Temporary Sponsor

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:4

Like most of us, when I first came into recovery, I didn’t know what I was doing. I had spent years trying to manage life on my own, and it wasn’t working. I kept hearing in the meetings, “You need a sponsor.” I didn’t know what that really meant or entailed, but the pain was a great motivator and I was ready to stop hurting.

Back then I had met two men that I connected with. One from my traditional recovery group and one from a Christ-centered recovery group I recently started attending. I asked the man from my traditional group to sponsor me, but he said no. That rejection stung, but God was already working behind the scenes. The next week, I asked the other man. He said he’d be my temporary sponsor. At first that too hurt my feelings and felt like more rejection, but I was hurting, and at that point, I didn’t care. I just knew I needed help. What I didn’t realize was that “temporary” would turn into one of the most life-changing commitments I’d ever make.

We began meeting twice a week, once at night to do step work and another morning for coffee and conversation. I didn’t realize it then, but those moments were doing more than teaching me about recovery; they were teaching me how to be honest, accountable, and real. My sponsor didn’t preach at me. He didn’t try to fix me or tell me what to do. He just listened, guided, and modeled the kind of peace I had been missing. He shared pieces of his own story that made me realize I wasn’t alone. For the first time, I felt safe enough to be honest about my past and the pain I had carried for years. Through those early meetings, God began to show me that healing happens in relationship, not isolation. I started to see that He uses people to help people, and that letting someone in didn’t make me weak. It made me human.

Through that process, I began to trust. Not just my sponsor, but God working through him. Each time I opened up, something in me began to change. I started to realize that I didn’t have to have everything figured out. I just needed to be willing. I wasn’t used to that kind of safety or love. It wasn’t about control; it was about surrender. When he challenged me to face myself in the steps, I listened. And slowly, the walls I had built around my heart started to crumble. What began as a temporary arrangement became a lasting foundation. God used one man’s willingness to listen to bring about permanent change in me.

Now I understand that the commitments I make in faith, even small ones, give God room to work in big ways. When I said yes to a “temporary” sponsor, I was really saying yes to healing. God met me in that step of obedience and turned it into transformation.

Prayer

God, thank You for using people to help me when I couldn’t help myself. Thank You for those who guide me with wisdom, grace, and honesty. Help me stay willing to listen, to trust, and to take the next right step You put in front of me. Amen.

Honesty Brings Healing

Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. James 5:16

I remember sitting across from my sponsor one night as we were going over the Fourth Step. His office was quiet except for the soft click of the heater turning on and off, breaking the silence between us. Near the end of our time, my heart started to race and my hands felt heavy in my lap as I tried to find the courage to speak. I had shared a lot that night, things I had never said aloud before, but one truth still sat heavy inside me. I kept waiting for the right moment, hoping maybe he would move on, but he didn’t. Finally, I just blurted it out, something I had hidden and carried in silence for years. For a moment, I couldn’t look at him. I waited for disappointment, maybe even pity, but instead, I saw compassion. My sponsor didn’t flinch or look away. He looked steadily at me, and I saw a small smile on his face. I didn’t feel judged, but accepted. He simply told me that moments like this are what recovery is all about. It is when grace meets honesty and shame finally loses its grip.

Step Five scared me. Admitting to God, to myself, and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs felt like stepping into a spotlight I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t understand how it worked or why it mattered. Wasn’t this just another way to be reminded of my failures? But something shifted the moment I began to speak the truth out loud. Writing things down was one thing, but saying them made them real. My voice trembled at first, but the more I spoke, the lighter I felt. It was as if every secret I released created room for grace to breathe. Each time I pulled something out of darkness, the weight I had been carrying started to lift. I was learning to let go of the lies I believed about who I was and to hand my shame over to God. That is the humbling process James wrote about when he said to confess our faults and pray for one another so that we may be healed. What struck me most was that the verse does not say forgiven; that is already done. It says healed. Healing began the moment I stopped hiding.

