A month ago, I revisited the church where I first walked into my first Twelve-Step meeting. This meeting, held in a local Lutheran church, sets adjacent to the school where I spent years as a teacher. Perhaps I had avoided returning to this particular meeting for years because outside of the meeting room window sat the wreckage of my past and the amends I had been procrastinating for years.

As alcoholism consumed my life, there was little doubt: I had lost the ability to function. The light of passion that once filled my days of teaching was extinguished. It was easy to see my: tardiness and the absent days, and the hallways I had once filled with student work were bare. As hard as my administration tried to compassionately talk to me, I found it baffling to imagine how to escape my self-inflicted hell. I knew the end had come, and I resolved myself to quitting.

The shame of my failure only deepened the darkness of my alcoholism. I was lost and was not sure if there was a God, and if there was a God, I did not feel worthy. I wandered aimlessly like a lost sheep. In desperation I in walked into my first 12-Step meeting, but for several months, fear kept me from coming back. I was desperate, but filled with the fear of what life would be like without the lull of numbness.

It would be several more months of misery before I would walk back into a Twelve-Step meeting and attend outpatient treatment, as a last-ditch effort to not die. Reluctantly, I found a sponsor. If it had not been a requirement of treatment, I am sure I would not have done so. I was steadfast to my self-will. To be frank, willingness and I would not get well acquainted for years to come.

As my half-measure sobriety spiraled and in the midst of the pandemic, I found myself in a dark place again. This time there was no pink cloud filled with the excitement of the naïve new, but rather a prayer I repeated, "Please God, guide me into willingness." Slowly, my prayers were answered. I rigorously worked with my sponsor, I took suggestions, and I attended meetings daily. I continued to pray for willingness.

I became willing to go any lengths for sobriety. Part of those lengths involved attending a meeting at the Lutheran church I had visited years before. Just like I did in the prior visit, I peered out the window and saw the school. I knew it was time to face the wreckage of my past. It was time to make the amends that I had been avoiding. I immediately called my sponsor and told her it was time. I prayed for willingness. I put my trust in God rather than fear.

As I reached out to my former principal, I prayed for willingness, "Thy will be done, not mine." In the arms of God my fears were calmed. The day came to make the amends. The morning was filled with a connection from God that he was in control, and my being was filled with peace.

For years I had allowed fear and shame to dictate the narrative in my mind. The truth, the reality of the amends, could not have been further from the lies I had ingrained. When I arrived to make the amends, I was lovingly embraced with a hug. In that moment all my fears faded. My heart and soul were filled with peace. I sat down and the words of the amends came out of my mouth. I was met words of Godly compassion. When I was told I had been forgiven, I knew those words came from a genuine place of God’s love. The fear and shame could not compete with the abundance of grace I found while making the amends.

In that moment, I understood the beauty in willingness and God's Will, not mine.