Through the Red Door Blog

“You promised to do something about your drinking, but that you had to think about taking that step.” That’s no promise; that’s fantasy.”

“Hedging your bets doesn’t aid attaining your sobriety. It’s just the old effort to get the spouse or boss off your back. You’ve broken that promise before. C'mon, it’s not forever anyway. In the Program we quit only for today. You can do that.”

“You must quit for yourself—not for your father, mother, husband, or minister. This disease is an addiction—physically and mentally.”

“Even I, as one in recovery, remains an addict and powerless over a deeply held thirst for alcohol.”

“The grinding tragedy of it all is that help is available and all one has to do is accept that fact and work the Program.”

“Yes, this is a disease never cured—once an addict, always an addict.”

“And to make it worse, this disease always worsens. Even after a goodly amount of time of sobriety, a drink will put you right back on that downward slope you jumped off of all those years ago.”

“Sure, I too remember those early days of drinking, but it wasn’t fun at the end.”

“You’re right. Don’t go to the meetings just to protect or grow your own sobriety. The Program tells us we also have an obligation to carry the message to those still suffering. In some ways we ‘get it’ by ‘giving it away to others.’”

“Worried about finding all those bottles you hid? Don’t worry. You don’t remember where you hid them way back when and you’ll probably find them the next time you’re upgrading the insulation in the walls of your den.”

“Yes, you are absolutely correct: your complete attention back then was devoted to seeing how long you can fool your family that you weren’t still drinking. You looked at this as a game—pure and simple.”

“Of course, those gala holiday parties are tempting. Everyone else is over-doing it, but you don’t have that option so don’t go to those gala events as you call them. The guests won’t miss you for they’re too busy making certain they get enough free booze.”

“You’re correct, yes indeed. Working the Program will change your life. It’s a fresh start free of those old drunken hangovers.”

“Yes. You’ll have to adjust all aspects of your now alcohol-free life. You won’t have that phony crutch to deal hide behind. The Program offers a Higher Power that will be with you no matter what happens. It gives us a chance to get outside ourselves and carry an attitude of accepting a spiritual strength, a life of serenity. Maintaining and deepening your own alcohol-free life is enough to worry about and making sure you go to those daily meetings available no matter where you are or what you are doing. Today you can ZOOM anywhere, any day, at any time. Don’t tell us you can’t find a meeting.”

“Just keep coming back. The Program works if you work it.”

Jim A/Traditions Assisted Living, Lebanon, Ohio

Sometimes my faith is weak.

This poses a problem for me, a person in recovery. The Third Step states: "We decided to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." After all, recovery is a spiritual program and requires a leap of faith. Much like the one performed by Harrison Ford in the movie Indiana Jones in the Last Crusade, at Step Three, I must close my eyes, extend my foot over a bottomless chasm, and step into the void with no assurance that something or someone will stop my fall. In my experience, such a decision works well on the silver screen, but in real life, not so much.

The word faith carries with it a lot of spiritual baggage. I am accustomed to the term being used to browbeat me into compliance from my experience in the evangelical church. My lack of faith was a sign of unconfessed sin or lousy theology. When I began my recovery journey and got to step three, I struggled to make the step of faith because of my experience with how my evangelical church defined faith. My experience told me that this would not work. "Why should it be any different now?" I asked.

But it was.

Steps one and two had to proceed this leap, be they on paper or in my heart and mind. As I surrendered my ego, I discovered that I was powerless over my addiction and my ability to muster up enough faith to change my ways. That power had to come from outside of me.

In the rooms of my programs, I found people who lived to tell stories of sobriety and recovery. In the sharing of their experience, strength, and hope, they were able to redistribute faith. Working with my sponsor allowed him to transfer some of his faith into my account. Finally, my Higher Power taught me about grace and how it makes a difference when my faith weakens. That's the dynamic of the program. Fallible human beings are being restored to sanity by grace in the context of community— God doing for us (often through others) what we cannot do for ourselves.

Admitting we lack faith may not be such a bad thing. Perhaps there is a larger world where faith is shared between those with much and those with little. The purpose of faith may be to empower us to experience life on life's terms, apart from attempts to control life outcomes. Is it possible that what we call faith in our religious experiences is just a cover for a set of beliefs and tenants used to control us?

