Corking the Bottle

If you're as old as I am, you might remember a time back in the hippie days when the country was fighting a winless war and our leaders were being assassinated and peace rallies turned into riots. We heard the cry many times from many places: God is dead! It seemed as though the world was out of control. The captain of the ship had stepped away from the wheel and we were sinking. There were no lifeboats, just sandbags. I was a kid then. I thought that's the way our existence would be forever. I knew no other social environment. Maybe, I wondered, God really is dead. I know better now. Sometimes God does step away from the wheel. That's the way my dad taught me to ride a bike: by holding me up and then, without a word, letting me pedal on my own while staying a safe distance behind to catch me. The following is from a book, Coming Clean , by Seth Haines ( https://modernmrsdarcy.com/books/coming-clean-a-story-of-faith/ ). The passage is a little long for this blog

I have an A.A. friend who is a murderer. I'll call him Fred. He isn't afraid to talk about what he did. It's probably good therapy. I'm going to tell an abbreviated version of his story here that's meant to be a disincentive to drive drunk and to drink at all, period. Fred woke up one day in a hospital. He had been in a coma and couldn't remember anything. He was told he had been in a serious car accident, but he could remember nothing about it. Then they told them a person in the other car died. When Fred was discharged from the hospital, he was taken straight to jail, then convicted. He served 11 years in prison. Worse than that, he took a life and permanently changed the lives of the victim's family and friends. He didn't say if the deceased was man or woman, young or old, a parent, a knowledgeable worker someplace.... But it was a snuffed-out life caused by another's drinking. I feel sorry for Fred. He has to carry that guilt with him th

I went to church last Sunday. A woman from a halfway house who designated me as her life coach wanted me to go with her and her father. I don't know if I will go again this week. Maybe if I am invited. Definitely not if I'm not asked. It's a Baptist church, very well attended last week. Sure, people were nice. But only three welcomed me and introduced themselves. Of course I didn't approach them. I was a stranger playing on their home field. A.A. people are more friendly. Maybe because it's not a clique. Maybe because we know we automatically have something in common. We all are there for the same reason. Correct me if I am wrong, but church people are church people for various reasons. Some are there to praise and thank God. Some are there for the music, some for the sermon. Others want to socialize. Some want to be seen. Some seek forgiveness, some give gratitude to the Lord. There are those who don't give God much thought until same time next week.

The older I get the less I like change, but the more I understand it. What I mean is I mourn the loss of the familiar. I was sorry to watch my childhood home turned into an insurance office. I loved the years I lived in Boise, but I'm disappointed it is so much bigger and unfamiliar than when I moved there in 1979. My children have changed. I miss their little selves and their little voices; one moved to Colorado, the other turns 40 this year. I miss my aunts and uncles; only one 90-year-old aunt remains. But in my wise old age, I see the inevitability of change. I've seen two new generations born as we babyboomers watch time tick away faster and faster. The pine and maple seedlings we planted in our yard are now a mature old-growth forest. I remember dial phones changing to push-button, then to cell, now in some cases to watches. The red-headed kid who played with my sisters now is a Pennsylvania legislator. I am happy to witness my life changing. I'm sorry my mu

I love. Not always, but I love: my wife, my kids, my extended family. Those are unconditional loves, and I hope and believe they are two-way streets. I used to think I loved my neighbor as myself. But after self-reflection following my return to sobriety, I'm not sure I was in  reality traveling that road. I was so in love with myself, I see now, that it was hard to love my neighbor as much. Now that I have turned my life around and allowed God to turn my head around, I can see that I loved only if I felt loved. I gave lip service to love and it felt genuine. But I didn't know what I didn't know. Now my love is about God. God loves me, and His will is that I share His love with others. All others. Surprisingly, I find that easy to do. I don't have to love people for their actions. But I love them because they were created by God the same as I was, and that kind of love now comes naturally. Just as much as I love, I crave to be loved. When I feel God's lo

I was baptised and raised in a Presbyterian church, and continued to attend when I moved away to Idaho and Washington. I don't go anymore. I find the similarities between church and A.A. to be curious. Going to church and going to A.A. bring people with similar beliefs together with mostly the same goal in mind: To serve and to help others and to find God. There's a fellowship in both, even though attendees come from differing backgrounds. (When I was growing up, our congregation was professional and white, and that includes the college students who walked from nearby. My perception is that churches are more diverse, as A.A. is, these days.) The big difference I see is that A.A. doesn't tell you what you have to believe in. Churches insist the bible is the word of God, despite various interpretations of scripture. Believe as they do, or your next stop is hell. A.A. says believe in whatever works for you. I like that. I have formed solid beliefs about our spiritual se

I'm an unapologetic hockey fan. I remember when my beloved Pittsburgh Penguins won their second consecutive Stanley Cup, Ed Belfour was the goalie for the Chicago Blackhawks. He's a Hall of Famer. But in the decisive game, he got pulled because the Penguins were getting everything they shot past him. Move forward 19 years. Here's what happened to "Eddie the Eagle." He was arrested in Bowling Green, Kentucky on January 28, facing one count of third-degree criminal mischief and one count of public intoxication. He paid $219 in fines and court costs. Man, I wish I had gotten off that easy. Here's more of the story. Police responded to a complaint of "a drunk and disorderly person at the hotel when they found Belfour lying on a floor on the hotel's second level by the spa room. "Belfour was 'clutching a a curtain rod that had been ripped out of the drywall above a window next to him,' according to the citation, which also noted that

Most of what I read these days is an effort to learn more about myself, about others, and about my higher power I call God. In Sacred Rest ( https://www.faithwords.com/titles/dr-saundra-dalton-smith/sacred-rest/9781478921660/ ) Dr. Saundra Dalton-Smith tells about a patient she once treated. The woman had cut her wrists. "Large brown eyes were not looking at me; they were looking into me.... 'Do you sometimes feel invisible too?' ... I had never cut my wrist, but I was the same as her. I too was medicating my loneliness. Not through cuts and self-mutilation, but through my own vices. While she resorted to a blade, my weapon of choice left little evidence of a problem. While she sought relief in watching the blood running down her arms, I sought relief in hiding behind a mask of perceived normalcy." Many who cut their wrists are seeking to end their numbness. Some do it for attention. I chose to hide loneliness and sadness by drinking them away, rather than

I didn't quit blogging. I had some technical difficulties getting to my posting page. Kathy my wife, after hours trying, figured out the problem. So now I can blog again. Tune in tomorrow and I hope I will have something meaningful to say to you.