Actively Passive

I offer myself to Thee…. Interesting verb, offer, not passive, for action affects the object, myself — not the subject, I. For me, what’s the difference? Me, myself, and I maintain the ultimate symbiosis. Yet here the verb looms large for the indirect object rather than a tail wagging below the diagram stands unequaled, omnipotent, omniscient. The subject and object stand equally passive, but out of respect actively passive.

The Path to Change

How do I become who I want to be? Maybe in some minor ways by deciding, choosing a path then taking it. Maybe that’s possible… when I’ve already drawn near. Then there’s the coming to believe. Not deciding to believe, not resolving to, but that wondrous initial trust, that idea that maybe…just maybe… the path could be open to me, the one others seem to walk. A kind of getting-to-know=you, of trusting just because nothing else gives any hope. Some credence that seems inherent, logical, natural. Then tidbits of plausibility, examples in your life, maybe in friends when you’ve been there, up close, personal, an involved observer. Witnessed improbabilities. A certainty that something’s there, a curiosity, an interest…a hook. But unwilling to invest, unable to risk. Curious, but passive, open to questions in answer to questions leading to inquiry. No longer passive, actively interested, seeking, accepting the quest. Standing open, vulnerable, ready to receive the unexplainable, the unexpected, the unworldly. Coming, curious, ready, open, prepared to offer your truth, your heart. Asking like the Baptist, Are you the one, or do we wait longer? Buying in, investing the bank, fully convinced, You/this/here is my path. God, help me, here is my path.

A Suggestion of Action

A “suggestion of death” means the person is dead. A suggestion of action means action taken. How do you follow the path? By walking the Steps. When? Oh, the timing’s up to you... “a course of vigorous action” “at once” “next” Procrastination’s an option: chronic, low intensity fear. You want to be miserable? Okay. Procrastinate. Live in the fear. You want recovery? Walk the walk, step the Steps, all twelve of them, all the way to recovery.

The Meeting

She’d promised Mom. Why? To shut her up, of course. To quell the scorn in her whine, to feel older than five or six. So she was here. Or was she not here until she got in there? Out of the Astro. With those people. A fly blitzed the windshield wanting out. Stupid fly. She grabbed a cup from the rubbish and swatted, missed, spilled dregs on her shirt. She couldn’t go in. Mom would have to understand. But she wouldn’t. Who cared? She twisted the key, held breath to think it to start. Almost. Next time maybe. A rap on the window, she yelped, turned to face a Cheshire-cat grin. A girl about her age. “Hey! Are you new? Here for the meeting? Come on, I’ll show you around.” She rubbed at the spill, shook her head. “Come on in. Don’t worry about that. You’re welcome here.” Her heart wanted to hear. And Mom would be proud.

Don't Fight the Good Fight

Out of this alloy of drink and speculation, I commenced to forge the weapon that one day would turn in its flight like a boomerang and all but cut me to ribbons. ~(Alcoholics Anonymous, page 2) Einstein chose to fight for peace; students align against others, respond to cries "Fight, fight fight!” Nobly answering the call to fight the unbeatable foe or as Christian soldiers march on to Zion, we intuit honor itself as fight. Surrender? With General McAuliffe we yell, “Nuts!” But in recovery we’ve ceased fighting anybody, anything, a position of neutrality safe and protected. Surrender? “Nuts!” Not nuts. Surrender equals sanity. The other way drove me nuts. Lay down your weapons, wave the white flag.

My Family, My Enemy

The world seems more divided than ever. Pundits argue on news networks, politicians pit themselves against one another, people attack one another on social media. Even families find themselves at odds. When division is so present, it is easy to see people we disagree with as our enemies. And it is easy, once we have designated them as enemies, to reject their humanity and wish them ill. ~ Room, The Upper. The Upper Room Disciplines 2022: A Book of Daily Devotions (p. 446). Upper Room Books. Kindle Edition.

Even families find themselves at odds. Spending day after day with a spouse, someone I took nearly fifty years ago for better and for worse, When day after day we're alone together, rough edges scraping the other's, sometimes it's far easier to be miffed than for kind thoughts and words to reign supreme... it is easy, once we have designated them as enemies, to reject their humanity and wish them ill. But still that better or worse eventually reigns supreme And the kindnesses seem greater than the rough edges.

