Open-Mindedness Inspired by Others’ Confidence

“I know I can solve the problems you are having.”

It was a bold statement. One based on experience, and confidence in both my company’s products, and my own experience in their proper application.

I had stopped in to visit this business completely unannounced, and without any prior knowledge that they even existed. I just passed by them on a highway, on my way home. With over two hours left in my trip home, combined with the fact that it was almost 4:00 in the afternoon; a big part of me just wanted to keep on driving. I pulled in anyway, intending only to introduce myself, and hopefully set an appointment for my next trip through town.

Based on my conversations with three different people over the following minutes, they decided to see if I could indeed solve the problems they have been having. Today is the day of reckoning. Less than two weeks later, I will soon leave to spend the day working with their staff to put my product to the test. I remain confident, and look forward to seeing a dramatic difference today.

What is their problem? Well, it is smoke. The products they have tried thus far have both smoked, and smoked badly. Because of this smoke, their entire shop is filled with a sour smell. The rotten egg smell of burning sulfur. They are desperate for a solution, and my confidence helped inspire open-mindedness on their part.

I am so excited to for today. Excited to seeing the difference their open-mindedness will make for that one machine operator, and all of the people who work around him.

Open-mindedness is a foundational principle of recovery. All too often, when I think of practicing open-mindedness, I think only of the act of practicing it on my part. Or, if I see open-mindedness in another person’s life, only of their role in that practice. However, this one-sided view overlooks a vital component of open-mindedness. That component is inspiration.

Using my own experience with open-mindedness in recovery as an example, I did not just wake up one day and magically decide to try a Twelve Step recovery program. My decision to allow God to work though the steps and spiritual principles was not made in a vacuum.

I had become sick and tired of the person I become when I’m using drugs. Sick and tired of the complete disregard for any moral compass drugs instill in me, and of the way that drugs were making life miserable for the people around me. The stench of that misery was worse than even the strongest smell of burning sulfur.

Then, quite by chance, I happened to strike up a conversation on the internet with Amanda. We had never met before. My intentions were terrible. I was looking for someone interested in doing drugs together. What I found instead was someone who was in recovery, and had great confidence in its ability to change lives. She had seen what it was doing in her own life, and the lives of her friends, and was very open to sharing that confidence with me.

It was not long after I finally admitted that I “Might just have a little drug problem of my own,” that I found myself seated next to her at my first Twelve Step meeting. Over the coming months, I kept coming back, and as I did, the confidence of the recovering addicts in the room inspired open-mindedness on my part. I made the decision to begin working the steps with my sponsor. Prayer and meditation became a meaningful part of each day. Meeting attendance became about more than just filling a seat and hanging out with my new friends. I even began learning about the recovery process by studying literature that was written by addicts, for addicts.

What do you know??? I not only got clean, but actually began to recover. That stench that once filled my life began to lift. My life was changed. Changed by, among other things, open-mindedness that had been inspired by the confidence others had in the recovery process.

I still practice open-mindedness today. As I do, I pray that God would also equip me with confidence to share this simple truth: an addict, any addict, can stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way of life.

Have a remarkable day!

Sharing and Caring with Socks and a Hug

Last week, while in Wichita, Kansas for work, a cold front had descended on that part of the country. I had seen on the weather that temperatures were going to be down in the 30’s for the low.

In the trunk of my car was a new bundle of heavy weight socks. The kind that bring extra warmth on cold nights. So, I set out from my hotel room, and drove to one of the day shelters near downtown Wichita. My first encounter was with a man and woman who were hunkered down inside blankets. They were already shielding themselves from the temperatures.

“I don’t have much to offer, but could you use some fresh socks?” I asked this from several feet away. Even though they were outdoors, and in a very public area; for that night, that small space was theirs. I wanted to respect their space and their privacy.

“No, we’re fine.” It was the man who responded. His gruff voice held plenty of skepticism. So, I began to walk away, and as I did, offered them a “Stay safe tonight.” Then, the lady said, “Clean socks?” It turned out that they both wanted a pair, but had been hesitant to accept the offer. So, after giving them each a new pair of socks, I moved on.

I drove to the next city block, where I came across two more folks. I had caught one of them as he was changing clothes. He was standing by a dumpster, and when I realized he was changing, I waited for him to finish before approaching. Again, from a distance, I offered clean socks to the pair.

