with them by working the Program. They know from experience that they must get into action, take it easy, and perhaps the most obvious, to let go and let God.

Someone said to me when I was whining about some stupid sad feelings (I forget about what):

“Every day I need a good ol’ contact with other alcoholics to remain sober, a meeting, helping others, whatever. I do that to keep the Steps in my life. You need to do that too… Get off that Pot and get to a meeting. I learn something new every day that carries me to a serenity I thought I’d never recover. It’s an “into action” thing. Pity pots? When I feel one coming on, sneaking up on me, what do I do about the approaching flood of self-pity? Easy peasy. I get to a meeting, any meeting, and bring it up as a topic for discussion. Believe me. That takes care of it. It’s not a onetime deal. It gives me a way to continue the fight against that dark cloud. It tells me to be grateful and abandon that attitude of arrogance. Write a gratitude list— it’s a way off that dark cloud. OK? There you have it, Pity Pot bye, bye.”

Christ and the Steps essentially teach us to get outside ourselves, to work the Steps, to accept that which we cannot change and to seek His will and the power to carry it out.

Jim A St X Noon, Cincinnati

*Forgiveness sought for combining incidents in the first paragraph from different sources. JA

Well $#%@.

That was my immediate thought when I looked up this month’s recovery principle. I felt shame and guilt again because the word integrity has been destructive. In the past, integrity was the highest standard for an evangelical pastor. Pastors with integrity were super-Christians, who seemed to float into rooms, could preach up a storm, and see thousands of conversions. Integrity was directly related to results in ministry.

The inverse was communicated as truth as well. If I lacked integrity, my ministry was “of the flesh” and would not produce church growth and success. If your ministry was not fruitful, it was because of unconfessed sin, a lack of faith, or doing things of our efforts. I recall numerous conversations with fellow pastors who commented in negative ways about preachers who were not dynamic and how they equated that lack of “power” to a lack of intimacy with God.

As an active addict at that time, I ate that up. I knew the hypocrisy with which I was living. I knew that on any given Sunday, I was preaching a sermon prepared during a time of acting out in my sex and love addiction. Even when I was “clean” from those things, I always felt my integrity didn’t meet God’s expectations because I was in denial about being gay.

The church I identified used integrity as a synonym for holy, pure, and virtuous. While the Biblical word certainly can be used for those meanings, I believe such a definition reinforces a culture of shame and guilt that keeps others compliant or locked in abuse. Shame and guilt are often the catalysts for acting out as addicts.

It is time to view integrity differently as people in recovery.

Is it possible that integrity occurs when what others see on our outside mirrors what we know to be confirmed on the inside? In recovery, I embrace the synonym of “honest” as a replacement for integrity. Step five breaks the power of the secret life through disclosure. After taking inventory of my moral defects, having another human being who listens to my darkest deeds without flinching breaks the hold shame has over me. For many of us, this is the first time we are congruent in our private and public selves.

I wonder how much internal and external congruence would impact our churches. Imagine clergy that set aside the urge to be perfect in the pulpit and were transparent with their struggles with addiction, insecurities, and self-will. Imagine marriages and partnerships in which ego takes a backseat to the integrity of being honest with those we love. Dare we embrace this as a culture? Well, $#%@ that sounds like heaven.

-Shane M

In the current issue of PARABOLA*, Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee writes: “Time speaks in many voices, many different images and sounds…Time itself has become a standard, isolated, no longer able to communicate, to share its ancient knowledge…In today’s world the hectic, stress-inducing demands of time are often answered by the spiritual teaching that only the moment of now exists…But within each moment are all the rhythms of time, the patterns that flow from this still center…Each moment is both outside of time and also contains time, for, as .S.T. Eliot writes, “history is a pattern of timeless moment.””

“It’s time.” “What time is it?” “Time to get up. Time to go to bed. Time to go to work. Time to play. Time to pray. Time to eat. Time to get dressed. A time for everything under heaven. A time to be born, to die.”

One of the things I missed most in my years of active alcohol and drug abuse was Time. I never had time for those people, places, and things I now consider important. I thought I ‘managed’ my time well as I got my work done, kept appointments, made sure I looked good, etc. The problem was I was not there at the time. I was in a Blackout for just about all of my drinking/using years.

When I think about time, I think of my adolescent/young adult years when I would take my bicycle and ride around the countryside. I had all the time in the world. I loved the smell of new mown hay. I loved the aroma of the bog and the turf. I had time to stop with a neighbor—whether or not I knew them—and talk about the day, the weather, etc.

Then came the combine harvester and “real work” began. Gone were the days of turning over rows of hay for it to dry. The owner of this machine came early in the morning, turned over the hay, bailed it and spit it out for us to pick up and take to the shed and then go to the next farm to do the same. There was less and less ‘time’ to play, to visit, to sit around and play poker.

Then came college and a frightening new world of Bud Stupid, James Jemison, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, and friends. And time vanished. They took up a lot of my time even when I was not actively drinking. They gave me courage, strength, a belief in myself that had not existed before. I drowned myself in their presence and time was not important except for them. I always had time for a drink.

After I came to grips with my powerlessness and the unmanageability of my life due to the influence of mood-altering chemicals, including alcohol, I had to make time to reflect more seriously on my life as an active alcoholic. During those years I buried my emotions, I had a split screen on God—one I believed in, the angry one; and the Loving God about whom I talked to others.

Sobriety was a time-consuming process of relearning to say, “I feel…” and learn words other than “fine” or “Great” and to avoid “You made me…” I skipped through steps four and five and then had to make time to take a fearless and moral inventory of myself. The more time I took to reflect, the more honest I became.

By the time I reached the eight, nineth and tenth steps I was beginning to appreciate the program and its “demand” for rigorous honesty.” It was time to grow up. It was time to take my life seriously.

The next step was to seek “through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God as I understood him.” I was good at saying prayers, prayers I had learned by heart as a child. But “Prayer is the lifting of the heart and mind to God.” And, to do so, is to become more consciously aware of God in my life. God’s time is Now, the here and now of everyday living. I didn’t have to stop and say prayers. I could look around me and see the presence of God in the sun, moon and stars, in the rain and storm, in the peace and quiet of a beautiful day. The world became for me “God’s art gallery.” As I walked or drove through God’s art gallery I witnessed the changing of the day, the changing of the weather, the changing of the seasons. God was present all around me. I was living and being alive in God’s time.

I don’t know when or where it happened but, in living the program, I found a new meaning of time and having time especially for those in need.

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

* (Summer 2023 Vol 48.NO 2. 25-29. “Sacred Time: The Seasons and the Cosmos.”)