Today, I still practice what I learned back then. When I am honest about my struggles, I stay connected to God and others. Healing did not stop that night; it keeps unfolding every time I tell the truth, listen with compassion, or pray with someone who is hurting. When someone sits across from me and begins to share what they have been carrying for years, I can see the same mix of fear and hope that once filled my own heart. I ask God to help me show His love by being present and accepting, without judgment or hurry. Each time I listen, I am reminded of where my healing began, in the simple act of being honest and letting someone in. I do not fully understand how God does it, but He never fails to bring freedom when I do my part. The honesty that once terrified me now keeps me free. The same grace that healed me keeps me whole, one day at a time.

Prayer

God, thank You for meeting me in my honesty. Give me the courage to keep bringing things into the light, trusting that healing happens when I do. Help me to listen with the same grace that once set me free, and let my life be a safe place where Your love restores others. Amen.

Don’t Hold It In

What keeps me from asking honestly for what I need?

Let your Yes be Yes, and your No, No. Matthew 5:37

I remember a time I was doing step work with my sponsor, and I had to go to the bathroom. I kept holding it because, for some reason, I was afraid to ask if I could be excused. I don’t know why. We were both adults, both working a program based on honesty, yet I sat there fidgeting, tapping my foot, hoping he’d notice. I was giving all the clues, silently wishing he would say, “Hey, do you need to use the bathroom?” But he didn’t. Finally, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I apologized and said, “I’m sorry, I need to go pee. Can I be excused?” My sponsor burst out laughing, a big deep belly laugh, and said, “If you gotta go pee, go pee!”

When I came back, he told me he had known the whole time that I needed to go but was waiting for me to speak up for myself. He said he could see all the “tells” I was giving. Then he asked, “Why did you wait so long?” I thought about it and realized what I had been doing. I was trying to use manipulation to get my needs met. I was hoping someone else would read my mind and take care of me instead of taking responsibility for myself. It was a simple situation that revealed a deep pattern in me. My sponsor taught me that day that part of recovery is learning to speak honestly about what I need and to take appropriate action instead of waiting for others to figure it out.

That lesson has stayed with me. These days, when I need to use the restroom, I just excuse myself. Even in a meeting, a phone call, or a conversation, I can speak up for myself without guilt or fear. No one has ever chastised me for it or looked at me differently. People always understand. But the freedom goes deeper than that. I am learning that God gives me permission to take care of myself. I no longer have to manipulate or hint to get my needs met. I can be direct, honest, and at peace.

Prayer

Lord, thank You for teaching me that honesty begins with myself. Help me to speak up for what I need with humility and courage. Keep me aware of the old habits that try to sneak back in, and teach me to trust that You and others can handle the truth. Amen.

Feeling Left Out

God is healing the parts of me that learned to expect disappointment.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

The other day was my daughter’s thirteenth birthday and plans for her party fell through. In my attempt to console her disappointment, it brought up memories I hadn’t thought about in years. My birthday is in December, and for anyone born that month, you probably already know what I’m going to say. For everyone else, let me explain. A December birthday often means you never have a birthday party because it’s “too close to Christmas.” If I heard that once, I heard it a thousand times. I understand now, as an adult, that it’s a busy time of year with family gatherings, work parties, holiday expenses, and a dozen other things. It can be a lot. But as a ten-year-old kid, all I heard was that I wasn’t important enough to celebrate.

Many years I received the “combo gift,” with the line: “This one’s for Christmas and your birthday.” Which usually meant it was a Christmas gift with a different tag. One year I decided to return the favor. My brother’s birthday is in May, so when Christmas came, I handed him a gift with a card that read, “This is for Christmas and your birthday.” He looked confused and said, “But it’s not my birthday.” I said, “Exactly.” He didn’t get it, but I did. I felt left out. Both of my brothers, born in May, had birthday parties almost every single year. I remember my tenth birthday was supposed to be my first real party, where kids from school were invited. I was so excited. Then I came down with the mumps. The party was cancelled, and I never had a birthday party until I was an adult. I was crushed. After that, two things happened. First, I stopped getting my hopes up for anything. I told myself it was better not to expect much, just another broken promise waiting to happen. Second, I became impossible to buy a gift for. I don’t know how to accept a gift graciously, and even if I was given a gift I had always wanted, I still feel left out and hurt. I don’t like that about myself, but it’s the truth. This is one of the things about working recovery, is that I have to face the hard things even when I don’t want to or don’t like what I learn about myself.