Unlike the first folks I had met, these two showed no hesitation in accepting them. “Can I get some for my friend too?” So, I handed each of them extras. Then, the fellow who had been changing clothes, stuck out his hand, “Thank you.” I took his hand, and asked if I could give him a hug. “Sure.” It was a hug that lasted longer than either of us had expected. Once it ended, and I had wished the pair a safe night, I went back to my car. It was time to go to my recovery meeting. So, I headed that way.

There are a lot of stereotypes about people who are experiencing homelessness. The people I encountered that evening checked all the boxes: grizzled, dirty, and at least where the friend with whom I shared the hug was concerned, most definitely smelly. They also checked another box – they were all people I once would have either ignored completely, or who would have been the subjects of a great deal of disdain had I taken time to notice them.

One thing I have learned about practicing the principle of sharing and caring is that when God calls me to do so, He is not calling on the people with whom I am practicing it to change. No, God only wants to see me change as I practice this principle is me. Thankfully, every change God has asked me to make has come with the power to make that change. This fact was quite evident last week; and is evident throughout my life.

Relating this story, therefore, is not some sort of humble brag on my part. Rather, it is an opportunity to boast about God, and His ability to change those who seek to follow Him. He takes me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes, way out of it. He helps me see past outward appearances, or undesirable circumstances so that I am able to share something as simple as a hug.

When I first came into recovery from drug addiction, there were countless individuals who practiced sharing and caring in their interactions with me. It is one of the things that attracted me to recovery, and the new way of life it promises. Because of them, and their actions and attitudes, I kept coming back for more. As I kept coming back, my life began to change. God became real to me in a way I had never before experienced.

Today, I am fully convinced that when I seek God’s will for my life, and the power to carry it out, He will continue to give me opportunities to practice sharing and caring. So, I’m stocked up again on socks; and ready to go where He calls me to go.

Have a remarkable day!

Hope, the Meth-Head, and the Country Club

Amanda is the only person I had ever shared it with. In the earliest days of my recovery from drug addiction, it was excruciatingly painful for me to drive by a golf course. It felt silly, even petty of me to let something as innocuous as a golf course affect my spirit so drastically, yet the pain was there nonetheless.

It had only been eight years prior to that when my ex-wife and I had found a home situated with a view of the twelfth hole of a private country club. No sooner had we moved into that home then we had joined the club. Something for which I held great expectations.

I could still recall the time when, during my childhood, Mom and Dad joined a country club. It was one of those pivotal points in my life, and in the life of our family. Many of their friends had already belonged when they joined. Soon, however, many more friends were part of my parents’ circle. To me, that place gave me a sense of belonging.

So, when we joined our club, I had great expectations for the role it would play in my life, as well as our life together as a couple. It seemed obvious to me that we would form deep, meaningful friendships as a result of our membership there. I could imagine myself showing up on a Saturday morning, and teeing off with three other men with whom I had become friends. In a nutshell, I expected to fit in and find acceptance among this new group of people. I expected that old feeling of belonging to return.

Over the course of the years that followed, reality fell quite short of those expectations. While as a couple we formed a good number of new friendships, the kind of male bonding and close companionship for which I had hoped, never quite materialized. Even after being elected to serve on the club’s governing board of directors, I felt like an outsider.

Looking back, the truth of the matter is that I have never been a very good golfer. I’ve always been the guy who held up the game, taking several more strokes per hole than most. Despite having seen how effective lessons from the club’s pro could be in helping my game, I failed to take advantage of his help. Instead, I languished in mediocrity, and wondered why so few people were interested in setting a tee time together.

When my addiction to meth became known, all of those expectations from the past quickly became resentments. Needless to say, being outed as a meth-head in that setting was brutal. The lines were drawn immediately, as people aligned themselves with my ex, and avoided even eye-contact with me.

So, last night as we drove to a meeting of our recovery home group, we passed a country club, and those old feelings returned. When they did, rather than wallowing in them, or trying to force the thoughts from my mind, I invested some time in examining why the mere sight of a country club would have such an impact on my spirit. Why was I still clinging to those old resentments, and the emotions that went with them?

