Responsibility and Growing Up

In 1988, when Bobby McFerrin released his hit song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” it seemed you could not turn on the radio without hearing it play. Of course, no one was complaining. The song was not just catchy, but also had a message that seemed to strike a note in the hearts of most folks at the time.

My ex, our daughter Arlena, and I were on a road trip to Florida back then. We were going to visit my brother and his wife, and I was feeling the pressures of being a relatively new father. It wasn’t that I regretted being married, or having a child. I was excited by both. The problem was that I had no idea how to manage the responsibilities of being “All grown-up.”

Mom and Dad had always made it seem so easy. So had the parents of my childhood friends. Easy, that is, because if nothing else, they were all grown-ups, and seemed to intuitively know how to handle the pressures of life.

So, even if I found his advice difficult to internalize, singing along as the song played over, and over, and over again on that road trip left me feeling just a little less pressure. For a few minutes, the weight of my new-found responsibilities was lifted as we belted out the lyrics along with Bobby.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case, when those lyrics faded, so did the message of encouragement they had brought. The weight of responsibility, lifted for a moment, returned with a vengeance. Worry would come charging back, reminding me of how unfit to carry the weight of adulthood I really was.

Despite my ability to talk a good game, I spent the majority of my adult life in that state. Looking back, I now realize that anxiety and depression played a major role in my struggles with being a grown-up. I found some relief in my early forties when a doctor prescribed an anti-depressant.

That relief was short-lived, as I heard and believed the message I was hearing at church that my depression was merely a lack of faith. I didn’t need medicine; I needed to grow-up. So, I threw away the bottle of pills that had been helping lighten the burden of responsibility; choosing instead to have faith that God would somehow magically intervene.

The result of that little experiment was a loss of faith in God, and a slow path toward self-medicating. Instead of admitting I had a problem, I tried to make it go away with drugs. Of course, that only allowed addiction, the beast inside of me, room to flourish. Eventually I stopped worrying because I stopped caring about those responsibilities. My life was controlled by drugs, and I put their use ahead of everything else.

My life was still missing the second half of Bobby’s message. The drugs may have helped me to stop worrying, but they did not bring happiness.

There is a reason that responsibility is an important principle for me to practice. It is a lesson I learned early on in my attempts to get clean and stay clean. I came to realize that my refusal to treat my mental health did not excuse my behavior. I could not blame that pastor, the church, or even God for my decision to ignore it. In fact, even blaming myself was of no value. Instead, I needed to take responsibility for treating my mental health, and for all the things I had done as a result of my bad choices.

I’ve come to realize that mental health issues are like any other health issues in life. A diagnosis of depression is not a sign of a lack of faith, any more than my two heart attacks were. Instead, like so much of life, these things offer me an opportunity to take responsibility and to grow up.

All of these thoughts came as I sat here this morning meditating on responsibility. I was thinking of Shaun, and how, almost seven years ago, I accepted the responsibility for helping parent him when I married Amanda. Despite recognizing the mistakes I had made in parenting my grown children, I gladly accepted that responsibility.

I know it wouldn’t make a hit song, but Bobby McFerrin had it all wrong. The message I needed to hear was to accept responsibility and be happy. As I have learned to do so, life’s weight has grown lighter. My faith in God has grown stronger. I’ve even grown up a little.

When I accept responsibility, I allow myself the opportunity to…

Have a remarkable day!

Consideration and Dollar Bills

There were almost fifty people in the room. I was about to wrap up a training session, and had asked for a volunteer to share something they had learned during my presentation. In a room of otherwise outspoken salespeople, you could have heard a pin drop. Nobody wanted to go first.

Thankfully, another member of the management team volunteered. He shared his example, and after congratulating him, I pulled a small stack of dollar bills from my pocket, and rewarded him with $1.

Everyone laughed as he accepted the dollar bill from me. Then, exactly what I had hoped would happen, happened. Hands shot up around the room. I warned that I only had four more dollar bills to give away, and even more hands were raised. It took only $1 to incentivize a room filled with people to step out on a limb.