I hadn’t realized how much of those childhood hurts are still with me even today until they begin to surface. Every time someone overlooks me or doesn’t notice my effort, it stirs up that feeling of rejection. The good news is that I never have to stay in that state of mind. I can change, and God provides the power to do so. He is healing those broken places and replacing them with His peace and presence. I can’t hope for a happier past, but I can learn and grow from it and expect a happier future.

Prayer:
God, thank You for revealing to me the pain I’ve hidden for so long. Help me face old memories without fear, knowing You are already there. Teach me to receive love without suspicion and kindness without doubt. Thank You for healing my hurts and giving me Your peace in their place. Amen.

Learning to Trust

Taking one small step toward trust, even when I’m afraid.

When I am afraid, I will trust in You. Psalm 56:3

Growing up, I had no idea what trust was. I learned early on that people could say one thing and do another, that “I love you” didn’t always mean safety, and that promises were often broken. I learned to survive by relying on the only person I thought wouldn’t lie to me – me. But since I had never really known love or trust, I was relying on a skewed version of what my limited understanding could comprehend. I built walls to protect myself from being hurt again and called it strength. Even after I came to know God, I still kept control of the details, just in case He didn’t come through the way I hoped.

When I came into recovery, I brought that same lack of trust with me. I didn’t know how to open up or let anyone in. I told myself it was safer to keep my guard up and just listen. I didn’t trust people, and if I’m honest, I didn’t trust God either. I believed in Him, but I didn’t believe He would show up for me. Deep down, I was afraid that if I really depended on anyone, they would eventually let me down, just like before.

As I kept coming to meetings, I began to notice something different. People shared openly about their struggles and didn’t seem ashamed. They were honest about their pain, but they also had peace. That was new to me. Little by little, I started to believe that maybe it was safe to be real too. People seemed to listen without judgment and didn’t try to fix me. The more I shared, the more I began to feel accepted. Trust didn’t happen all at once, but each time I opened up, the walls I had built started to tumble down. I started to believe what was shared in the readings, that this was a safe place and what is shared here stays here.

As I learned to trust people, I began to realize that God was using them to teach me how to trust Him. Each time someone listened without judgment, encouraged me, or showed up when they said they would, I caught a glimpse of God’s character. I started to see that He had been faithful all along, even when I couldn’t recognize it. Through the consistency of others, I experienced the steady love of a God I once doubted. Trust was no longer an idea I tried to understand; it became something I was learning to live.

Today, I’m still learning to trust. It’s not something I’ve mastered; it’s something I practice every day. Each time I let someone in, each time I choose honesty over self-protection, my hope in people grows a little more. I’ve learned that trust doesn’t mean I won’t get hurt. It means that even if I do, I don’t have to stop trusting. I can’t stop, because it’s in trusting others that I feel loved, and love is always a risk. It’s a risk to love others, and it’s a risk to let them love you back. But it’s a risk worth taking.

Prayer

Father, thank You for being patient with me as I learn to trust again. Help me to lay down my fear and let others in. When I’m tempted to close off or pull back, remind me that You are safe, and that You often show Your love through people. Teach me to love courageously, to trust even when it feels risky, and to see Your faithfulness in every step I take.

I Can Be Compassionate

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

I love my qualifier, who struggles with alcoholism. For a long time, I confused control with love. I believed that if I could fix them, everything would finally be okay. I thought their happiness would bring me peace, but it only left me frustrated, anxious, and exhausted. I thought I was showing love, but what I was calling love was distorted. I was attempting to fix and control what only God could heal.

Today I am learning that the solution isn’t in fixing others but in trusting God and keeping the focus on changing myself. I do this by learning to forgive, making amends, serving, giving back, living one day at a time, consciously being present in each moment, and being grateful. Working the steps of recovery has introduced me to a loving, caring God. Because of that relationship, I can “let go and let God.” I can trust Him with my qualifier. My part is to focus on my own recovery and take only my own inventory.