Hope – that was the answer to my questions about those expectations turned resentments. I had placed my hope in that big house and the membership to that club. I had hoped that they would bring me the acceptance of others, and would make me feel better about myself. That hope had become an expectation. It had been such a driving force in my life that, when it failed to materialize, helped contribute to my desire to find escape in substance abuse. First alcohol, and then stronger drugs.

It was devastating to realize that I could not even buy my way into self-acceptance. So, I sought escape instead.

Putting my hope in drugs was the worst decision of my life. Sure, at first they worked. They provided the escape I thought I needed. When one stopped working, I simply moved on to a different one. With meth, I thought I had found the answer to all my problems. It quickly became to center of all my hope.

Soon, however, the hope I had placed in meth was dashed. It stopped working, and the expectations I had held of it quickly became resentments. However, addiction being what it is, I could not stop using meth no matter how deeply I resented it. It quickly morphed from escape, to necessity, and ultimately to my master. It permeated every area of my life, and had devastating effects on the lives of those around me.

One of the earliest lessons I learned in recovery was that I had a long-established record of having looked outside of myself in an attempt to feel good about being me. Whether it was that house, or a country club membership, or the drugs; nothing was going to be successful in helping me overcome the feelings of insecurity I had. Putting my hope in things always failed me in the end. Not only that, but it also hurt the people in my life.

Despite my bad experiences with it, hope remains one of the most positive influences in my life. Today, however, I no longer look to things outside of myself for self-acceptance. Placing my hope in things, in the end, only fed the insanity of my addiction. In working through Step Two with my sponsor, I came to the belief that God could restore me to sanity. Working Step Three brought me to the point of letting God restore sanity by turning my will and my life over to Him.

That turning over of my will and my life to God is not a one-time event. It is something I must do daily. My time in prayer and meditation/writing each morning is a key part of that turning over process. I’m fully convinced that it is what allowed me to understand the source of that anxiety I have felt when passing by a golf course. When I took a little time to ponder the true source of my angst, I realized that it was based on resentments formed when I was still placing my hope in things.

This morning, I am officially giving that old resentment over to God. He is fully capable of removing that resentment and the angst that comes with it. Because my hope is in God, I can live at peace with my past. I can let go of old resentments. I can recover.

Have a remarkable day!

Awareness and Speed Traps

I used to pass through Gordonville, Missouri regularly. It was located a few miles west of Cape Girardeau, where I lived at the time. There was nothing really in Gordonville back then. Just a few old businesses that had been shuttered long ago, and some older, fairly rundown houses. Just a little dot on the map.

A dot on the map, except, that is for one thing. Or, I should say, except for one person.

Gordonville had a police officer. His squad car was circa 1965. Similar to the one Barney Fife used to drive. He looked old and frail, seated behind the car’s steering wheel, holding his ever-present radar gun. It was old too. It looked like a shoe box with a dinner plate strapped to one end.

Between the car, that officer, and his dilapidated radar gun, Gordonville was one heck of a speed trap.

Fortunately, I was well aware of this speed trap. Before crossing the city limits, traffic on the highway into Gordonville slowed abruptly enough to cause whiplash. It is amazing how fast a car can go from 60 to 25 mph when the driver is properly motivated; and that speed trap offered plenty of motivation! Nobody wanted to be the victim of that officer’s pad of speeding tickets. So, for a quarter mile or so, we all slowed to 25 mph.

In all of my trips through Gordonville, I found that the only time that I risked breaking the speed limit was when mine was the only car on the road. Despite seeing the sign announcing Gordonville’s city limits, and the sign indicating the speed limit, I could easily become distracted, and forget about that old squad car that was sure to be sitting there. Thus, there were plenty of times that I would brake hard just in time to avoid a ticket. I would celebrate my little victory over that speed trap by offering a smile and wave to the officer and his radar gun.

“Let’s go guys.” Amanda began to direct Shaun and me out of the costume section at the Walmart where we had decided to look for costumes for Halloween. She had recognized that I had checked out mentally. I was lost in my thoughts, as well as in bad memories. She knows the symptoms I exhibit when triggered, and spotted them quickly last night as we browsed costumes. So, she hit the brakes on our adventure, and ushered us out of there.