After giving away my last dollar bill, I asked for one final volunteer. Even with the hope of money off the table, hands still went up. I selected a fellow to offer his example, and when he had finished, rewarded him with a $5 bill I’d kept tucked away in my pocket.

My message had been simple. If members of my audience would put the tools to use that I had provided during that training session, it would put money in their pockets!

I would argue that there are few things in nature more obvious than the fact that effort should be followed by reward. Even trees understand this tenant of the natural order of things. If you have ever seen a tree that somehow grew to the point of reaching out and over the top of an abandoned silo, you can understand my point. That tree, starting out as a seed, blown into the most unlikely of spots to grow, eventually became a tree that was rewarded with ample sunshine.

If it works for a tree, why not for a person?

Yet, I recall what it was like when I was first trying to get clean and stay clean. There were times, so many times, when I just wanted to throw my arms up and surrender. As I watched other newcomers riding their pink clouds of exhilarating freedom from drugs, I could see no pink clouds in sight. The serious depression I had successfully self-medicated with methamphetamine came charging back into my life with a vengeance. It overshadowed any supposed reward I might have otherwise been able to see.

With no relief from the depression, giving up and giving in to the drugs became a habitual practice.

The first real change came when Amanda convinced me to address my mental health. She insisted that there was no shame in mental illness, so I slowly overcame that notion. (Imagine finding more shame in mental illness than in addiction to meth. Crazy, right?) As I sought help in that area, recovery handed me a dollar bill. No, it was no pink cloud, but it was a start. Enough to entice me into giving step work a try.

Before long, mine became a story of consideration. As I saw rewards come as a result of my efforts, my efforts grew stronger and more consistent. We call those dollar bills the benefits of recovery; and mine began to pile up. As I continued to treat my mental illness, and work the Twelve Steps with my sponsor, I somehow lost the desire to use drugs.

These days, I share openly and honestly about how much freedom I have found in recovery. When I share, it is not to boast. Rather, it is in hopes that someone listening will give consideration to how much better their life can become.

Recovery may not put literal dollar bills in my pocket, but it certainly has given me a lot of rewards. I pray that all who are in need of recovery would consider trying it for themselves. Help me, Lord, to live my life in a way that encourages people stuck in darkness to seek out your light.

Have a remarkable day!

Acceptance – Make Ready the Harry Potter Closet!

When I awoke this morning, storm sirens were sounding outside. Their shrill sound was impossible to miss. It was a sound that sent me into decision-making mode.

At first, I wanted to ignore the sirens. “Just another Oklahoma storm,” I told myself. “Nothing to get excited about.” I even went out to the back porch to see if I would be able too do my morning routine outside this morning. Nope, too much rain had fallen over night. Not a good time to be outside.

As the sirens continued to sound, I decided to look at the weather app on my phone. I quickly saw the reason for all the excitement. A huge red blob was headed directly at Tulsa. The kind of red blob that produces heavy rains, strong winds, hail, and yes, even tornadoes.

So, my next step was to go upstairs and ask Shaun to bring his pillow and a couple blankets down to the couch in our living room. I told him the sirens were going off, and that I wanted him close in case we needed to escape into the Harry Potter closet (that’s what we call the closet beneath our stairs).

A few minutes after Shaun had settled in, the storm sirens went silent. I guessed that whatever had justified their use in the first place had passed. Just about the time I had grown comfortable with this notion, they started back up again. This time, they sounded for only a few minutes before going silent once again.

The storm is here in full force now. Rain is pouring from the sky. The wind is picking up. The street in front of our home has turned into a river. Yet our family is ready to take action as needed. Even if it is a false alarm, I’m glad I didn’t just ignore those sirens.

When first confronted with the disease of addiction, I had a choice that was similar to this morning’s choices with the tornado sirens. My first choice, and the one that I preferred, was to ignore it. Oh how I wanted to ignore the impact drugs were having on my life. Even after admitting that I was an addict, I did everything in my power to disregard the sirens that were sounding all around me.

