3 More Hours

Choosing between frustration and peace

If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done. Ecclesiastes 11:4

During the holidays, we like to do simple crafts and activities together as a family. One of our little traditions is making chocolate-covered pretzels. We placed our order for the things we needed at 9:00 a.m., with a promised delivery time of noon. Instead, the order was delayed and then disappeared altogether. Never filled, let alone delivered. Frustration started filling the room. My wife was on the phone trying to fix it, growing more irritated by the minute. I was sitting on the couch watching it unfold, not in the middle of the conflict but close enough to feel the tension and see the smoke coming out of her ears. She was upset, uncharacteristically short-tempered, and understandably frustrated. Before long, that frustration turned toward me for not jumping in to fix it. If I had been the one on the phone, I probably would have felt the same way. I’ve been in that spot before, and I’ve reacted worse than she did.

It became clear that no matter what we said, how much we complained, or how frustrated we became, the delivery wasn’t within our control. We couldn’t make anyone respond differently. We couldn’t speed things up. We couldn’t fix the delay or undo the mistake. We had no control over what was happening with the order, and it didn’t seem like anyone on the other end of the phone did either. No amount of frustration was going to change that. What we did have control over was simple, almost embarrassingly simple. Our response. We could stop arguing with people about something we couldn’t change and decide what to do next. Instead, we resisted that option. We stayed on the phone. We kept pressing. We kept trying to force a solution that wasn’t coming. Looking back, I wasn’t just watching a delay. I was watching how hard it is for me to let go of control when I feel I’ve been wronged.

We stayed there for three more hours. Three more hours of phone calls, explanations, and frustration. Three more hours of trying to convince someone else they were wrong. Three more hours of sitting in powerlessness, hoping control would eventually show up and fix things. Looking back, it’s almost humorous. I didn’t just wait three more hours for a delivery. I chose three more hours of anxiety, irritation, and resistance. Eventually, I did the only thing that was actually within my power. I got up off my butt, went to the store, picked up what we needed, and came home. By then, my wife had worked through her frustration, and the tension had passed. We were still able to do what we planned to do. It was just delayed. The real loss wasn’t the delay. It was the time I spent sitting still, insisting on fighting something I couldn’t change. I’m reminded how often I do this in life. I sit in discomfort waiting for someone else to change, waiting for circumstances to bend, waiting for tomorrow, instead of taking action right now. I didn’t lose hours because of the problem. I lost them because I refused to let go of control. And every time I do, I pay the same price. Not in time, but in peace.

Prayer

Father, help me recognize when I am holding on to control instead of choosing peace. Show me where I am waiting when I need to take action. Give me the courage to act on what is within my power. Teach me to respond instead of react. Thank You for the peace I receive when I choose to be happy instead of being right. Amen.

The Hurt That Opened My Eyes

Pain broke through my denial and I finally accepted the truth

He brought me up from a horrible pit, out of the mud and clay, and set my feet on a rock. Psalm 40:2

I will never forget the day everything fell apart. After twenty years of marriage, my wife told me she was leaving. Not thinking or talking about leaving. Leaving. She already had a place lined up, had spoken with our teenage kids, and asked me not to be there when she moved out. She had been planning this for a long time, and I had been pretending not to see it. When she said I love you, but I’m not in love with you, something inside me shattered. The shock and confusion filled my whole being. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from under my life, and I remember standing there not knowing who I was anymore or where I would end up.

A few months earlier I had already told a coworker I thought we were headed toward divorce. We had a separation agreement that said we were separated but living in the same house. I wasn’t as blindsided as I told myself. I just didn’t want to face the truth because the truth hurt. I saw things that didn’t make sense, or maybe they did, but I didn’t want to look any closer. I told myself stories. I tried to keep the illusion of a family even though it was slipping through my fingers. Ignoring reality felt easier than honesty until it wasn’t, and denial only made the crash harder when it finally came.

Looking back, that day was the beginning of my recovery, even though it didn’t seem like it. It’s what I later learned was called hitting bottom. Pain finally stripped away the stories, the lies that I told myself. The shock forced me to stop pretending. Losing what I thought I couldn’t live without opened the door for God to meet me in a place I had never let Him into before. It pushed me toward honesty, a truth I had been running from. When my world fell apart, something new began. I didn’t feel strength. I didn’t feel hope. But I did feel the truth, and that was eventually enough to cause me to humble myself and look for help. I had to face my life as it actually was, not as I falsely wished it were. And as painful as that was, it created a small opening for me to surrender to God and allow Him into the anguish and heartache I had been concealing in the shadows of my heart.