We spent the next few minutes explaining to Shaun what had happened. While there are Walmart stores in town that I can successfully navigate, others can be the source of some pretty harsh anxiety. When I look around, and see people who are obviously strung out, it reminds me of my own trips to Walmart when I was in that condition. Sometimes, I will be aware of my feelings, and be able to take appropriate action to protect my spirit. At other times, times such as last night, those triggers will catch up with me before I know it.

Like that good old speed trap in Gordonville, I risk allowing my spirit to get trapped in those old feelings and emotions. While they may not make me want to use drugs, such feelings and emotions still have the power to send me into a dark place in the back of my mind. A place filled with bad memories of the person I become when I use drugs.

Practicing awareness is vital to avoiding life’s speed traps. When I am alone, I need to be extra cautious, so that speed traps don’t catch me off guard. Sometimes, that heightened state of awareness is difficult to maintain. When we are together, I know I can count on Amanda to help me avoid those speed traps. Like traffic ahead of me when entering Gordonville, she can hit the brakes in time to help me avoid getting caught up in those painful memories.

Avoiding life’s speed traps is one of the reasons that I do my utmost to attend recovery meetings whenever I am traveling. Whereas I used to think it necessary to share at every meeting I attended, these days I am learning to appreciate simply staying focused on others as they share. There is something wonderful, and almost mysterious about the effect others can have on my spirit as they share what is going on in their lives. As other recovering addicts share about the speed traps in their lives, my own awareness is heightened.

Over the course of five years of passing by that speed trap in Gordonville, I never once was caught speeding. There may have been a close call or two; but for the most part, I was always able to give myself plenty of time to slow down, simply by being aware of my surroundings. Likewise, I need never be caught in the speed trap of triggers that bring back those old painful memories. By remaining aware, and surrounding myself with others who share this journey with me, I am able to safely navigate life.

Have a remarkable day!

Surrender and Car Wash Man

I was driving down a boulevard in Southern Illinois, and as I rounded a curve in the road, I came upon police cars blocking traffic. Mine was the first car in to have stopped, so I would have a front-row seat from which to watch what unfolded in the next few minutes.

Over to my right, there was one of those car washes with several open bays. I could see the police a few hundred feet in front of me, searching. As I scanned the open bays of the car wash, I spotted a lanky fellow sneaking a peak around the corner. He could see the police, but they had not yet spotted him.

The police had guns drawn, and were carefully scanning the area. It was pretty obvious that the fellow peering out from the car wash bay was the subject of their search. It was also pretty obvious that he was not going anywhere. He knew he was trapped, and that short of a miracle, there was no way out for him.

Soon, the man was holding both arms out beyond the protection of the car wash’s walls. Slowly, he moved his body away from the structure, and down onto the ground. He was spread eagle, as the police approached him. After cautiously approaching, one of the officers placed handcuffs on car wash man. He had surrendered, and before long, traffic was moving once again.

I think about car wash man every once in a while. I’ll remember that morning in Illinois, and wonder what ever happened to him. Was he charged? Was he convicted; and if so, how much time did he serve for whatever crime he committed? Has his life gotten any better since then?

These are all legitimate questions, especially the one about whether or not car wash man’s life is any better today than it was that morning as he lay on the ground. My guess is that if life has gotten any better, it got a whole lot worse first. Surrender for him was no simple matter. I have to believe it was a life-changing decision.

Surrender is one of the first things an addict seeking recovery must do. Freedom from active addiction is not possible without it. We surrender not just the drugs, but the lifestyle, the attitudes, and ultimately, our will is surrendered to that of a loving God.

Often, newcomers will ask if life will get better. This question is often answered by some well-intended person who says “It may not get better, but it will definitely be different.”

Yeah, I’m going to call B.S. on one. My reason is simple. If life in recovery is not getting better, you are doing it wrong. Furthermore, if a recovering addict is unwilling to say that life gets better, they are selling recovery, and God, short.

Step Twelve begins “Having had a spiritual awakening…” This bold statement refers to the addict who has worked the previous eleven steps with a sponsor. It doesn’t say “If you are lucky enough to have had a spiritual awakening.” Nor does it claim that a spiritual awakening only happens for a select few. No, it is a direct promise. An expectation. By the time you get to Step Twelve, you will have experienced an awakening of the spirit!

By Step Twelve, our inner car wash man has been transformed. It is a process of change that is, without a doubt, a sign of life having become better. In my own case, this spiritual awakening not only opened the door to a better life; but also gave me a whole new perspective on what constitutes a better life in the first place.