Father Richard Rohr says, "Faith is not for overcoming obstacles; it is for experiencing them—all the way through!" I am learning that faith is a journey through circumstances and not a destination to which I arrive. It is the first of many steps on the road leading closer to serenity.

On this journey, my faith has grown, and I have been able to help others amid their faith struggle. Doing so has increased my faith, not dogma or heartless religious definitions. I can take the ladle of love, dip it into the well of faith, and pour some into the cup of a newcomer or trusted fellow in need. I now understand that faith is about emptying me of myself so that the God of my understanding may fill me with God's presence and power.

All I need to do is close my eyes, swing out my foot, and take the leap.

By Shane M

In his book, Walden, Henry David Thoreau wrote: “Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.

I spent five weeks in a four-week treatment program followed by a year of individual therapy and “Aftercare” group counseling. I “graduated” from the in-patient program. A graduate from a treatment program for alcoholism. Years later I reflected on this and though I was not unlike the students who graduate from high school and still cannot read or write. I still did not believe I was an alcoholic.

I “completed” steps one through five before I graduated. and I knew I cheated on all of them. How could I admit to being an alcoholic when I knew perfectly well that I had control of it. Well, most of the time.

I was employed, had my own transportation, and a roof over my head. How in the wide world could I be an alcoholic. I had not lost anything. Nothing like the other folk in treatment with me. They were real alcoholics.

In the first eighteen months post treatment, I experienced divorce, becoming a single dad to a thirteen-month old baby girl, and having to relocate. My life, as I later looked back on it, was now on shifting sand and I was still in denial. As Pooh says, “I’m not lost. I’m right here.” I was not lost.

It is fascinating what can happen when we begin to really listen to others and to ourselves at meetings both inside AA and those meetings in the coffee house down the street afterward.

Men I did not know, knew me better than I knew myself. “Séamus you’re full of it,” I heard them say. I laughed and then, inside I cried. Life as I knew it was eroding around me and within me and I had no language skills to ask for help.

Four years passed and I was busy looking for a mother for my child instead of a partner for life. I went to meetings. I didn’t drink or do drugs. I became addicted to unhealthy relationships, to nicotine, to food. I kept myself busy in order to seem to be in control of my life. I was given a book on Adult Children of Alcoholics to read and, despite my initial negative attitude toward the topic, I read it and sought help. If I were to put my life back together, I had to understand life before I began to drink. Oh, I was an alcoholic in waiting. I really needed to redo the steps I had already redone, and this time be honest, totally honest with no one but myself and God. That’s when I realized I had “lost the world” in which I pretended to live. I was but a shell of a human being. I had no values, and my spiritual life was nonexistent despite all the prayers I had been saying.

With each step I came to grips with my powerlessness and unmanageability; I found a Higher Power and turned over my life to Her care. I outlined an honest fourth step and shared it and began to own up to having character defects for which I needed help to remove. I began to find myself as I opened up to self, God and others. It was then I realized something which I found in an article I read: “Healing can take a long time. But it can begin, perhaps, with a willingness to just sit in the dark and open our hearts,”

Honesty, Open-mindedness, and Willingness. It was there in front of me all this time, but I was lost in my own world and did not see it. Cliches became life supports: let go and let God, one day at a time, keep coming back. I am an alcoholic. I am right here where I belong.

As I began to travel, I learned of “the infinite extent of our relations.” A.A. was everywhere and we all walked in each other’s shoes for most of our journey. I could go anywhere and was only a phone call away from a meeting. I could walk into a meeting anywhere, pour myself a cup of coffee and be at home within myself and with my companions on the road of recovery.

Today, I continue to be grateful I lost the world to which I once belonged and for all those who helped me find myself so I could then join them in helping those who seek help.

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

This is the newbie’s usual hedge. What did we really expect her to say? But with that half-surrender she still has a chance to find the way out of her downward slide. She probably at least understands her alcoholism will get worse, never better. But what’s your next step: say goodbye? Did you really expect her to cry-out, “Yes, I admit, admit, admit I’m an alcoholic and I don’t attach strings to that admission!”