Time passed, and the warning sirens continued blaring. My life was absolutely falling apart, but there was no way I was going to heed their warning. I was completely unwilling, even in the presence of their shrill noise, to consider that my drug abuse was out of control.

Then, meeting Amanda one night online changed all that. I was looking for someone to come to my hotel room and get high with. She, on the other hand, was simply looking for conversation to occupy yet another night made long by insomnia. From the start, she spoke of recovery, the Twelve Steps, and spiritual principles. I found myself both attracted to her, and encouraged by her story.

Though still not ready to acknowledge that I’m an addict, my curiosity had been piqued. Alarm sirens began growing louder as I found myself relating to her story.

One of the most beneficial aspects of recovery is that it has taught me to stop ignoring the sirens that sound when the disease of addiction tries to edge its way into my life. I’ve learned to listen for the warnings they offer to my spirit, and respond proactively. That response is made easier by the fact that I constantly prepare for the storm.

By attending Twelve Step meetings, working through the steps, prayer and meditation, and regularly sharpening the tools of recovery by reading about those tools; I find myself ready for the storms when they come. The emotions that once made using seem like such a great idea are now confronted and experienced. Intrusive thoughts of using are countered by the knowledge that for me, one is too many, and a thousand never enough.

That red blob of a storm has almost completely passed by now. Though I suppose I could have ignored it, I’m glad I didn’t. I’m aware of the fact that it is much better to accept life’s storms and prepare for them, rather than to ignore them. My Harry Potter closet is ready, just in case.

Have a remarkable day!

Kindness, Andy Warhol, and 15 Minutes of Misery

Have you ever had to take a break from something because of the emotional toll it was taking on you?

A couple of weeks ago, I began watching “The Andy Warhol Diaries” on Netflix. From the very beginning of the first episode, I felt heaviness on my spirit as I watched. The show uses an AI to produce Warhol’s voice as it reads his diaries, and it is haunting in a couple of ways.

Just getting past how much like Warhol the AI sounds is startling enough. Then there is the flatness to its tone. Amazing as it is, the AI used for this documentary has yet to master inflection in human voices.

It is that voice, combined with the words of Warhol himself that make the show uncomfortable to watch. The show paints Warhol as a tragically sad character. One who was looking for even the tiniest bit of kindness from the world, but who found none. A man who, the more he searches unsuccessfully for kindness, himself becomes cynical and unkind.

I find it ironic that the one who said, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes,” would find so little satisfaction from his own fame. It’s enough to make me wonder if what he really meant was that in the future, everyone would be as miserable as he was. After all, he found plenty of fame, but seemingly never found self-acceptance.

A few years ago, I discovered my own 15 minutes of misery. It came about as I allowed myself to get lost in drug addiction. In the same way that people crave fame these days, supposing it will bring satisfaction into their lives, I sought out that next high. The one that was supposed to be as intense as the very first.

All I found instead was more misery.

One of the things that makes the Twelve Steps so revolutionary in my life is that I discovered kindness in and through them. In the Steps, God’s voice was calling out to me, giving me hope that there was a better way to live. Through the Steps, I discovered one of life’s key ingredients that had been missing in my life – I needed to be kind to myself.

Ironically, getting clean was not my first act of kindness toward myself. Because my drug of choice had become a form of self-medication for depression, I found myself sinking more deeply into darkness than ever. It was only through a lot of encouragement that I followed through on that first act of kindness by getting the help I needed to address my depression.

Once that was done, my 15 minutes of misery began to lift. Kindness became increasingly natural to practice; both toward others and myself. To me, kindness has become a God-given gift that takes away misery, replacing it with serenity.

I wish Warhol could have found what I have found. Though that may be impossible, the thought reminds me of what I can do. I can help others find what I have found by offering them the kindness that was offered to me. It’s all the reason I need to practice kindness today.

Have a remarkable day!

Responsibility – What’s in Your Backpack, Son?