Surrender for me began at my second Twelve Step meeting. It was there that I first introduced myself as an addict. I was like car wash man, peering around the corner of the dumpster fire my life had become, and looking straight down the barrel of life’s consequences. I’m glad that I had been told all about the new way of life recovery promises, because without that, I would never have stuck around. If I had only been promised “different, but not necessarily better,” I’d have bolted.

Today, the person who introduced me to this new way of life celebrates seven years clean and in recovery. My wife Amanda spoke non-stop about the changes she was seeing in her own life, even before I had admitted to her that I “Might have a little problem of my own.” Together, the two of us have built a life that is better.

Today is also Shaun’s fourteenth birthday. Because of Amanda’s recovery, not only has her life gotten better, but so have Shaun’s and mine. It is a life that once seemed impossible. However, God had big plans for us. Plans that included life getting both different and better. A life that began with Amanda’s simple act of surrender seven years ago, and every day since.

Happy Birthday Shaun, and Congratulations Amanda. I am so excited, because I know that because of surrender, we are going to…

Have a remarkable day!

Note to any addict reading today’s blog – I know that saying one is doing recovery wrong will ruffle feathers. If your life is not getting better, maybe your feathers need ruffling. I see addicts stuck in a rut all the time. People who attend meetings, expecting to stay clean, and see huge changes in life as a result; but who never consider getting a sponsor or working the steps. I also see addicts who are in codependent relationships with their sponsors, and never grow because growth would threaten that codependent relationship.

Whatever the case, if your life in recovery is not getting better, it is time to do something different. Get a sponsor who will help guide you through the steps. Or, if you have a sponsor, and life never seems to get better, find a new one! Your sponsor is not God, so stop letting them act as though they are. MOVE ON, AND MOVE ON NOW!

Unity that Overcomes Fear

“Kent, I missed the bus.” It was bad timing for such a call. Amanda was working as a substitute teacher for the day, and I was tied up at a trade show. So, my only thought was that Shaun would be getting a day off of school. Assuming Amanda was busy with the children in her class, I called Shaun’s school to report him absent for the day.

Then Amanda’s text message arrived. “EJ will take him.” That’s Amanda’s brother. He and his family live only ten minutes from our home. He had just finished his night shift for the local ambulance provider, and though tired, willingly went to pick Shaun up, and take him to school.

Why didn’t I think of that?

For most of my adult life, I have not had family nearby. So I am still getting used to the idea that we all have back-up available. We regularly watch out for one another. When I travel, Amanda is often over visiting EJ, his wife Sharise, and their three children. She helps out regularly by taking one of them to an appointment, or picking them up from school. When either family travels, the other cares for the pets, so we avoid expensive boarding fees. The list goes on and on.

In contrast to the relationship we enjoy because of our close proximity to one another, the rest of my adult life has been spent mostly living significant distances from other relatives. So, I guess it makes sense that I would still forget sometimes about the fact that we have extended family to lean on from time to time.

When recovering addicts share about our early days in recovery, one of the common themes has to do with the atmosphere in the meetings we attend. People are in there happily sharing their experience, strength, and hope with one another. A lot of laughter is usually present. Stories are told before and after meetings. Not to mention the fact that there is coffee made, the lights are on, and there is actually someone there to chair the meeting.

All of these things require unity, something most of us had forgotten about in our active addiction. In active addiction, there is almost always the fear of being ripped off, taken advantage of, or even something as simple as questioning the true motives of the people in our lives. In my case, there was all of that fear when among others who were using drugs; while at the same time, fear that I would be found out by the folks in my “other life.”

The result was almost always withdrawal or isolation. Any pretense of unity in either of my lives at that time was always tempered by fear. Fear, therefore, works as a natural enemy of unity.

Overcoming that fear early in my recovery was a real challenge. I wanted so badly to believe that the unity I was experiencing in meetings was genuine; but a combination of fear and drug-induced paranoia made believing difficult. In almost every meeting, I was fully convinced that someone was there to spy on me. Crazy, right? You bet it was; but that is part of the insanity of addiction.

