INTRO: Eleventh Step

Before I came into AA, I prayed often and meditated never.  Praying improved my conscious contact with God, as I understood God.  The problem was that contact does not lead anywhere when one does not feel anything.  Subconsciously, I blamed God for the setbacks that I faced in life.  Some of them, like alcoholism, were related to nature.  Other disappointments may have been attributed to bad decisions and/or bad luck.  Still, I wondered, "Why doesn't the God of my understanding intervene?"

I prayed at the hospital between the scene of the accident and being taken to jail for the DUI, and I prayed in jail.  When I attended my first AA meeting, I prayed the Serenity Prayer with the group in the beginning of the meeting and the Lord's Prayer with them in the end.

The thought of meditating made me laugh.  I was the opposite of a contemplative when I came into the program.  Meditation, I thought, was for men and women who were comfortable withdrawing from the world and sitting with themselves.  It was not for the person whose body still ached from drunk-driving into an inanimate object.

AA changed my prayer life, and this change started by praying as often as I did with men and women who were as desperate as me.  Even after I accrued some time in the program, praying with a group of other alcoholics was different than praying within a faith community.  Alcoholics may be called to prayer with profanity (a feature of life in AA that still makes me laugh), and yet the only thing that is considered profane in AA is not taking sobriety seriously.

Everybody at an AA meeting has come to a place in which he or she had to admit that he or she belonged there, and for those with some time in the program, remembering his or her first meeting always breeds gratitude.  Praying not only improves my conscious contact with God, it also improves my conscious contact with others whose hearts yearn for healing and wholeness as much as mine does.

I did not experiment with meditation until my second year of sobriety.  Now that I have, I think about meditating differently.  For years, I have heard people say, "Prayer is talking to God; meditation is listening to God," and yet the meditation experiences that are the most meaningful to me are the ones without words, not mine or God's.

I sit regularly with a group of Buddhists, who have taught me the spiritual and psychological value of being still.  I sit for a half-hour at a time with this group and think about nothing but my breath, which, of course, is a power greater than myself.  I have the same sense of relief and relaxation after meditating that I do after attending an AA meeting.  Both provide me with an alternative to going through life restless, irritable and discontented.

I pray for God's will for me, even though experience has taught me to be careful when I become too clear about what God's plan for me is.  When I pray for this knowledge, I find that I may become impatient.  Once I think that I know what God's will is, I think that change should come quickly.  Sometimes I complain, because I want God to disclose more of the future than God is in the business of disclosing.  I am aggressive in pursuing what I interpret God's will for my life to be, and yet I find that I am more content when I focus on receiving the day than seizing it.

Stuff happens, even in sobriety, and yet when I am centered spiritually, even the most tragic events are bearable.  Prayer and meditation center me spiritually, like steps four through ten center me emotionally.  By practicing the steps together, I find balance in my life, and with this balance, I am able to be at peace and to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.

INTRO: Third Step

Years ago, I asked for help, but as I became an adult, I stopped asking and started demanding that I be given what I thought that I deserved.

One's understanding of faith and life begins at home, I think, because home is the place where one first experiences everything from authority to autonomy.  On the one hand, my parents provided me with food, shelter and educational opportunities.  On the other hand, they were prone to emotional outbursts, which led to feeling unsafe and unsure of how to pursue thriving relationships. 

Looking to protect myself, I retreated into books.  With this education, I distanced myself from faith and life and expected good things to happen by virtue of my accomplishments.  When life did not meet my expectations, I drank, and then I drank some more.  Now I attend meetings with other men and women who sabotaged their lives with lofty expectations.

AA's third step calls for a decisive action: to turn one's will and one's life over to the care of God as one understands God.  This statement assumes: 1) that one knows what one's will for his or her life is; 2) that one is able to experience God's care; and 3) that one's understanding of God allows for a meaningful relationship to exist between this person and God.

As an adult, I have changed cities and jobs often.  Every time that I transitioned from one situation to the next, I was abundantly clear about why I was making this change.  I have pursued different career paths and seem to prefer whichever one I am not pursuing at the time.  Since becoming a member of AA, I am clearer about the nature of the work that I find fulfilling, but I am less certain about what this work looks like in everyday life.  By understanding who I am, I am better able to be in a relationship with anybody, including God, and to follow wherever God leads me in recovery.  

It is difficult to understand why I was reluctant to turn my will and my life over to anybody or anything, especially God, before coming into the program, because, as an active alcoholic, I was never in control.  I was controlling in professional and personal relationships, but I was not disciplined enough to achieve, much less sustain, meaning, magic or success in any area of my life.  

Because I was unable to meet the expectations that I set for myself, feelings of failure haunted me.  I looked to others to help me in ways that I was unwilling to help other people.  When they could not, or would not, help me, then I began to think of the world as a cruel and harsh place.  I did not trust anybody, especially myself, because I assumed that everybody was as selfish as me.  I felt abandoned by God and neighbor and that nobody was willing to give me a second or third chance.  I was not willing to forgive myself or anybody else and assumed that everybody else was as unforgiving as me.

I was raised in a home where Christmas is celebrated and the line between Jesus and Santa is often blurred.  As an adult, I have come to think of Christ as compassionate and God as forgiving, although I was taught from an early age that God gives commandments to an imperfect people and then judges them for being imperfect.  Christmas seemed like a time to pay off the emotional debts of the past year.  All was to be forgiven if the parents spent enough money on gifts.  In the end, I believed in asking for presents but not in forgiveness.  Now I believe in humility, which asks for nothing but peace.

The God of my understanding is forgiving and empowering, and I am finding that the more that I trust this understanding of God, the better I feel about myself and about other people.  I feel safe more often than I feel threatened.  I am more forgiving, because I feel forgiven.  Even though the third step seems to emphasize understanding God, I am finding that the third step is actually about experiencing God as a peaceful presence in one's life, work and relationships, especially those circumstances in which peace is brought about only through forgiveness.