Twenty-five years ago today, I woke up and asked God to keep me sober. I hadn’t done that before and I didn’t think it would matter that I did it then, but I asked anyway because some people I didn’t know told me that’s what they did.
The night before I’d finally made it inside the little green house at the corner of Parker and Jupiter. I’d been driving around that house for a week hating myself for being too afraid to walk inside but on that Friday night, I was more afraid of what would happen if I didn’t go inside. I drank my first cup of coffee that night and I listened to other people talk about themselves. That’s when it happened. They told their stories and I heard mine. I was desperate, terrified, and broken. Those people knew exactly what to do. They knew the power of hugs, and laughter, and nick-names. They told me what to do by telling me what they did. They showed up and made coffee and told the truth. They hugged me back together again.
Today, I woke up and thanked God for the life I have today. Last night I sat around a table with some amazing ladies (the duckies) talking about the next step on this spiritual path we share. At the end of night we watched as our newest friend walked around the table handing out hugs. In less than two months, we’ve watched her anger melt. We’ve watched her arms uncross and her mind open. We’ve had a front row seat to a miracle. As she drove away we talked about how different she is from the woman who would sit in her car waiting until the last possible minute to join the group. “What happened? What happened to her?” one asked.
The answer is the same as it was 25 years ago, God through a bunch of repurposed people happened, and hugged her back together again. Thank you to all who’ve shared their stories with me so God could rewrite mine. I’m so very grateful for you all.