During those early days, I kept hearing the same thing from others in recovery. They kept telling me to “Keep coming back.” So, as difficult as it was sometimes to believe that they were genuine, I did. I wanted the new way of life they talked about, so I powered through those early days of doubt. I began to get involved. Before long, that paranoia began to lift, and I began to experience unity.

Today, I’m one of those folks in a meeting that enjoys the unity that was so attractive to me in those early days. Whether I am at my home group, or at a meeting while traveling for work, I exchange hugs with the others in the room. Because of unity, we smile together, laugh together, and recover together.

Have a remarkable day!

Faith, Empty Promises, and Fannie May Easter Eggs

One of the funniest things I have ever seen was in a store in Orlando, Florida. It was springtime, and the chain store we had stopped by was decked out in everything Easter. Along one of the aisles, there was a freestanding display of empty boxes.

Empty boxes? What in the world? So, of course I checked it out.

Upon closer inspection, I looked into the individual boxes through their cellophane windows. At the bottom of each was a tiny puddle of chocolate, and a pair of candy eyes, looking up at me in despair. They looked nothing at all like the chocolate bunny pictured on the display.

Apparently, somewhere in shipping, the Florida heat had gotten to those hollow chocolate bunnies. The effect was the puddle of chocolate I was seeing as a result of my curiosity. The site of these melted treats was not the only thing that struck me as humorous. Perhaps even funnier was the fact that someone had taken time to set up the entire display, and never took time to wonder why the boxes appeared empty.

When I think of that story, I cannot help but think back to the first time I sunk my teeth into a hollow chocolate Easter bunny. What I thought was going to be this never ending source of chocolate, though still tasty, was actually just an air filled source of disappointment. It had looked so good in my Easter basket, yet once in my hands, it was a let down.

Then, one year, Mom saved the day. My brother John and I were much too old for Easter baskets; but we never let that stand between us and candy. Mom had apparently been every bit as disappointed in those hollow bunnies as we had been; because waiting in our baskets, instead of a huge piece of chocolate disappointment, was an egg.

Not just any egg. This was a Fannie May Butter Cream Easter Egg. It was about the size of a tennis ball, and was HEAVY. No hollow center in this treat. That egg was full of delicious vanilla butter cream. There was so much that we literally had to slice off pieces of it. It was the ultimate Easter treat!

Thank you Mom and Fannie May!

I know these are strange thoughts to have in late October. Yet, as I sat meditating on the spiritual principle of faith, my mind was drawn to the different potential sources of faith.

At some point in life, I decided that putting my faith in drugs was a good idea. I decided that they could offer me something that seemed to be missing from my life. A little confidence boost here, or a bit of escape there. I wanted to feel differently, and I put my faith in drugs to fulfill that desire. Of course, I eventually learned that drugs were like those old Easter bunnies. Hollow, and full of disappointment.

When the drugs stopped working, they became like those puddles of chocolate back in Florida. The truth of what they were was revealed, resulting in a true crisis of faith. Despite knowing that their promises were empty, I could not stop putting my faith in them. After all, what else was there?

Faith plays a vital role in my recovery. However, I cannot overlook the fact that, even in recovery, I could place my faith in something that is hollow. The world is filled with hollow Easter bunnies. Things that look really good on the outside, but fail to deliver in the end.

That is why Steps Two and Three focus on coming to believe in a God who can restore sanity to my life, and my decision to let Him. With God, there are no illusions. There is nothing hollow about seeking His will for my life, and the power to carry it out. Instead, in Him I find a source of faith that, like that Fannie May egg, lives up to every promise made, and then some.

Have a remarkable day!

Gratitude and Bridging Life’s Chasms

Last week, I was passing through Springfield, Missouri on my way to visit a customer; and invited my daughter to have lunch with me. She teaches at a local college there, and her schedule just happened to allow her to get away for an early lunch. So, the two of us enjoyed sandwiches at a local downtown restaurant.

After ordering our food, we sat and just talked. Our conversation continued as we ate, and then, on the drive back to campus. We talked about our families, our jobs, and about life in general. It has only been a few days, and although I recall a couple of highlights from our conversation, mostly I simply remember being together. Well, that, and the sense of pride I had as I sat there.

I’m proud of both of us, and of our relationship. Fallout from my drug addiction and the subsequent divorce from her mother, had left a chasm between us. The two of us invested over a year in counseling to help build a bridge over that chasm, and that simple lunch represented the fruits of the investment we had both made in reconciling.

