Through the Red Door Blog

“Why at this point in history, has God chosen to communicate His healing grace to so many of us? From the beginning, communication in A.A. has been no ordinary transmission of helpful ideas and attitudes. Because of our kinship in suffering, and because our common means of deliverance are effective for ourselves only when constantly carried to others, our channels of contact have always been charged with the language of the heart.”

When COVID 19 hit almost two years ago, I was not sure how I would handle not getting to meetings. I am one of those people of a certain age who considers the computer a glorified typewriter. In my years in the program, I have gone a few months without getting to a full meeting for one reason of another and I knew the consequences of missing out on my social/spiritual life in the program.

I had never heard of zoom till about February of last year when I heard that our future meetings would be on zoom. On What? How do you get that? Is it in my computer? What do you mean I can get it on my phone? I’m very open minded until I come across some new-fangled idea that trips me up and I’m in a tizzy till I calm down and then allow myself to be taught what I need to know. I still owe my homegroup some money as I haven’t figured out Venmo and that’s probably a trust issue come to think of it.

So, I got the number and a member to set it up for me and, with that, a whole new world wide web of alcoholics in recovery. One newcomer told me that in one day he had been to meetings in Australia, Germany, England, and Ireland.

In the mental health field, there was talk of the increase of alcohol and drug abuse. I made the assumption it would only get worse as none of those folk could find their way onto zoom. So much for my speed to ass-u-me, Yes, I made an ass of myself and I am owning it. It was as joyful to see and hear a newcomer on zoom as it was to see them in person. They came just as they do to any meeting -- timid, concerned, not knowing, and trusting. (More than I did when I came to A.A.) And they came back.

God chose to communicate Her grace through zoom and without my permission. It was wonderfully awesome and delightful to see these new people take a risk and tell people they could only see as a stamp on a screen that they wanted help. Some broke down and cried. Emotions ran high and participants shared their first day at a meeting. No matter where we were from. And that was another thing. In one meeting, there were Alaskans, Canadians, Americans, Irish (of course they are everywhere) and all of us sharing that common bond of emotional pain and the growth that comes from living the program one day at a time as we keep coming back no matter what.

Alcoholics Anonymous grew through word of mouth, telephone calls, twelve-step calls, articles in a paper, and as the media moved into high gear with the speed of computers and now all the electronic devices, AA has not changed; we still communicate our experience, strength and hope, our pain and joy, our hope and vision even if we are sitting in a room by ourselves talking to someone on the other side of the globe. We all speak the same language of the heart even though it sounds different with a good brogue.

During hurricane IDA I joined the multitude in escaping to wherever. We landed in Birmingham and I found a meeting. I also found more than that. I was shown - of course by one a hundred years younger than I – how to download an app that gives me every meeting around no matter where I am. Now I have no excuse for not being at a meeting, they are literally at my fingertips. Now, it’s not a cup of coffee and a cigarette that brings a meeting to life; it’s an App (??), a zoom number, and the language of the heart comes through loud and clear. Gut Orientated Dialogue. I am not sure if I want to be around when we begin to pass it on telepathically, but then God only knows.

You’ll see what was “really scary” as I tell you what happened this weekend. First, let me say I’ve been in the Program for several years, having followed our familiar paths. From my surrender on, I had steadily worked the Program, chaired meetings at the local addiction hospital unit, and so forth.

This particular day was my son’s high school homecoming and following the normal festivities, he returned home and as he entered the living room where we all were watching television, he stumbled and “threw up” seemingly everything he’d had eaten or drank at their several gala parties.

Sadly, this wasn’t the first episode with our son. He’d put on a similar bad show in front of the family after another school event, an end of a semester, or something like that. We sort of passed it off as what you might call “teen-aged nonsense.” There had been other weekend incidents, and, well, actually, if truth be known, it did seem to be a regular situation on weekends. Recently, there were times during a school week when he would appear intoxicated after visiting a friend’s house.

My mind immediately flashed back to my own days of rage – all the horrific examples of an out of control practicing alcoholic and the damages to family, grandparents, and others. I was also aware of how I felt when my parents sat me down the next morning and told me be I shouldn‘t be drinking as it’s “harmful to my health” and “not something our family does, why do you do this, you know it’s wrong.” My reaction to this “sit down” couldn’t have been worse. I was soon off to college and I treated this as an invitation to continue drinking whenever and at what level I decided.