The solution didn’t come overnight and it didn’t come the way I thought it would. But it did come. It came by me working the steps and opening the hidden places of my heart to God and to my sponsor. I started doing the simple things they told me to do every day. I showed up, shared honestly, and took one small action at a time. Little by little, the ground under me began to feel solid again. Pain and hurt were replaced with peace and ease. Resentments were replaced with gratitude. I don’t know exactly how it happened, or even when. I only know that it did as I followed the prescription they gave me: going to meetings and working the steps with a sponsor. Keep coming back, it works.

Prayer:
Father, thank You for being close to me when my world fell apart. Thank You for not giving up on me and leading me to recovery. Help me to always stay honest about what is real and let You into the places I try to hide. Give me the courage to keep walking this path one day at a time. Thank You for the peace You give in place of where there used to be pain. Amen.

Trust Takes Time

Surrender Is a Process

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

I’ve noticed I write a lot about surrender and trust. It really bothered me. I wondered if it meant I wasn’t growing in my recovery or that I should be past this by now. I thought maybe it pointed to unresolved issues I still hadn’t dealt with. But then I realized something different. These are the places where my deepest wounds sit. Growing up with fears of rejection and abandonment shaped the way I learned to survive. It left me with severe trust issues, and to feel safe, I tried to control everything. Even today, these are my biggest struggles, so it makes sense that trust and surrender keep showing up in my writing and my recovery. This is where I’m learning to rest and let go of control. But those childhood fears are still there and make surrender hard.

Today I had one of those aha moments. I realized that this is something I will probably have to work on for the rest of my life. That doesn’t mean that I’m stuck and never able to change. It simply means it’s a process. I had 42 years of unhealthy dysfunctional living, including my formative childhood years. That doesn’t just go away overnight. It’s going to take time, one of those four letter words I so dread. I have to learn how to live healthy and free. But the difference is that now I’m aware. I’m awake to what’s happening inside me. These old fears still get stirred up from time to time, but not in the same way they used to. They don’t happen as often. And they don’t knock me down for days or even hours anymore. They no longer define me. I can sense the changes happening daily.

These changes are working a transformation in me, starting with how I perceive myself. And that works its way down into my daily thinking. By committing myself to writing, step work with my sponsor, and going to meetings, I am healing inside. As a result, I feel a sense of peace and security I never received before. Now when something makes me afraid, I don’t have to spiral out of control. I pray and ask God to help, write about whatever is upsetting me, and talk it through with my sponsor. I figure out what my part is, name the emotions, and put them where they belong instead of letting them ruin my whole day. Recovery has taught me how to respond in healthy ways instead of react. That’s where the real and felt healing is. Not in never struggling again, but in knowing what to do when the feelings begin to surface again. Knowing that this is a lifelong process is actually a comfort. I accept that I am not permanently damaged. I have a way to think, feel, and get better. It is in using these tools and allowing myself the same grace I have been offered by others in recovery.

Prayer
Father, I thank You for always being there for me, even when no one else was. Help me to trust You when fear shows up and I am tempted to take control. Keep me aware and honest about what’s happening inside me. Thank You for the changes You are working in me, even when they feel slow. Help me surrender to You and trust that You will always take care of me. Amen.

Leaving Resentment Behind

God Met Me When I Faced the Truth.

The Lord is close to those who call out to Him, listening closely, especially when they call out to Him in truth. Psalm 145:18

I didn’t realize how quietly resentment can grow until I found myself carrying it everywhere I went. I believed without question that God had called me into ministry. I felt a pull toward Indiana and I prayed and sought God about it for two years. I felt led toward a city I had never seen, and eventually moved my entire family there on nothing but faith and obedience. I felt certain I was doing exactly what God wanted. But when the money ran out, when the pressure grew, and when I saw the deterioration in my family, something inside me buckled. I ultimately turned the church over to someone else and packed up to head back to California. I felt like a failure as a pastor, as a husband and father, and as a man. I never told anyone how deeply that wounded me. But I did feel it. And that silent hurt slowly turned into resentment.

The resentment didn’t start out being apparent. It started as hidden discouragement and disappointment. An obscured Why, God? that I tried to ignore. I told myself I was fine. I told myself I was moving forward. But underneath all that pretending, I was angry. Angry at myself for not being enough. Angry the support ended. Angry at God for letting me step out in faith only to fall flat on my face. I never stopped believing in Him, but I stopped trusting Him. I stopped talking about ministry, stopped admitting what I felt, and stopped letting myself dream. My outward life looked functional, but inside I was hurting, confused, and bitter. Resentment isn’t always perceptible. Sometimes it is veiled and lingers. And I didn’t realize how heavy it had become until it started affecting everything in my life.

What I finally learned is that God can’t heal what I keep hidden. I’ve found that resentment loses its power the moment I bring it into the light. It cannot survive honesty. It cannot survive humility. That is how I found freedom in steps four and five. Once I became willing to forgive, by practicing steps eight and nine, it wasn’t long after, that gratitude filled the void where resentment once lived. And steps ten and eleven help me to keep future resentments from creeping in again. This spiritual alignment keeps me focused on me and my relationship with God, which in turn helps me be at peace with others.