Then, last night, I sat at the dining room table with Shaun. We were working through a math assignment, as well as a quiz in the subject that was once his nemesis. My own confidence in helping him with even seventh-grade math was once pretty weak. I remember having struggled through math at his age, and questioned my ability to be of much help when I began sitting with him to work on it a few weeks ago.

The dining room was filled with celebration last night. Each time he submitted his answer on the laptop in front of him, a green check mark would appear, indicating that he had gotten the answer correct. With each correct answer, we exchanged high-fives, and gave a little shout of victory.

As with my daughter, I am proud of both of us. Anytime the word “Step” is part of a relationship, there are bound to be some choppy waters to navigate. He is almost 14, and is naturally developing his own unique interests. Interests that can create a chasm all its own in a relationship. Yet, there we were; bridging that chasm with, of all things, math.

Yesterday, our family was invited to have lunch with friends after church. As the conversation went on, I found myself describing the path my relationship with God has taken through the years. I talked about the chasm that drugs had created in that relationship, and how God had used the recovery process to build a bridge over that chasm.

I was a bit startled by the reaction to my story from the fellow seated across from me. He said that it was a beautiful story. Beautiful story? How on earth can that be? I was reminded that not so very long ago, I had assumed that the story of my drug abuse would become a permanent barrier not only between God and me; but also between “church people” and me. Yet here was a well-respected fellow offering me genuine encouragement over my journey.

When I first got clean, and was encouraged to practice gratitude on a daily basis, I really struggled. At the suggestion of others, I would put together a list of things in life for which I was grateful. Many times it was a hollow exercise. Life had left such a chasm between me and any genuine gratitude, that I thought the best I might one day achieve would be gratitude for simply not wanting to die any longer.

Back then, I would find myself wondering if the gratitude I saw from other recovering addicts was genuine. Had they truly found gratitude, or was it all a sham? If it was genuine, would I ever be able to find even a fraction of what they seemed to be experiencing?

Thankfully, I eventually discovered a way to unlock genuine gratitude in my life. My life was filled with chasms. Yet those chasms could be bridged. Bridges don’t just build themselves though. Bridging those chasms would take time and effort. Sometimes, the bridges required professional counseling. At other times, creativity and open-mindedness were needed. Faith was even required for some bridges.

Whatever it took, bridging those chasms brought gratitude on a level I could not have imagined possible. There are still some chasms in my life that are yet to be bridged. No, I’m not going to claim to be grateful for those chasms. I will, however, remain grateful for the knowledge that as long as I remain willing to do the work, bridges can still be built. On the other side of each of those bridges, I know I will find gratitude.

Have a remarkable day!

Selflessness and an Infinite Loop

During my last year in college, I had a job as a clerk at a trade association located with offices on campus. Part of my job was to collect data from our database stored in the university’s mainframe computer. To help me in this task, I was sent to a day long training course so that I could learn how to write the queries necessary in order to access the data.

One of my early attempts at writing a query failed. I hit enter on the computer’s keyboard and nothing happened. So, I went back through my work to find the error and try it again. This time, the information I needed appeared on the screen, so I went on with my work thinking nothing more about it.

This error only became memorable a few weeks later when my boss received the bill for that month’s use of the mainframe. Included on the bill was an $1800 charge for the query I had written that didn’t work. As it turns out, I had created an infinite loop in my query. My little mistake, kept that mainframe busy for 23 hours, 59 minutes, and 59 seconds when the computer automatically stopped it from continuing.

There is an aspect of drug addiction that is similar to the infinite loop I wrote that day. When I use drugs, I get stuck in an infinite loop of self-centeredness. The universe becomes all about me and my pursuit of that next high. Just like that bill we received for my miss use of the mainframe, the self-centeredness of active addiction came at a very high price.

By the time my boss shared that bill with me, he had already negotiated it away with the University. They recognized that it was an honest mistake by someone they had trained, and he had successfully argued that their training must have been incomplete if it left open the opportunity for such a huge mistake.

When the bill came due for the things I had done in my active addiction, there was no negotiating away it’s price. That same self-centeredness made it hard to understand why people could not easily except that I was a “changed man.” In retrospect, it is easy to see why people were so skeptical. However, at the time, it seemed so unreasonable and was the source of much pain.