Last week, I lifted it off the kitchen floor and was stunned at how heavy Shaun’s school backpack was. The thing had to be 25 pounds if it was an ounce. ”What’s he got in this thing?” I wondered. It would surely weigh down even a grown adult. 

I’ve seen him get into it before. All he ever gets out of it is his Chromebook. The lightweight laptop can’t weigh more than a couple of pounds. I don’t think they use real books anymore, so it’s not books. So what is it? 

When I asked him, he said it was just stuff. Then he shrugged, and hoisted it onto his shoulder. ”Ready to go?” 

I thought about that backpack this morning when I drew responsibility as my spiritual principle for the day. It’s a great metaphor for how responsibilities have been added back into my life since getting clean. It is also a reminder of how thankful I am that those responsibilities did not all come crashing back into my life the day after I decided once and for all to put the drugs aside.

Just as on Day 1 of school, my spiritual backpack was light, carrying only a few empty spiral notebooks and pencils, that first day was light. For better or worse, I had left behind the responsibilities of my first marriage. My ex, as well as both of my children were in no mood for my bs, so save that of my daughter, there was not even any conversation to be carried with them. Same goes for my friends from Missouri. On top of that, I was really good at the job I had held for several years, so carrying it was not a burden. Well, at least not on days when my depression lifted enough for me to actually leave my apartment.

I can imagine Shaun slowly filling his backpack. A science project here, a hand-out there. ”Oh, a rock… that looks pretty cool. Oh, and there are the three water bottles that got buried down there at the very bottom. Might need those one day.” Slowly, the weight of responsibility fills the empty spaces. 

In the same way that Shaun would have protested if his backpack had weighed what it does now on the first day of school, everything in me would have cried out for relief if I’d had the responsibilities I do today. Since that first day when my life’s backpack was so light, 2,623 days have passed. I don’t pretend that weight has been added each and every day, but I would guess that a little weight has been added on most. Yet, like Shaun shrugging at the weight of his backpack, I tend to shrug at mine.

I’m going to share today’s thoughts with Shaun, suggesting that he take time sometime this week to sort through that backpack and remove anything that isn’t needed. This is something I do with my spiritual backpack by working the Twelve Steps. In the same way that I have added a little weight of added responsibility over time, I’ve also allowed myself to let some things go. The heaviest of those things is the shame I used to carry. Shame related to being a drug addict.

While I am and always will be guilty of the things I did in active addiction, I no longer have to bear the burden of shame. The Twelve Steps helped me discern guilt from shame, and leave the shame behind. This becomes easier as I remind myself that I am not responsible for my disease, but I am responsible for my recovery. So, I embrace recovery and the responsibilities that have come with it. I gladly carry those on my way to day 2,624.

Have a remarkable day!

Awareness and Coming Out of the Fog

When my brother John and I were growing up, our schools would often have fog delays. One of the busses for our school district had been in a fog-related accident in the mid-70’s, making the superintendent very cautious about sending busses out in the fog. So, on foggy mornings, John and I would pay close attention to the radio, waiting to hear of fog delays.

“Tri-Creek Schools will be delayed for two hours today due to fog.” Now there’s some good news! Sometimes it would get even better, “The fog delay has been extended for another hour this morning.” Or the very best, “Folks, that fog just isn’t lifting. So, Tri-Creek Schools will be closed today due to fog.”

Man, did we ever love fog!

For a week now, I’ve been battling a cold. I’ve taken several different cold medicines to mask the symptoms. I’ve also consumed enough cough drops to fill a candy dish. So last night, when Amanda and I went to bed, and I announced that I was going to skip taking any cold medicine, she was understandably skeptical. After all, after a long week of travel, a good night’s sleep in my own bed would make a world of difference.

This morning, I slept in, having had that good night’s sleep. Though still a bit congested, my decision to forego any medicine was a good one. It was a decision based on awareness.