But back to our son; what do I say to my son that next morning? Remember, he’s a good kid, but like most adolescents, he erects various barriers or at least bumpy paths to any parental “sit down talk.”

But isn’t that the most effective way to approach him? Do I sit him down and re-tell him my story the next morning? Do I give him a copy of the Big Book? How about taking him to my regular meeting, a good discussion meeting? It’s not that he’s unaware of my history of alcoholic behavior. He lived through some of it just like the whole family did and I’m pretty sure he is conscious about my work with others in the Program.

I’ll tell you what really scares me – it’s that if I do this incorrectly, it may serve as a hinderance to his doing anything about it himself until he really reaches his destructive bottom with all that implies. We love our son and it scares me that on the one hand I can really be of help to him but I fear just busting into his bedroom and sternly say, “You need to get to a meeting, pronto.”

Author’s Note: I’ll return to the Red Door on December First with some thoughts about suggestions what the next steps might be.

 Jim A, St. X Noon, Cincinnati  

What did? My discomfort with myself. There was no reason causing me to go back to depression’s old feeling, lack of self-worth, the “poor me’s” of feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes, like today, there’s no warning, just a quiet sadness sneaking over me. And, there is no question in my mind that in the old days, my abuse of substances was used to cover it up, to feel better, to hide my depressive feelings.  Of course, back in those thrilling days of yesteryear, many times, round-robin-like, my addiction itself caused and supported my depression.

Today, it’s a different story. I had jumped off that merry-go-round several years ago. I had learned my lesson. Depressed when I came to the Program? You bet! But the Program didn’t leave me hanging. It provided a means to wrestle with that dark cloud and escape unharmed.

It was hard to learn that lesson. But, at discussion meetings I learned that a person in recovery shouldn’t just sit there and do nothing. “Oh no.” I was told to “Do Something, don’t just sit there on your pity-pot, get into action!” ”To do what?” I’d ask, and the groups would say, “Here’s a bundle of action steps:”

“Take your inventory, get to a discussion meeting every day, help set up the meeting, talk to a newcomer, provide service work at the AA clubhouse, give a lead at a private treatment center or a court-supervised program, get outside your own self, take a measure of your gratitude for the Program. You’ re a lucky one. With the right hand of your Higher Power, work on the positive aspects of life.”

Sometimes all of us really do have serious problems made worse by our addiction. There’s no easy answer for those, but there is a Program suggestion. Just get into action with your sponsor or a person who has faced similar issues. How did they work through that stuff? Find a way to rid yourself of the problem, whatever it takes to get a fresh start. Maybe you can’t do it all at once, but make a “to-do” list and set reasonable goals to clean it up, and “start the cleanup.”

Depression and allied mental issues are complicated. Sometimes, recovery requires professional assistance and medication. The problems may be of long duration and it may take a good deal of time and work with a professional to control those feelings. By all means, don’t try the easy road of self-medication of alcoholism.

Above all, don’t drink, go to meetings, reach out to others and don’t feel sorry for yourself. Look for solutions! And don’t despair. Many in the Program have encountered depression and have worked through its effects. And, by all means, Keep Coming Back!

Jim A – St X Noon, Cincinnati, OH

I never tire of the liturgy. Some may say it could get routine and trite. Quite the opposite. The tradition, the ritual, the muscle memory of kneeling, standing, bowing are quite comforting. I see the same in the meetings. Walking through the Red Door, we begin our confession for all we have done and left undone. Have mercy on us and forgive us.

All someone has to say on a Tuesday night at 7pm is “God…” and everyone joins in with “God, grant me the serenity…” In many cases it’s the meeting’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. During the mass, all it takes is the priest to say “Our Father” and we all join in. In some meetings both the Serenity Prayer and the Lord’s Prayer are used. It’s hard to see a difference between the meeting and the mass if we’re all saying the Lord’s Prayer, isn’t it?

I remember the first time I heard the commendation that we observe a moment of silence for the “sick and suffering still outside this room.” I couldn’t help but hear “those on our thoughts and minds we remember them silently or aloud.” It was prayer. It was reverence. It was holding our loved ones in the Light in the meeting and in the mass. These were the prayers of the people.