Image Copyright: satura86

Tomorrow's Yesterday

It’s more comfortable to sit in a corner than to sort out a meaningful path, to stay in stasis at yesterday. I meant for my life to matter, I yearn for difference tomorrow though comfort means to sit around. How boring – though safe – to sit around, sucking my thumb, a tot in a corner hiding from fear of tomorrow, fear of the forks in the path but heck, does it really matter whether I fear the unknown or yesterday? How soothing is the fiend yesterday? Resentments dance with shoulds around oughts and regrets. A trivial matter lurks there for years, leaping from a corner into my way, blocking the well-chosen path to imagined triumphs and honor tomorrow. What if I fall on my face, humbled tomorrow as I have been these countless haunting yesterdays? Does nobility, courage of the chosen path shine brightly, or does disaster peek at me around another inevitable blind corner — ubiquitous “theys” say only todays matter. I could have been a contender. I could matter in grand schemes of the history of tomorrow. Does fame – or infamy – lurk around that corner? When I look at the future as another yesterday will it seem to have changed for I was around? Will admiration trace my innovative path? Like Merlin, God lives backwards, the path clear from one end as the other, matters’ meanings un-muddled. He turns around and surveys, satisfied, countless tomorrows and the coming versions of yesterday laid out clearly, unblocked by turns and corners. God’s present, around as I ponder each path knowing what a corner may hide. It doesn’t matter I can’t see tomorrow. It’s my God’s yesterday.

About Recovery , a Sestina

She’d hit bottom and recovering must come. In the clinic detox section she fought back demons and faced the dilemma — telling the kids. Maybe fascinating stories of a handsome baron or about Turks needing services she could volunteer? No! Lies were out. But should she volunteer the truth? She’d hid it, always. Recovering from drugs was not enough. Her kids knew about her “medications” though she’d tried to section her life to protect them. Fascinating how young they’d grasped her life’s dilemma. She’d lost a husband to the dilemma, knifed him for suggesting she volunteer for treatment. So he’d left. Fascinating now how right his leaving seemed. Recovering in the cold, sanitary detox section clarified what past and future were about. The truth be told, she didn’t mind about him. But their sons were ten and twelve, a dilemma. She should be sitting in the cheering section of Mark’s softball game and ought to volunteer for Joe’s field trip. But she lay recovering, safe. And clarity was fascinating. How could she bask in clarity, fascinating or not, and not do anything about the boys? What was the use of recovering without them. She had more than one dilemma. Without them she might as well volunteer for permanent residence in detox section. But she couldn’t stay on in this section. Watching drunks and druggies wasn’t fascinating but disgusting. She’d better serve to volunteer once through, but she must do something about the boys. How could she call her sons a dilemma and say the same about her own recovering? The detox section was for her sons, about them, not some fascinating abstract dilemma. For them she’d volunteer to push on, recovering.

God Doesn't Need Interpreters

For I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ. ~ Galatians 1:12 (KJV) With few exceptions our members find that they have tapped an unsuspected inner resource which they presently identify with their own conception of a Power greater than themselves. (Alcoholics Anonymous, Spiritual Experience appendix) All around me, voices knowing better, people more experienced, others who’ve walked this path before, and they may be messengers, sometimes, a mouthpiece for God, but I know if I miss the point in a group, or studying alone, hope’s there, help’s there, guides may lead me step by step toward the right direction. Sometimes God speaks through them. Other times, they’re giving advice, not really working program, not in sync with God. When I’ve listened long enough, I recognize his voice, hear his message. But I need not wait. He’s ready for me, any time. God, protect me from leaving the path you’re trying to send me along no matter who speaks for you. Remind me you don’t need interpreters.

Our Trusted Servants

When Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned. For before certain men came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But when they arrived, he began to draw back and separate himself from the Gentiles because he was afraid of those who belonged to the circumcision group. ~ Galatians 2:11-12 (NIV) For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern. (Alcoholics Anonymous, Tradition Two)

Tough call, leaving trivial behind. Hard job to set aside old prejudice, see people as people — not as Jew or Gentile, not male, female, old, young, hale, infirm, addict, "normie," straight, gay, citizen, stranger. If behavior stands up, rings true before God, why censor it before disapproving others? Who is a leader? One who talks, influences, coerces? Or one who takes the high road, the ethical path no matter what vocal others think? God, when you show me right, walk with me, shoving me in right direction when you must but hopefully filling me with conviction replacing fears.

Grace Sufficient

Grace is available for each of us every day . . . but we’ve got to remember to ask for it with a grateful heart and not worry about whether there will be enough for tomorrow. — Sarah Ban Breathnach (Cohen, Alan. A Daily Dose of Sanity (Kindle Locations 5105-5108). Hay House. Kindle Edition.

Grace: the free and unmerited favor of God, as manifested in the salvation of sinners and the bestowal of blessings. • a divinely given talent or blessing: the graces of the Holy Spirit. Asking with a grateful heart without worry there'll be a shortage of God's blessings the next day, week, month, year... ever! Surely God's grace is sufficient!

Living in the Promises

She comes to several meetings every week, doesn't talk about decades in the program. says she's "recovering from compulsive eating" "and I'm a sponsor." She's given service on every possible level and still does mundane tasks without a murmur. She contacts other members, active or missing for a while, says thanks for contributions, and I missed seeing you. Through times we could have lost the community she kept coming back so there were meetings we could return to. Through personal losses and medical issues she's a picture of Recovery, living in the promises.