Spiritual Awakenings II - Группа авторов

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And I told them I didn't want to drink but I wanted a drink. That I wanted sobriety but I was sorely tempted. I told them I didn't know what to do.

      And they said, “What do you want to do?” And I said, “I don't want to drink.” And they said, “So, what do you want to do instead?” and I said, “I want to go to bed.” And they said, “So?” and I realized that was what I should do. I hesitated briefly—what would people think if I went to bed in the middle of a party? But I knew that I needed to do what was right for me.

      Luckily, the apartment was laid out so that the bedroom we were using was not one anyone needed to go through. I just slipped away to the bedroom, lay awake all of about five minutes, and fell asleep.

      The next morning I woke at dawn with a winged heart. I had made it through a difficult situation where there was liquor readily available and did not drink. What joy! I made coffee, went for a walk, came home, and, I must confess, took great pleasure in being obnoxiously cheerful around some seriously hungover people.

      Since then I have found a Higher Power to whom I can pray morning, noon, and night, and whenever I need help. My home group is still Sisters in Sobriety, and though some of the women have moved or moved on, there are always new and wonderful people to welcome to this life-saving Fellowship.

      And what I keep discovering over and over again is that this program really works, that it is filled with “firsts,” each of which reinforces my faith and gratitude, and that with each one I am witnessing a miracle.

      Mary C.

      Orangeburg, South Carolina

      July 2007, from PO Box 1980

      Today I celebrate eighteen months without a drink.

      I'm also divorced two years from a thirty-plus year marriage. One day, after sitting alone, soaked in tears and feeling empty, worthless, and crippled in the smallest task, I reached out and gave my phone number to someone else—they were hurting, too. In that simplest of acts, my world changed.

      I thank AA for helping me live my life instead of my regrets.

      Valerie

      Salt Lake City, Utah

       Twelfth-Stepped Me

      July 2004

      I was in a county jail, in the darkest moments of my life. I had just been arrested for some very serious charges, which I was guilty of. I was without hope and believed I was never going to get out. My alcoholism (and obsession with drugs) had led me to commit crimes I didn't think I was capable of.

      It was then that my dad began to Twelfth-Step me. I don't think either one of us knew that's what was happening. He was just a father trying to help his lost son, and I was in no position to turn down help from anyone.

      He told me he loved me and was going to do everything he could for me. He told me he was angry and hurt by the things I had done, but that he was still going to be there. I didn't know at the time that it was possible to feel anger toward someone yet still treat him with love. The AA program had to teach me that, as it probably had taught my dad. My father has been an active, sober member of AA for over thirteen years now.

      I was subsequently sentenced to fifteen years in prison and transferred to a penitentiary. I still believed that my life was over and spent my time involving myself in anything that would distract me from the hopelessness, emptiness, and shame that was always present. Gambling, alcohol, and drugs occupied a lot of my time.

      My father was there every step of the way, visiting regularly, accepting countless collect calls, supporting me financially, and just being a dad. He suggested meetings, but I was full of excuses and he didn't push. He just kept loving me.

      After more than two years of this, I experienced a series of events which triggered my spiritual awakening. I realized that if I kept doing what I was doing, I was one day going to leave prison the same man who went in—at best. And I knew I would probably repeat the same crimes, if not worse ones. I was terrified by that prospect, enough that I became willing to do something. I started attending AA, and entered a lengthy treatment program available at my institution.

      Through God's power (certainly not mine), I was able to shed the destructive behaviors I had been exhibiting. But the emptiness and shame of so many years of drinking and drugging were more present than ever. I was told that the Steps would help, and I was willing to try.

      My father was still visiting regularly, but the tone of our visits was definitely changing. Whereas before we had discussed sports or politics, now we started talking about what I was doing in the program. Whatever difficulties I was having, he shared his experience, strength, and hope about similar difficulties. He didn't judge or advise, he just shared. Our visits had become AA meetings, one alcoholic sharing with another.

      It was just what I needed. And then one day it hit me like a ton of bricks: My dad was living, breathing evidence that the AA program worked. I didn't need anyone to tell me what it was like, what happened, and what it was like today, because I had personally witnessed, over time, my father's transformation into the honorable man I loved so much.

      The joys that have followed have made me feel I'm the most blessed man on earth, though I continue to serve my prison term. In that same visiting room where we spent so many hours, we shed tears as we made amends to each other and put our pasts to rest. In that same room, we got up together and shared our stories with a group of recovering men. And in that same room, we continue to have our two-man meetings to this day.

      My father didn't Twelfth-Step me by sharing his story and then leaving me a book to read. He did it by being a living example, day in and day out for many years, of how AA can make a man more than what he was. And in doing so, he helped me come to believe that I could do the same. That's how it works—one alcoholic sharing with another, even a father and son in the cold, drab visiting room of a prison.

      Dave R.

      London, Ohio

      November 2009

      In early sobriety it was suggested to me that I think of prayer as talking to God and meditation as listening. That idea took hold. I sobered up in 1972; in 1984 I learned how to meditate at a Catholic retreat center, under a priest who had spent 25 years in Japan studying Zen Buddhism. That was my introduction to the practice of meditation, and it took.

      In 1985 I was down and out with chronic fatigue, so I began a meditation meeting in my home, mostly to get me up and out of bed. My group, mostly local women alcoholics, met from 7 to 7:30 A.M., Monday through Friday. There was no talking. It was just sitting in silence, listening, for 30 minutes. At 7:30 I'd gong a gong and we'd all stand in a circle and bow, using the word Namaste, which means “I honor the divine in you.” They'd leave and I'd go back to bed.

      It's now years later and I'm into my sixth year of healing from chronic fatigue. I believe that there's a touch of good in every single thing. The biggest gift of living with chronic fatigue for 19 years is that I became dedicated to meditation—to listening to God—and I learned how to quiet my mind. The morning meditation ended a few years ago, but a Wednesday night meditation group continues. The best gift of meditation, from my perspective, is that I've been introduced to the Spirit of the Universe by experiencing it in the very breath that I breathe. I love that God is available to all equally, that he's all about love, and that some of us experience that source of love by simply practicing the AA principles in all our affairs.

      Linda I.

      El Granada, California

      June 2009

      Something obviously needed to be done in my 18th month

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