Passing It On

There are a couple of things that I really like about this time of year.

For one, if you're mindful, you start noticing little hints of Spring around here. Small signals that the seasons are changing. I saw a big-breasted robin sitting on a dogwood branch last week. Twig tips are showing tiny signs that they're not dead at all, and are getting ready to start pushing out buds & leaves. Nights don't get quite as cold. I can usually leave the gloves at home. The Evil Topcoat can hang in the closet more often, and I can take a lighter jacket some days. The anticipation of Spring is a feeling of hope.

The other thing I really like (which will change soon) is that the sun comes up so early in the morning. I'm usually out the door a little after six each morning, and the sky is brightening as I drive toward the city. As I have my quiet time with meditation & prayer, I can hear the birds waking up.

The days and evenings are pretty busy, but in the early morning the world is still quiet, and I take time to notice things around me. The paling moon bisected by a thin strand of cloud. Pure, bright sunlight streaming through the pine boughs.

It was a busy week on the phone at the office. A lot of calls from people in pain. Some calls were about relatives who are alcoholics; some calls were from alcoholics who are still suffering. I talk to them all, referring the relatives to Al-Anon, encouraging the others to start going to AA meetings. The disease of alcoholism sickens everyone it touches. Some will get into their own program of recovery, be it AA, Al-Anon, or another source. Many, though, will not be able to overcome the fear of making a change.

They don't realize it, but their calls make me grateful that I am in the middle of recovery. I hear the pain, bewilderment & fear, and I am so grateful that I was given a chance to climb out of that well of despair before my disease killed me. I was at the brink. The turning point became very clear to me.

A woman came up to me at the end of a meeting the other day. She is someone that I happened to talk to when she reached out for help last summer. "Do you have any idea how many lives you have touched with the work that you do?" she asked. I probably had a blank look on my face when I answered her honestly and said "No, I don't."

And that is how it should be. I cannot save anyone; I cannot keep anyone sober. I'm simply a tiny cog in a big wheel. My best moments come when, for example, I am listening to someone weeping, and I think "Lord, what do I say?" in all sincerity, seeking guidance. Then the right words come, when I am humbly asking for help instead of trying to go it alone. The best I result I can hope for is that through some words of hope and encouragement, sharing some personal experience, and a little humor I can reduce their fear and get that caller to a meeting. Because that's where the healing truly begins, and it doesn't matter whether I ever meet that person or talk to them again.

I worked in the office Saturday, and one of my visitors was a tall, handsome fellow named Jim. Saturdays are usually not as busy as weekdays, so he was able to sit for awhile and talk. As we were catching up on each other's lives, I reminded him that he was at the first AA meeting I attended, and he remembered how shattered I looked. This fellow had three DUI's and other alcohol-related offences before he finally came to AA. One time he was charged with "drunk in public" when he was in his own driveway. His life was going down the crapper, but he's doing very well now.

I reminded him that he put a meeting directory in my hand at that first AA meeting I attended.
"Really?" he said.
"Yes, and you made sure I saw all the phone numbers written in the back of the people who wanted to help me."

It gave him goosebumps. We're like that. We love to pass it on.