It's that time of year again. The leaves are falling, the days are getting shorter, and I'm putting on my sweaters and warmer jackets. I love the changing seasons, although I must admit I'm not always ready for what comes next. There's something about this time of year that reminds me how much I crave warmth in my life, and not just the kind that comes from a favorite sweater or a cup of hot coffee.

I've been thinking lately about how much community means to my recovery. I know I wouldn't be where I am today without the people who have walked this journey with me. People who listen when I need to talk, who tell me the truth when I need to hear it, and who remind me that I’m not alone, even when I feel that way.

One of the things I've learned in recovery is that I don't have to figure everything out by myself, thank God. That's been a big lesson for me, and one I still need to be reminded of from time to time. I can get caught up in thinking I should have all the answers. But then I find myself sitting in a meeting, listening to someone share something that speaks right to where I am, and I remember why I keep coming back.

Faith also reminds me that this season, when so much of the world looks fallow, is not without life. Beneath the fallen leaves and frozen ground, something is still happening. The late poet Wendell Berry wrote:

 "The incarnate Word is with us,
is still speaking, is present
always, yet leaves no sign
but everything that is."

Even when I can't see it, life is happening. Growth is happening. The promise of new birth is already there.

That's true in recovery, too. There have been times when I couldn't recognize the growth happening in my own life, but others could see it. Sometimes community helps me recognize the presence of God and the growth in myself that I can't yet see. And sometimes I get to offer that same encouragement to someone else.

As the weather turns colder, I'm grateful for the sweaters and jackets that keep me warm. But I'm even more grateful for the people who help keep my heart warm. Recovery has taught me to put on the warmth of community, trusting that even in the fallow seasons, new life is finding its way.

Sandi A., CT