“Someone read from Just for Today” sounds a lot like “A reading from the Book of Bill.” The words might be familiar, we might not be paying full attention and it may be just what our spirits needed to hear. In the church basement we hear supportive, life-giving words just like we do in the sanctuary. They are sacred texts.

The passing of the peace never struggles during the meeting. Mass could learn a thing or two. Even during COVID when we were fist bumping or waving from a comfortable six foot distance during mass, there were hardy, full body contact hugs, often unmasked, all throughout the meeting. The connection to another is a lifeline and can feel and look more genuine than the masked, sometimes sterile nods often shared Sunday mornings at 10:30.

While the celebration of the Eucharist is the highpoint of the mass, the culmination of the meeting is the celebration of “clean time.” At six months or one year, there is a processional to the front of the room. And great celebration. The chip becomes the host. We pause and remember and marvel in the mystery. “We who are many are one body” because we’ve all been on this road and those who get ahead of us in their recovery will be celebrated.

As mass comes to a close, we triumphantly declare “Thanks be to God!” after we are blessed by the priest. After the meeting, we leave with the hope of another day, several phone numbers of people to call if we need support and a greater connection to our Higher Power. Just like mass. 

Deborah M, MA, LPC
Lancaster, PA

“Remember...all I'm offering you is the truth: nothing more.”

Morpheus, The Matrix

I recently rewatched the Matrix.

The main character in the movie is Thomas Anderson, played by Keanu Reeves, a mild-mannered programmer by day and computer hacker by night who goes by the name Neo. In the first act, Thomas has two very different interactions that define his struggle. He encounters the mysterious and beautiful Trinity at a rave, who tells him that things are not what they seem and that she too was familiar with the sense that the world was not right. She tells him that if he dares to look for them, he can find the answers to the questions he is asking.

The second conversation he has is with Agent Smith. After being arrested by Smith and his henchmen, Smith unpacks the two lives Neo had been living. Smith, with punctuated clarity, pronounces the day time life of paying taxes, being a good employee, and responsible citizen. Then, with disdain, he describes his life online - a life that involves unsavory activities. Smith bluntly challenges Neo and states, “One of these lives has a future....the other does…not.”

These two interactions paint a fantastic image of addiction and recovery. As an addict in my addiction, I was living a double life. By day I presented as a respectable citizen, loving father, committed husband, and devoted pastor. But my inner life was one of shame, compulsive behavior, and denial. When I hit my bottom, my higher power clearly said, “One of these lives has a future....the other does not.”

It is easy to look back at that event in my recovery journey and let that moment define my future. While there is some validity in doing so in reality, that moment when I hit bottom and looked up was just the beginning. Each day I have to choose to take the correct colored pill offered by my higher power. I can choose the blue pill and go back to my insanity and denial. I could choose the red pill of recovery, and as Morpheus tells Neo, “stay in wonderland...and (discover) just how deep the rabbit hole goes.” Each morning I must choose to work my steps or return to a life lived in rationalization and denial. A life that is no life at all.

The gift of choosing the red pill each morning is that I get to experience reality.

In a recent meeting where our topic was hope, I shared that I have to detach from trying to control the specific outcome of my recovery. I do not hope that if I am in recovery, I will get a better job, make more money, find the right partner, etc. I hope that “I will be returned to sanity daily as I participate in the process of recovery.*” When I am restored to sanity, my circumstances may change. They may be easy or difficult, but I am sane - able to see them for what they are. Not a reason to return to addiction. Not a reason to act out. Just a circumstance. One which will not last forever.

The 12 Step Program of recovery is a path to living in rigorous honesty - in truth. While I may use this program to arrest my sex, love, and pornography addiction, others find freedom from the slavery of alcohol, drugs, gambling, codependency, and other process and chemical addictions. In each case, it works when we choose to live in the real world and not hold on to the unfulfilled promise of escapism offered by our drug of choice. We get to live in the truth. Jesus spoke to this connection between truth and freedom in John 8.

Then Jesus turned to the Jews who had claimed to believe in him. “If you stick with this, living out what I tell you, you are my disciples for sure. Then you will experience for yourselves the truth, and the truth will free you.”

John 8:31-32, The Message

Recovery may or may not restore your marriage, may or may not increase your standard of living, but it will set you free. A free man or woman can find peace with little or a lot or in times of partnership and aloneness. This freedom to be present in our bodies for our recovery destroys shame and empowers us to be our true selves. We learn to wake up from the dream of addiction and awaken to the truth of redemption.