That self-centered attitude is a big part of why working through the 12 steps with my sponsor became so important. In doing so, I not only was able to see how self-centered I had become; but was also able to begin to break the cycle of self-centeredness in my life. I even became willing to accept that my actions had come with a hefty price tag.

The best way I have found to practice selflessness is through service. Whether I am helping Shaun with his homework, working on a project around the house that Amanda has asked me to finish, or answering a call on the local recovery helpline, being of service helps me to remember that life is not all about me.

Today, I have come to accept the fact that I will never be able to fully cover the cost of my active addiction. However, by practicing selflessness, I can avoid racking up any new charges.

Have a remarkable day!

Compassion, Shared Suffering, and Intro to Art Appreciation

Compati is a word in Latin that means “Suffer with.” It is the word from which the word Compassion is derived.

The tension in the lecture of the Fine Arts building on the Indiana University campus was palpable. It was the day of the final exam for my Introduction to Art Appreciation class, and almost everyone in the room was suffering. Suffering because, for a class that was supposed to be introductory, the final exam was a real killer.

A couple hundred students, all suffering at the same time, and in the same place, created a unique atmosphere. There was literal waling and gnashing of teeth. This test was likely going to derail everyone’s GPA. It might be the difference for some between being able to pursue the major they wanted, or settling for an alternative. We were all there just to check off the “Fine Arts” box on our prerequisites, after all.

Finally, a young would be Business major stood to turn in his test. He stuck it in the middle of the pile on the professor’s lectern at the front of the room so that it could not be identified by the professor, and linked to what came next. “This is bullshit! You call this “Intro to Art Appreciation?” Don’t you know we are all just trying to fulfill a prerequisite???”

With that, the student turned to storm out of the lecture hall. Without skipping a beat, the professor replied “I’ve earned my PhD, now you earn yours.” There was no emotion in the professor’s voice. It was as if the harsh words of my fellow student had not even left a dent in the man’s day. Suddenly, by his response, everyone in the room knew that the professor did not care at all. He was completely devoid of compassion.

Despite the challenge of that test, and quite unbeknownst to that professor, he had created a room filled with compassion. Everyone in that room experienced compati that day. We had suffered through the same experience. Something that was reflected in the fact that at the end of the test, many of the students had taken time on their way out of the building to stop and talk. That had never happened before. Previously, we had all exited the building in relative silence; but on this day, we were united through that shared suffering.

It is said that the power of one addict helping another is without parallel. Compassion is the source of that power. Whether it is the nurse who stole painkillers from their patients, the young person who stole from family members to support their habit, or the businessperson who deceived everyone in his life about what he was really doing on all those business trips; we all suffered together. We became people we hardly even recognized. People who turned their backs on any belief or conviction that stood in the way of that next fix.

I’ve never met an addict who set out when using that first drug, intent upon becoming addicted. Our motivations may have varied; but the result for each of us had been the same. We all found ourselves ill-prepared for the consequences of that introduction to drugs. Whether it was something to take the edge off of life, or recreational entertainment, or even an effort to self-medicate; each of us ended up compati. We suffered with, even when we were alone.

For the addict seeking recovery, that first time introducing ourselves as addicts is an act of rebellion against the disease of addiction. It is like that young man’s act of rebellion after completing that final exam. Each of us looks at where addiction has taken us, and declares “This is bullshit! I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

Unfortunately, addiction is much like the attitude that professor exhibited that day. Addiction could care less about its victims. It scoffs at the thought that we are tired of bowing to it with every ounce of our being. Addiction is cold and uncaring. It has wrapped itself around the synapses of the brain, and refuses to let go.

As students, there was not much we could do about that professor, or his attitude. He was protected by tenure, and a system that always assumed the best of the professors. Our compati resulted in nothing more than a momentary expression of comradery outside the Fine Arts building.

As addicts, on the other hand, we can do something about our disease. Our compati unleashes a power that is without parallel. Much of that power is centered around compassion. The newcomer at meetings is told that they are the most important person in the room. They are provided with a list of phone numbers of fellow addicts to call when times get tough. They are told to keep coming back.

All of these are acts of compassion; and before long, that newcomer is showing compassion to the next newcomer. Compassion spreads, relationships deepen, and we do recover.

Have a remarkable day!