A quietly wonderful thing happened last night here in town. In a church hall up the hill, the same room where we go for lunch every Tuesday.
I went to an AA meeting.
And immediately, I want to qualify that. "It's not for me, it's for a friend." Just so you don't think I'm an alcoholic. As opposed to last night, when I was wondering what I would say, given the chance. "I'm Ruth and I'm not an alcoholic." They'd think I was in denial.
Last night I wanted to fit in there, today I want to fit in here.
Anyway, it was for a friend. I must love the guy, or I would have stayed home to watch Dr. Who, curled up with a shot of Amaretto. (Savour the irony.)
We had a narsty, narsty snow storm yesterday. 20 cm of snow in about 8 hours which is too much for the guys in the plows to keep up with effectively. The snow started at around 9:00 am, the grocery stores were lined up 12 deep at all cash registers by 8:00. Just in case. It's a lesson you learn young.
The four of us took turns shovelling and at the end of the day I was able to get the car out of the driveway and across town.
Don't laugh, but I took my camera. It was a special occasion, after all. But I kept it in my pocket. Nobody else was taking pics, and the "anonymous" part is important.
The parallels between AA and church have been well dissected, so I won't bother.
The reason I went last night was to see my friend presented with his 1 year chip.
I met him at the Motel three years ago. He'd been drinking for years, with short lived recoveries here and there. Talking about wanting to stop drinking.
The very first time I met R. was at a band practice for my worship thing I used to do. One of our singers, a generous and caring man, had dropped by the Motel to visit R. (who is well known around town), and ended up bringing him along to the church. So we stopped practicing and prayed with him, this very very drunk stranger in the front pew, listening to us play and sing.
And now that prayer is being answered. Or, at least, we can see it being answered. One day at a time.
As I said, there are a lot of parallels between AA and church. But there's one huge difference. AA is very human, with all of the best that means.
There's no pretense. No posturing. Lots of vulnerability and support.
The woman who was the 'speaker' last night, polished and lovely, silver haired, stood at the podium and quietly, without drama, told her story. Who she had been, what she had become, who she was becoming. She told how difficult a time she had been through recently, and how she hadn't wanted anybody to know that after so many years of sobriety, she was struggling. She apologized for the bad example that had set for others just starting the journey, because it's so important to let others support you. She said how grateful she was for AA. Not to - for.
One thing about the atmosphere I didn't undertand at first was what I mistook for nostalgia. People would stand at the podium and talk about my friend, what they saw him do when he was drinking, how he acted, how stupid, how scary, how strange. And people would laugh. A warm laugh. Knowing.
The speaker, as well. She told how when she'd been drinking, she'd fight in bars. And everyone laughed and looked at each other and nodded or nudged.
One man said of my friend, "I never knew he was drinking until I saw him sober." That got a big laugh.
Took me a while to get that it wasn't nostalgia, it was disbelief. Can't believe I used to be that person.
Which brings me back to R. Can't believe it.
Anytime I've seen AA meetings on TV, there've been maybe half a dozen people in the room. Last night, in spite of the weather, nearly 100.
6 took turns at the podium. Not one walked away dry eyed. This man is everyone's miracle. This one life. Turned around by the grace of God shining through every conversation, every car ride, every hug, every smile, every jar of peanut butter, every bowl of butterscotch pudding.
Recently I was talking to a pastor in town who has been one of R.'s supports. He said that he'd been thinking about all of the people who were supporting this one person. How many times he'd phone and ask for a ride or a couple of bananas or a loaf of bread. And the pastor had started asking himself whether we were all doing him a favour. How could he learn to stand on his own if we keep propping him up?
It's a difficult question. I understand the concern and love behind it. But last night, I was witness to what it means to a community to have supported someone and to have embraced this one soul, and to see him stand and speak and weep in gratitude.
Joyful and triumphant. And grateful.
I know I am.
r
I went to an AA meeting.
And immediately, I want to qualify that. "It's not for me, it's for a friend." Just so you don't think I'm an alcoholic. As opposed to last night, when I was wondering what I would say, given the chance. "I'm Ruth and I'm not an alcoholic." They'd think I was in denial.
Last night I wanted to fit in there, today I want to fit in here.
Anyway, it was for a friend. I must love the guy, or I would have stayed home to watch Dr. Who, curled up with a shot of Amaretto. (Savour the irony.)
We had a narsty, narsty snow storm yesterday. 20 cm of snow in about 8 hours which is too much for the guys in the plows to keep up with effectively. The snow started at around 9:00 am, the grocery stores were lined up 12 deep at all cash registers by 8:00. Just in case. It's a lesson you learn young.
The four of us took turns shovelling and at the end of the day I was able to get the car out of the driveway and across town.
Don't laugh, but I took my camera. It was a special occasion, after all. But I kept it in my pocket. Nobody else was taking pics, and the "anonymous" part is important.
The parallels between AA and church have been well dissected, so I won't bother.
The reason I went last night was to see my friend presented with his 1 year chip.
I met him at the Motel three years ago. He'd been drinking for years, with short lived recoveries here and there. Talking about wanting to stop drinking.
The very first time I met R. was at a band practice for my worship thing I used to do. One of our singers, a generous and caring man, had dropped by the Motel to visit R. (who is well known around town), and ended up bringing him along to the church. So we stopped practicing and prayed with him, this very very drunk stranger in the front pew, listening to us play and sing.
And now that prayer is being answered. Or, at least, we can see it being answered. One day at a time.
As I said, there are a lot of parallels between AA and church. But there's one huge difference. AA is very human, with all of the best that means.
There's no pretense. No posturing. Lots of vulnerability and support.
The woman who was the 'speaker' last night, polished and lovely, silver haired, stood at the podium and quietly, without drama, told her story. Who she had been, what she had become, who she was becoming. She told how difficult a time she had been through recently, and how she hadn't wanted anybody to know that after so many years of sobriety, she was struggling. She apologized for the bad example that had set for others just starting the journey, because it's so important to let others support you. She said how grateful she was for AA. Not to - for.
One thing about the atmosphere I didn't undertand at first was what I mistook for nostalgia. People would stand at the podium and talk about my friend, what they saw him do when he was drinking, how he acted, how stupid, how scary, how strange. And people would laugh. A warm laugh. Knowing.
The speaker, as well. She told how when she'd been drinking, she'd fight in bars. And everyone laughed and looked at each other and nodded or nudged.
One man said of my friend, "I never knew he was drinking until I saw him sober." That got a big laugh.
Took me a while to get that it wasn't nostalgia, it was disbelief. Can't believe I used to be that person.
Which brings me back to R. Can't believe it.
Anytime I've seen AA meetings on TV, there've been maybe half a dozen people in the room. Last night, in spite of the weather, nearly 100.
6 took turns at the podium. Not one walked away dry eyed. This man is everyone's miracle. This one life. Turned around by the grace of God shining through every conversation, every car ride, every hug, every smile, every jar of peanut butter, every bowl of butterscotch pudding.
Recently I was talking to a pastor in town who has been one of R.'s supports. He said that he'd been thinking about all of the people who were supporting this one person. How many times he'd phone and ask for a ride or a couple of bananas or a loaf of bread. And the pastor had started asking himself whether we were all doing him a favour. How could he learn to stand on his own if we keep propping him up?
It's a difficult question. I understand the concern and love behind it. But last night, I was witness to what it means to a community to have supported someone and to have embraced this one soul, and to see him stand and speak and weep in gratitude.
Joyful and triumphant. And grateful.
I know I am.
r
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