Which pill are you going to take today?

Prayer: Redeemer God, may you grant me the courage to embrace truth and honesty today, trusting that in doing so, you shall bring new and deeper levels of freedom to be just as you created me - a child of God who is loved by you into wholeness. Amen.

Shane Montgomery
Conway, AR

*S.L.A.A. Signs of Recovery© 1990 The Augustine Fellowship, S.L.A.A., Fellowship-Wide Services, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
The Message
Copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the people who surrounded me in those early days as I began to emerge from the darkness of active addiction. To be truthful, it’s impossible to remember them all; there were many acts of kindness that I wasn’t able to see and will never know. Yet there they were, a veritable squad of cheerleaders urging me forward into new life. There are those, of course, who remain bright in my mind’s eye. This is a story about one of those beacons.

On one of the darkest days of my life, I was sitting in the local courthouse waiting to meet with a prosecutor. I had hit rock bottom with a resounding and humiliating splat. I was trying to wrap my mind around how I had gotten there. The shame was overpowering, and I had little reason for optimism about what would happen next.

As I waited, I noticed a young girl, maybe 4 or 5 years of age, with cascades of curly brown hair, scampering around the corridor. I recall thinking, “if this was last week, I might have looked for the girl’s parents and asked if I could bless her.” In my early priesthood, a mentor had recommended this as a spiritual practice. And I loved it. But it wasn’t last week. It was now. I had been arrested for possession, removed from my parish, and suspended. No clerical collar today. No blessing of children.

As I sat there, lost in thought, and wrapped in self-pity, I realized that that little girl was now standing in front of me, regarding me with her enormous brown eyes. When I said hello, she solemnly handed me one of those giant paper clips (I remember that it was pink) with as much care as if it were a Fabergé egg. “This is for you,” she said. “Don’t put it in your mouth.” And then she scrambled up and sat beside me to chat. A gift, some advice, and companionship. It sounds a lot like God to me.

That was 7+ years ago. Along the road of recovery, what with moving into and out of rehab, then sober housing, eventually an apartment, and then halfway across the country, some of the souvenirs of my new life have gone astray, that giant pink paperclip among them. Even so, that little girl’s gift to me has remained in my heart.

Recently, I shared part of this story in a sermon. The Gospel was Jesus telling the disciples to learn about the reign of God from children. “Look into the tiniest faces and see God,” I said.

After the service, in one of those lovely ways that the universe sometimes rhymes, the first person to greet me at the door solemnly handed me, you guessed it, a giant pink paperclip. “This is for you,” he said. And then, with a wink, “don’t put it in your mouth.”

This new souvenir now lives in my Prayer Book, and I hope to hold on to it for a long time. But, even if I don’t, I will always treasure, and hope to pass on to others, the gift of that nameless little girl. On that dreadful day, I couldn’t bless her, but she blessed me with a warm, bright beacon illuminating the road of happy destiny, a path that I look forward to trudging for many days to come.

Paul J.
Muncie, IN

Do you ever complain?

I do!

I was challenged with this recently when my Rector taught through the book of Job in the Lectionary. He described the tendency we have as humans to grumble about just about everything. He recalled the people of Israel in the wilderness. Not long after crossing the Red Sea, they quickly longed to return to Egypt. After all, they had full bellies and excellent mattresses. Ah, the good ol ’ days. They seemed to forget that the return to Egypt was a return to enslavement.

In my recovery, I can identify two types of looking back. The one I am most familiar with is called euphoric recall. Euphoric recall is when I look back at a previous addiction episode in a positive light. I remember doing this when I first began my twelve-step journey. Oh, the adventures! The compulsion would cover up the pain of dealing with challenging emotions. How easy it was to sit in the ashes of my addiction and grumble, “It was better when I was acting out.” Not dealing with my problems, my character defects through acting out in my addiction seemed like bliss compared to the pain I felt as I began to experience withdrawal.

For me, euphoric recall is a form of denial. When I choose to focus on the high from my addiction, I deny the reality of the consequences of acting out. I only get a partial picture of what my addiction does to others and the toll it takes on my spirit, body, and sanity. My program urges me to practice rigorous honesty. Euphoric recall is the opposite of that commitment.

