I’ve been thinking about Miracles.

My sobriety began with a miracle. I was miserable, desperate, and unsure of what to do. I was alone and suffering. I couldn’t explain it. I was outside and everyone else was inside the circle. I didn’t understand. At one time alcohol had eased my pain, helped me forget my isolation and made things bearable—but then alcohol turned on me. I couldn’t drink enough and anything I drank was too much. I cried out, yes, actually cried out, “God help me, I can’t do this alone.” And within days, I was led to 12-Step Recovery. Yes, within days…

And the miracles continue. Being sober means my whole self is available to participate in life. And that means being able to see the miracles that are all around, every day, everywhere. Even in the midst of loss and anxiety, even during illness and insecurity, I can see the miracles. Being sober means having my eyes open to life, to possibility, to the miracle of the unfolding story.

In January of 2020 I got a highly anticipated phone call from Oklahoma. My goddaughter Maggie had just given birth to a daughter! Miriam, Maggie’s mom and one of my dearest friends, phoned to tell me of the baby’s safe arrival. Then Miriam said that Maggie had decided that the little one would be named after herself…and me. I hadn’t expected that miracle of generosity, and I cried tears of—relief for the safe arrival, astonishment for the surprise, and gratitude for the honor.

We all planned to get together on Holy Saturday, April 11, for the baptism of Miriam Aini Eleanor (Miri). You know what happened. The world shut down in March 2020—just for a few weeks, we thought--until this COVID thing got under control. Miri’s baptism was rescheduled for Pentecost, May 31. And then rescheduled…and finally happened in April 2021. But wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles (thanks, Fiddler on the Roof)—in the midst of the tragedy of the pandemic, the physical isolation, and the uncertainty—we got to see Miri grow from infancy to babyhood to toddlerhood. Daily texts and pictures from Maggie, phone conversations and Zoom suppers and bath-times brought us together to share the miracle of daily living.

On my first sober anniversary my sponsor had given me a plaque of the Serenity Prayer and on the back she inscribed “Alone no more…” And that is the miracle of miracles. Whether isolation stems from the tragic blindness to connection that active substance use causes, or it comes from the distancing required to end the spread of a deadly virus—we are never ever alone. Sobriety opens our eyes to connection and fills us with gratitude.

And we see miracles everywhere.