That awareness began on Friday. One of the side-effects I experience from taking cough medicine is that over time, it begins to make me feel dopey. My senses get dulled, my tongue seems to swell, and I begin to feel more like an observer of my life than a participant in it. A fog settles into my brain, taking up an unwelcome residence. Worst of all, that fog begins to crack open the door to the depression I’ve worked so hard to reign in over the past several years.

This morning, that fog is still there. Though it has lessened in its intensity, its presence is undeniable. It is like the fog that wouldn’t lift back when I was a boy. The one that cancelled school for the day.

The only problem is that I cannot cancel anything because of this particular fog. Life is going to continue. That is why I chose a Saturday night to cut myself off from that cold medicine. Because it is Sunday, my obligations are few. It is the perfect day for me to detox from the cold medicine, and allow my body to overcome its side-effects in preparation for the coming week.

Also, because it is Sunday, this is the perfect day on which to give my mental health the much-needed boost it will receive from stopping the cold medicine. I’ll be at church later this morning, surrounded by family and friends. Then, later this afternoon, we will bring out the Christmas decorations, and deck the halls of our home!

Practicing awareness means I don’t have to stay glued to my radio waiting for life the be delayed or cancelled. Nor do I find myself searching for something outside of myself to lift me up at times I’m feeling down. Instead, practicing awareness gives me the opportunity to make that next right choice that will help the sun shine back through my spirit.

Have a remarkable day!

Optimism – Life is NOT a Game

Last night, Shaun and I sat down to play a game of Stratego. It’s a strategy game in which two players each set up their own defenses that are designed to protect their flag. Various pieces of different rank have the ability to eliminate each other on the battlefield, until one person ultimately captures their opponent’s flag.

As I sat there, setting up my pieces at the beginning of the game, I fully expected to win. I played a lot of Stratego with my brother when we were growing up, and though he usually defeated me, I learned a lot from playing against him. That historical knowledge, combined with the relative few times Shaun had played the game boosted my confidence.

On the other side of the board, Shaun was also optimistic. He loves playing video games, and has developed the ability to think strategically as a result. He didn’t just begin playing in some haphazard way, but had set his pieces up in a way that would help assure his victory. He even engaged in some psychological warfare, pretending he was about to move his bombs, pieces on the board that are not allowed to move.

As my pieces fell from the battlefield, it became apparent that I was not going to be the winner of this particular game. He outplayed and outmaneuvered me the whole way. Any victories I had were sporadic at best. Pretty soon, he had captured my flag.

As soon as my flag had been captured, I smiled and offered Shaun a high-five. He had won a decisive victory. He offered a rematch, but it was time for me to head to bed, so I told him we would play again another day. I’ll have to up my game in preparation for our rematch.

One of the best, most valuable lessons about the spiritual principle of optimism is that life is not a game. There is no requisite battle in life to determine winners and losers. There is not yard stick designed to measure one human against another. At least, there is no such God-designed measuring stick. In God’s economy, the only flag I need to capture is my own.

There is tremendous freedom found in that last sentence. Optimism does not mean I have to do better than anyone else in order to win at life. Rather, the point of optimism is to give me another tool that will equip me to do my very best. It is a fuel that can drive me to be the best possible version of me.

Because of this fact, optimism is not squelched by the successes of others. Optimism grows in the light of seeing others succeed.

I’ve had two major things in my life that have tried to rob me of my optimism. First, and most challenging is my mental health. I’ve dealt with anxiety for as long as I can remember. Eventually, that anxiety led to depression that did a real number on my ability to enjoy life. The guilt I felt for feeling hopeless in the face of an otherwise good life only made matters worse.

The other thing that tried to rob me of all optimism was my drug addiction. It was truly conniving, as early on in my abuse of meth, the drug brought relief from the depression. For the first time in a very long time, I felt wonderfully optimistic. It was like being transformed into a whole new person.

All too soon I learned that those feelings were only an illusion. The euphoria was eventually replaced with paranoia, increased anxiety, and, you guessed it, even greater depression than I’d had before using. The only relief was to use more, and even then relief was only temporary.