I also find myself recalling the early days of recovery. Lately, this often occurs as I remember the pre-pandemic community of how things used to be. Being able to see each other face-to-face instead of through a video screen, the simple pleasure of setting up chairs in the meeting room, and the personal interaction that doesn’t translate across the internet are things I miss. It is also easy to compare my current level of passion in recovery against those early days.

I must not coast on my past successes in recovery. Thankfully, my friends in the program remind me that doing so is a risky business. There are no laurels upon which to rest. The saying is true when we feel we are doing good in recovery; our addict is out in the parking lot doing push-ups.

Each morning I remind myself that the best position to begin my day is on my knees. It is a reminder that I require a power greater than myself. It is a position of humility. Before recovery, I would pray at my desk, like I was negotiating a business contract. Getting on my knees is a deceleration of surrender to a power greater than myself.

For me, I have to remind myself that the life of acting out is a life I choose to die to each day. Occasionally, I have to remind myself that I must decide that from moment to moment. There is no life in the past, be it by acting out or my early recovery days. Like a partner in a marriage whose honeymoon is in the rearview mirror, I must now lean into the choice to invest in and maintain a spiritual love connection to God. When I look back, I miss the blessing of the now.

I once read that God doesn't live in the past nor the future. God exists in the now, the present moment. While I may want to argue the theology of that statement, experience tells me it is true in my recovery. Realizing that God is present in my life today, this hour, this second that each moment is holy in itself, is a source of immense gratitude.

It ’s sure hard to complain when I am grateful.

How about you?

Shane Montgomery
Conway. AR
October 13, 2021

In the book of Nehemiah, we read: “Then I sent to him a message saying, “No such things as you say have been done; you are inventing them out of your own mind.” How often have we told another, or we have been told, “That’s all in your imagination.” To addicts, practicing or in recover, imagination can be a blessing or a curse.

I answered the door knowing that it was a police officer bringing in a teenage girl whom he had picked up around two a.m. She was high and reeked of cheap beer. From experience, I knew I got more information from the kids at this hour of the morning if I cooked a hamburger than just sit and fill out paperwork. She told me she had taken a fifth of whiskey to a party of underage youth. Prior to leaving home, she ground up a handful of pills she found in the medicine cabinet. “Why did you do that?” “I just wanted to see what would happen.”

I remember those days. “If this makes me feel good. How much better would I feel if I had another, and another.” The first night I drank alcohol, I was in my early twenties. I poured myself drinks from every bottle on the table and paid the physical, emotional. and spiritual price for it. This is what happens when our imagination runs wild. A sniff of amyl nitrate and one may begin to imagine how much better it would feel “if we had a few young women around.”

The gift of the imagination brought about much inhuman history from creating a spade, a wheel, a motor, wings, flying in space, flying cars, drones. Most of these are used for the good of the community. Unfortunately, there are those whose anger and hatred will turn these into weapons of war and destruction The imagination has created some wonderful meals and spices to go with them. The imagination has brought about a revolution in clothing, art, movies, etc.

Not all companies appreciate those employees whose imagination goes beyond the status quo. The church encourages one to use their imagination to celebrate the liturgy provided the liturgist stays within certain bounds and sticks with the prescribed texts.

“What would this swirl look like if I breathed life into it?’ asked God of Herself once. Her Spirit breathed, the swirl moved, light came from darkness, gases exploded, rocks flew into the nothingness creating space and the dormant seeds began to evolve to become what they were meant to be and become. [and after twelve hours of light and twelve hours of darkness, God said to herself, “I’ll call it a day.”]

In his song, “IMAGINE,” John Lennon invites us to imagine - No heaven or hell, people living one day at a time; No countries, no religion, no possessions, no greed or hunger and nothing to kill for; humanity living in peace – a brother/sisterhood of humanity.

In this song Lennon admits he will be called a dreamer; he knows he is not alone, and we are invited to dream the impossible dream of humanity living in peace. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

My imagination went dark and empty as I stood at the door of my boss’s office- “I think I have a drinking problem,” I said, and stated I would never drink again. “Why could I not have waited till Monday” I thought later on. Perhaps my Higher Power was preventing me from another weekend drinking spree.

I threw myself wholeheartedly into the program in order to look good. My imagination had me climbing the corporate ladder as I continued to do over and above what I was asked to do -- except get sober. I stayed on an extended dry drunk.