I can have unconditional love for someone with a seemingly unlovable disease. I can separate the person I love from the disease I hate. Loving without conditions doesn’t mean loving without concern. I’ve learned that accepting doesn’t mean liking, and that by accepting them exactly as they are, I can stop expecting. I can have boundaries, and I don’t have to accept unacceptable behavior. Detaching with love allows me to care without control and to love without losing myself.

I can be compassionate, gentle, kind, and understanding. I can allow them to experience the consequences of their decisions, good or bad, without interfering. I can stop depending on them for my happiness and peace, and instead look within for both. I can treat them with the same respect and kindness I would offer anyone, with or without their disease. I can live in the present moment, without heartache for the past or fear of the future. Because of my ongoing recovery from the family disease of alcoholism, I have gifts I never would have known otherwise. I can be grateful for them today. I get to have a loving relationship with my qualifier, and they get to live their own life. I can express my spirituality by showing how merciful God is through my attitude and actions in all my relationships. I can actively and willingly practice these principles in all my affairs. Peace and serenity have come as a result of living a life of spiritual recovery and working the twelve steps of the program. Today I can be compassionate, gentle, and kind, not because my qualifier changed, but because I have.

Reflection
What does compassion look like for you today—especially toward someone you’ve tried to fix or control?

Muddy and Wet

It may not be my fault, but it is still my responsibility.

Each one should carry their own load. Galatians 6:5

The other day I was out for a walk after a heavy rain. As I came to a corner, I noticed a huge puddle where the drain must have been clogged. Just then, a car sped past and splashed me from head to toe. I was soaking wet and furious. My first thought was, what was that driver thinking? Did they not see me standing there? Did they not see the puddle?

Then I began to blame myself. Why didn’t I anticipate the car coming? Why didn’t I move out of the way? I was trying to decide whose fault it was. Was it mine for not reacting, or the driver’s for not noticing? The truth is it didn’t matter whose fault it was. I was still muddy and wet. And I had three choices: stay angry and stuck, keep going through the day miserable, or go home, clean up, and move forward. I chose the third.

In the shower, I had an aha moment. It’s not about finding fault. It’s about taking responsibility. Blame couldn’t change my situation, but responsibility could. Whether or not the driver even knew what they had done, it was still my responsibility to get cleaned up. Life will splash us with things we didn’t cause and don’t deserve. But blaming others never changes the fact that we are muddy and wet. Responsibility allows us to clean up, move forward, and keep walking with God.

Prayer
Lord, help me not to waste time in blame. Teach me to take responsibility for my response. Give me the grace to clean up, move forward, and continue walking with You. Amen.

Home Runs

Consistency Wins The Game

Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it (1 Corinthians 9:24)

I was umpiring a tournament this past weekend where there were many home runs in a single game. A home run is always exciting. It is a magnificent moment when a player sends the ball sailing over the fence and out of the park. The player who hit it is ecstatic, their team erupts with joy, while the other team is disappointed. The pitcher who gave it up may feel dejected, and sometimes the coach will even make a change. One swing of the bat can shift the emotions and even the momentum of a game.

I have seen teams that were far behind suddenly find new life after a single home run. That one big hit gave them hope, sparked a rally, and sometimes they came all the way back to win. Yet the truth about home runs is that as thrilling as they are, they usually do not decide the outcome of the game on their own.

I have seen teams hit several and still lose to another team that never hit one. How can that be? Because one spectacular event is rarely enough to carry the whole game. The teams that win are the ones that play together, stay consistent, and keep contributing inning by inning.

Life and recovery work the same way. We may have some amazing wins and big victories along the way, but one moment is not the whole story. Winning one battle or even losing one does not determine the outcome. We keep going. We keep competing. We stay in the game. We cannot give up, because the game is not over. The real victory comes by showing up faithfully, playing every play, and staying in it until the end.

Prayer

Lord, thank You for the victories You have given me. Help me not to rely on just one moment but to keep pressing forward with faithfulness. Give me the strength to stay in the game and finish well. Amen.