Optimism… it was nowhere to be found.

Getting clean was not enough to restore optimism. Neither was working the Twelve Steps. Even medication to treat my depression fell short of restoring optimism. None of these things on their own, or even combined with one of the others was sufficient.

What was sufficient to restore my optimism was all three of these things working in tandem. Medication began to offer enough relief that I could start working the steps with my sponsor. That, in turn, helped me to stay clean. Eventually, I turned the corner, and found myself seeking God’s will for my life rather than my own. That is when optimism came flooding back into my life!

All of these things help explain why I can offer Shaun a high-five when he beats me at a game. It explains why I can celebrate with another person, even when they have achieved a victory that I am yet to achieve. I am becoming what God designed me to be, and He is using that journey to fill my life with optimism.

Have a remarkable day!

Humility, Tears, and Painful Reminders

“I’ve got it. I’ve got it!”

I spent a lot of time out in right field, chewing on the leather chords that held together my ball glove. In Little League baseball, that was where you put a child who needed to see as little action in the game as possible. So, there I would stand. Waiting for that special moment when a fly-ball was hit to right field, and I could cry out, “I’ve got it!”

When I would almost inevitably hear the loud thud of the ball landing in the grass next to me, I would have an all-to-painful reminder of why I had been granted my spot in right field in the first place. Despite my best efforts, I struggled to make the ball stay in my glove. For all I know, I still hold the world record for right field errors in Little League. Something I can look back at and laugh a little now; but that was pretty devastating back then. After all, no one likes to drop the ball.

Last night, our family was back downtown under the bridge, helping serve dinner to members of Tulsa’s homeless community. That’s when I spotted her. A young lady who last year at this time, while serving there on a cold night, had mistaken me for a priest. I was wearing a white shirt under a blue one, and she mistook it for a priest’s collar. “Hey Preacher Man. How are you?” At the time, I thought she was a fellow volunteer. She looked much too put-together to be someone experiencing homelessness.

I even ran into her at a Walmart a couple days later. It’s a store across the street from a university campus, so when I heard her call out, “Hey, Preacher Man,” I connected dots that were not there and assigned her the title of college student.

Things were very different last night. Her hair was a messy tangle above her head. Her eyes had that glazed-over, far-away look. There was no light behind them… just an empty gaze. She looked a good ten years older. “Is this the line for blankets?”

In that short year that had passed since our last encounter, this young lady had gone from the “I’ve got this” stage of drug abuse, to a place in life where she was more or less stuck in the middle of nowhere inside her mind. Tears began to well up in my eyes when I connected the dots and realized that the young lady I saw last night was the same young lady I had mistaken for a college student less than a year ago.

Humility has an interesting way of affecting my spirit in a way that nothing else can. Last night’s brief encounter, and the emotions it evoked, reminded me of my own story of drug abuse. Those early days of using meth made me certain that it was bringing out the best in me. I was outgoing, energetic, and unaffected by even a hint of depression. Any thought that I might be headed down a dangerous path was squelched by my old refrain – “I’ve got it.’

Well, guess what. I haven’t got it. Never have and never will. Where drugs are concerned, the stakes for me could not be any higher. I’ve dropped that ball before, and I don’t want to ever drop it again. Thus, last night was an all-too-real reminder of how skilled I am at self-deception. Without humility at work in my life, there is a good chance I could find myself back out in right field, poised to drop another ball.

Lord, help me remember the pain that comes with active addiction. Help me remember all those dropped balls from my own drug abuse. Please grant me the humility to remember that I haven’t got it. That no amount of clean-time or recovery can ever equip me to play in that game again.

Have a remarkable day!

Positive Thinking and a Life Without Dread

The opposite of positive thinking is not negative thinking. No, it is a much more insidious thing. The opposite of positive thinking is dread.

I base this thought on the notion that while “positive” and “negative” may be opposites, both include the act of thinking. It is something I proactively do. Either power is generated by my thoughts.