I think I am afraid of my imagination. I don’t want to be disappointed or disappoint. Never did I imagine myself with a D. Min., never did I imagine myself with two books published (one just arrived today.) And yet, I imagine a novel (finished), a set of short stories for my grandkids (almost finished), a drawer filled with what might pass for poetry. I never imagined myself conducting retreats for those of us in recovery and yet it has happened.

The wonder- full thing about the above (and I may be bragging a little) is that I remember writing it; I remember sharing it with a friend; I remember my nervousness. As long as I stay sober, I can imagine a world filled with wonder. that may or may not become a reality. It’s ok to imagine and take it one day at a time.

Séamus D. Greater New Orleans.

“Remember this!”

Communion at our church, St. Paul’s of Newport, Kentucky, was moving along smoothly last Sunday. Suddenly, I had a flashback—one of those terrible returns to the past. Maybe it was the slight smell of wine sniffed as I “took the Cup” proffered by our Rector.

I fought the coming recollection but to no avail. Visions started to zoom through my brain and they weren’t visions of comfort and joy or meditation. No, my mind was in the process of pointing out to me one of those twists in our path as we worked the Program. Yes, my mind started to focus on one of those shameful “evenings before & mornings after,” but that morning I had been greeted by words of comfort and joy in the sermon and the beautiful forgiving words of the Book of Common Prayer. With that, this approaching horrific vision of our alcoholic vanished.

Whenever this happens, and it’s rare when it appears, I look at it as if my Higher Power is telling me,

“Now Jim, don’t get all down in the dumps on Me. Remember where you came from and the path you walked as you entered and worked the Program. Those days of rage are long gone.”

But, I believe we need to be reminded of the importance of “remembering those days of rage,” at least a bit of them.

I pause, smile and recall that first AA meeting of others reaching out and offering assistance. I remember, as if it were yesterday, the first time I said anything publicly at a discussion meeting, the spirits of joy at those Thanksgiving banquets, and so much more.

When one of these visions rears its ugly head and starts to come back, I acknowledge the past but remember anew that I have been blessed by the Grace of the Program and a feeling of gratitude casts its marvelous cover! These occasional dark reflections of the past are closed off and we receive the wonderful reminder of a message of recovery we are blessed to carry.

JRA/St. X, Noon, Cincinnati.

“Figure it out” is not a slogan.

In the River where I swim, a beaver swims and lives and plays.

I suspect this beaver has a family, yet I see only one beaver ever.

I’ve read that beaver build complex structures with many ways in and out so that they always feel safe yet never feel trapped. Historically, I’ve felt as though I emotionally resemble this all too well.

This beaver never has to figure out where to go or what to do when the people let their dogs off leash. Beaver swims silently, rapidly against the current into its dam.

If a dog (or human) dare follow, Beaver is likely no longer inside and not likely to be found because the way out can’t be figured out.

This morning, while I was swimming in the River, rains poured down.

Not too long ago in such a situation, my amygdala would have signaled fight-flight-freeze-which one?-all three!

Today, the rain poured down on me in the River, and I surfaced, lifted my goggles, and saw Beaver speeding upstream.

Beaver wasn’t flipping her lid; “nothing to figure out here!”

My cell phone, keys, towel sat on a rock across the River. I couldn’t figure out how to get to them, how to save them from the rain.

My car was parked across the River and down the road - windows down. I couldn’t figure out how I would drive home with wet seats or how I’d dry them out.

“Figure it out” is not a slogan.

“For You alone my soul waits in silence;
my hope is from the Beloved.
Enfolding me with strength and steadfast love, My faith shall remain firm.
In the Silence rests my freedom and my guidance; for You are the Heart of my heart,
You speak to me in the Silence.” (Ps. 62, Merrill)

Turning from the drink, turning from the pills—these are second nature to me now, yet the emotions linked lie just beneath the surface.

Today, when I saw the beaver swimming beside me in the River in the rain, I stopped, took a deep breath, observed the beaver and the River and the rain and myself, and proceeded to swim upstream with the beaver.

I left the worries for another time.

“Figure it out” is not a slogan; “In the Silence rests my freedom” might be mine.

Brandon Beck
St Mark’s Episcopal Church, San Marcos TX
22 September 2021