So, if you are working with someone who hesitates, who wishes to engage in more fieldwork, guess what? There is only one response for you to pass along to this newbie: “surrender” itself can be viewed as a process but yes, it sure was an event for Bill W. in that hospital room when he “gave up.” But whatever, you just be patient. Keep in touch with her. Ask her to attend a couple meetings with you… no harm in asking. Try to get her to a discussion meeting, sometimes a regular straight drunk-a-log sheds light on her reluctance to surrender, and tell her, “Yes, it really does get that bad. It’s all out there for you to experience. Your choice.”

Another approach is gathering a couple of similarly situated people and take her to lunch. Listen to what’s she saying and feeling (how does she look, maybe hung-over?) The lunch isn’t a round-robin talk-a-thon about the evils of alcoholism. Hope for a real conversation with her. Get her talking. Is she playing games with you? Tell her a bit of your process and what made you undertake that 100% commitment. How’d you feel? Just remember that you are asking for major life-style changes. A life she has lived for years maybe very effectively, but deep down, she’s not so sure. Maybe all you get from lunch is, “So long, thanks, let me think about it.”

So, our reaction? It’s a simple, “Sure, we’ll be here. If you want what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it, we’re here.”

Through talks like this, the old cry of “Stigma, Stigma, Stigma” may rear its ugly head. Ask her if the stupidity of others is to control her life. But fortunately, these stigma-days have passed. The dangers of alcoholism are spread widely. People know help is available and rare is the family that hasn’t personally experienced the ravages of the alcoholic or have seen the sorrow in others caused by the disease.

What’s Christ call to us: “I’m always there with you, always. It is just that simple. Even if you don’t want to accept my invitation, I’ll stick by you. You don’t earn my Grace and love, there’s no scorecard or a certain number of points needed. You’re never alone, like it or not. Remember the thief next to my cross? Grace overcame his humanity.”

So, remember, the Program is always available for the practicing alcoholic. If you like what we have and are willing to go to any length to get it, come on, get to a meeting. It really does work if you work it for it provides a way to serenely live life understanding and dealing with its foibles, without alcohol.

—Jim A/Traditions, Lebanon

One of the gifts (of many) I have enjoyed in almost 37 years of sobriety is waking up daily with a song in my heart. Today it’s “Hard Hearted  Hannah,” last night it was “Holy, Holy, Holy. I can be all over the map of different artists and songs og “O Holy Night” and it does not have to be Christmas for me to love Ceylon’s version of this song. A walk with Jesus “In the Garden” or “Rollin on the River” has also been in my head and heart over the last few days.   

I am a deacon in the Episcopal Church. I entered seminary at 73, was ordained at 76 and I am about to retire at 87 having served my church for 11 years. How has this all happened? In 1986 on April the third, I fell on my knees in a chapel and asked God to teach me how to love him and others with my whole heart and soul. I had lost any part of me that knew how to love, and I despised myself. John, a very kind brother in the John of The Cross community who was an alcoholic, offered to help me. My plea was almost immediately answered by my Higher Power and the first thing I was taught was to work at loving me first.

He asked me to write something good about myself and I was not aware of anything good about me, so he gently started helping me with a list. Things I had forgotten about myself gave me a few threads to hold on to. I attended AA meetings in my area, found a sponsor, and the list of personal plaudits grew. My sponsor told me at one of my sessions he was going to teach me how to love another man. He introduced me to a group of guys that shared gratitude for something in their lives daily. I soon started to love those daily reminders of why I should be grateful for them and my Higher Power.

Fast forward, I met a deacon at my church who started questioning me about the deaconate and asked if I would be interested. By now I was in love with Christ and all that that love meant to me. I said to Jesus, if you want me to be a deacon, I will start the process and trust that if it is your will, nothing can stand in the way of your wishes. The rest is history.

What has happened to me from the time I knelt in chapel and begged God to intervene, to enter my life, and to teach me how to love again? My marriage almost ended because of alcoholism and is now headed into its 68th year. My children both love and admire me, my friends are like the sand particles on the beach, I am loved by many, and I know it. I love and I see Christ in almost everyone I meet. All because the people of AA brought me into their midst and tutored me. My church polished the work done by AA. I am grateful, eternally grateful. I will soon be going to the big meeting upstairs and I will find my son, who died of this disease, my mom, my dad, and countless kin and friends to greet me. What gifts that love gives!

My song today is “Joy to the world, all the boy and girls now, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea and joy to you and me.”

Amen.

“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