Dread, on the other hand, is not a result of my thoughts. Dread is a lifestyle. It causes me to approach life from a preset notion that bad things are going to happen. When I am living in dread, I have a fixed mindset that tells me everything is dangerous, and to be avoided.

Sunshine – it makes me squint.

Rain – it gets my shoes wet.

Meeting someone new – scary

Sharing my feelings – scarier

Getting out of bed – I can’t do that.

Leaving my apartment for work (even if I love my job) – Oh, I hate the thought. It’s causing my stomach to turn.

Back in 2016 when I was first introduced to the fact that there is a Twelve Step program of recovery for drug addicts, I was excited. It’s not that I was all that enthusiastic about stopping my use of meth. I just wanted to stop experiencing the consequences associated with my addiction. I wanted relief from the dumpster fire my life had become, and if that required staying clean, so be it.

While others around me who had recently stopped using spoke of being on some kind of pink cloud they were experiencing, where everything in life seems so real, vivid, and positive for the first time in ages; I was riding on the storm clouds of dread. Even now, thinking back on those early days affects me both emotionally and physically. That is how powerful dread is in my life.

Dread is so powerful, in fact, that it prevents me from all rational thought. In my case, it was fueled by chronic depression. A condition I had successfully self-medicated with meth. Thus, there were too many times that I turned back to my drug of no choice in order to squelch the dread that would not cease.

One interesting aspect of the power of positive thinking in my life is that the more I practice it, the less room there is in my mind or spirit for dread. I sought out treatment for the depression… legitimate treatment that included counseling and medication. As those began to take hold, I found myself able to think positively for the first time in a very long time. Sunshine brought beauty. Rain brought nourishment. My job became something to enjoy each and every day.

I still have a choice these days. Take today for instance. I know there are at least 46 work emails that have accumulated over the weekend that need to be dealt with. I have a long drive ahead of me, and plenty of work ahead of me to keep me busy all week. I don’t dread any of these things, but I still get to choose my response to them. A response that can include either positive or negative thinking. Today, I choose to think positively.

Have a remarkable day!

Willingness Driven by Change

Yesterday Shaun and I worked together to winterize our pool. Chemicals went into the water. The various lines were cleared of any water that was in them. Then it was time for the pool cover to be installed.

The cover is a lot like the material that covers a trampoline. It is a mesh with heavy duty straps sewn into it. Those straps are attached to anchors buried in the concrete. As it tightens, springs that are built into the straps help provide enough flexibility for the whole thing to be installed and nicely tightened.

There is a special tool that attaches one end of the spring to its anchor. It’s a 30” piece of pipe that becomes a lever for the spring to slide down into place. The hardest part of the process is using strength to force the pipe to act like a lever.

Last year, Shaun was not able to do this part of the job. He had neither the strength to force the level, or the body mass to simple allow his weight to do the work. “Buddy, do you want to try again? You’ve grown a lot. I bet you can do it.”

Sure enough, with the exception of three of the more stubborn straps, he was able to secure them to their anchors. What had been impossible one year ago was made possible by two factors – change and willingness.

In my early attempts at recovery, when I heard talk of the new way of life and spiritual awakening I could experience by working the Twelve Steps, I had lots of willingness. With all that willingness, I could really talk a good talk. The only problem was that I was unwilling to make a fundamental change in my life – I didn’t want to stop using drugs. Other changes, sure, but that one… I just wasn’t quite ready.

As a result, any hope of recovery was stopped dead in its tracks. No amount of wanting a new way of life, or to experience a spiritual awakening was going to be enough. My unwillingness to change was hindering growth in any other area of life.

Thankfully, a day came when change finally became acceptable in my eyes. I became willing to change from doing nothing about my struggle with depression to seeking treatment for it. I changed from paying lip service to the Twelve Steps, to actually working them with my sponsor. I even began seeking God’s will over my own.

Like Shaun’s physical growth, I began to grow mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. As I did, I found the strength to convert willingness into action. From that point, experiencing a spiritual awakening and new way of life became real to me.

Have a remarkable day!