"Oh, blessed hour! communion sweet!
When children, friends, and teachers meet
And, in remembrance of his grace,
Unite in sweetest songs of praise.
For Jesus died on Calvary,
That all thru him might ransomed be.
Then sing hosannas to his name;
Let heav'n and earth his love proclaim" (Hymns, # 177)
How true this is, and how beautiful!
As I reflect on the journey these last 26 years, I know recovery began with my family. The day before my first AA meeting, I sat in a lawn chair in my mom and dad's back patio, there with all my extended family as we celebrated my sister's birthday. I knew academically they all loved me and cared about me, though I created difficult problems for them. They loved and worried. But I could feel nothing. I was numb, beyond much feeling. It was like there was a brick wall around me, and I felt somewhat isolated. Let me make it clear. This was not their fault.
I left the party to drink myself into oblivion, and the next day when I regained consciousness, I had what the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous calls a "moment of clarity." I knew this would not get better--only worse.
That night I found myself at my first AA meeting. As the awful feeling of doom would not go away, I headed for home, only to pass the Alano Club, a place I had passed by on foot two years previously. On a summer morning in 1987 while walking to work, I was interested in the word "club," and mistaking this to be a bar, I ventured inside only to find the door locked. There was just enough early sunlight to read the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. Only three words made any sense. In Step One there is the phrase, "powerless over alcohol."
I had done two more years of "research" to prove I wasn't an alcoholic. I could simply quit with willpower. I managed to rack up seven years without a single sober day. And on that night just over 26 years ago, I remembered those three words, "powerless over alcohol," and finally knew I was there. I was totally powerless.
I went to meetings everyday, but still could not stay sober between meetings. After my third Monday Night Beginners' Meeting on July 31, 1989, and after being embarrassed by the the chairperson, who announced her excitement of being able to give me a 30-day chip in two weeks, and knowing I didn't have any sobriety at all, I went home discouraged and on the brink of giving up.
After an hour-long battle with "the father of all lies," (2 Nephi 2: 18) I pleaded with my Heavenly Father for a single sober day, with the plea, "Please help me. I'm beat and can't do it." The peace beyond my ability to understand was just a taste of blessings and miracles that would happen over the next 26 years.
As I said, recovery began with my family. And it's fitting and meaningful that on this 26th birthday celebration, I was privileged to spend it with my family in the mountains. The same cast of characters were there with a few new faces. My dear wife was there--a woman I thought would never be by my side. And there were two choice children--a son and daughter, both more wonderful than I could explain--wonderful souls who I thought could never be part of this wreckage that was once my life--indeed more precious than I would ever deserve.
In the midst of the fun and good times to be had in the hills, I took the opportunity to retreat to what a good friend calls, "God's country" to find a secluded spot for prayer and pondering. This prayer was considerably different from the desperate plea 26 years ago. It was a special feeling of immense gratitude for another chance at life and another chance at love.
And the return to camp was like coming home, but it felt different too. This time, instead of merely knowing in my head, I could feel love and it goes both ways culminating in a sublime appreciation of being part of an incredible family that few people ever get to experience.
So, like the song, "in remembrance of His grace, unite in sweetest songs of praise" for the gift of sobriety.
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