Prayer:
Father thank You for receiving me when I turned to You. Thank You for the steps of recovery that helped put my faith in action. I trust You to care for me. Help me to stay willing to make amends and forgive. Keep me from allowing resentments to come back in again. I love You, teach me to love others with the way You have shown love to me. Amen.

Recovery Glasses

Bringing Life Into Focus

But I know this: I once was blind, and now I can see! John 9:25

I remember riding with a friend one day when he asked me to help navigate. We were trying to find a certain street, and he told me to let him know when we were getting close. So I was watching for the sign, feeling pretty confident in my role, and we were having a good time. Then out of nowhere he sounded irritated. “There’s the street right there. Why didn’t you tell me?” I told him we weren’t close enough yet for me to read the sign. I honestly had no idea how he could read it. He looked at me like I had three heads and said, “You can’t read that sign?” When I said no, he said “You need glasses!” I said “No I do not!” and then he handed me his glasses and said, “Put these on.” The moment I put them on, it was like I had been in a pitch black room and someone just flipped on the light switch. I could suddenly see every single letter clear as day. Everything seemed more vivid, vibrant and defined.

Later that day at his house, he handed me the glasses again and said, “Look at the TV through these.” I laughed and said, “What difference could that make?” Famous last words. I put them on and I was flabbergasted. The colors were bright. The picture was sharp. It was amazing. I thought I could not believe I had never watched TV like this before in my entire life. Let me tell you, I’ve watched a lot of TV too. I know how to watch me some TV, and apparently I’ve never really seen any of it.

I was thinking about that memory this morning during meditation, and it hit me that recovery is very much like that. Before recovery, I was walking around without realizing how blurry my thinking was. I thought my reactions and my fears were normal because they were all I had ever known. I thought I was seeing things just as clearly, maybe better, as everyone else. But once I started doing the steps with a sponsor, going to meetings, and doing acts of service, things slowly came into focus. My feelings made more sense. Life felt more understandable. I didn’t have to get right up on every problem to figure out what was going on. It was like putting on actual glasses for the first time. Everything came into focus and I could see things as they really were, not as how I was interpreting based on limited sight.

When I think about recovery now, I think about those glasses. I didn’t know anything needed to change until someone handed me a clearer way to see things. God used people, meetings, and simple tools to show me what I couldn’t see on my own. And when I keep my recovery glasses on, I feel alive and the world is a much more beautiful place filled with vibrant colors and experiences. It is more real and defined. My circumstances didn’t change or automatically fix themselves, but the way I see them changed. And when I see more clearly, I can live more honestly and have more serenity, the kind that comes from finally seeing things as they really are and not just how I imagine or want them to be.

Prayer:
Father, thank You for helping me see things as they really are, not just how I imagine them or want them to be. Thank You for the gift of recovery and the people who guide me along the way. Keep my vision clear today. Help me stay honest, willing, and grounded in Your truth. Amen.

How Recovery Brought Me Back to God

A story of honesty, healing, and rediscovering grace.

Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. James 4:8

Recovery did not just help me stop self destructive behavior. It helped me rediscover who God really is. The story of how that happened is where this devotional begins.

When I first came into recovery, I was hiding from God. I had known God closely once and never stopped believing in Him, but I wanted nothing to do with church or religion. I did not want to be preached at or told what I should be doing. I felt I had drifted too far away, was now too broken, and too ashamed to face Him again.

I avoided churches of any kind, yet it seemed like most recovery meetings were held in one, and I avoided those too.

Attending my first Christ centered recovery group happened completely by accident. Or did it. I do not believe in coincidences.

I had gone to my regular Friday night meeting, but when I arrived, no one was there. I walked up and down the empty halls of the school, checking classrooms and even interrupting another meeting by mistake. I called everyone I knew, and finally someone told me there was no meeting that night.

I was crushed. I needed a meeting. It had been a rough day, and the thought of being alone that night was unbearable. I was scared.

As I sat there in my car, desperate for connection, I remembered that sign at the church.

Sitting there, uneasy feelings of rejection and being unloved began to surface. I thought about that sign in front of the church that I drove past on my way to my meeting. It seemed to jump out at me that night and catch my attention.

It said Celebrate Recovery. It sounded like a meeting, but it was still in a church, and that did not feel safe. Did I mention I used to attend that church. Yeah. Talk about insult to injury.

Every time I drove past it, I told myself, “That’s not for me.”

But that night something felt different. I did not want to go home, and I did not want to be alone. I knew the meeting was already well underway and probably almost over, but I had enough recovery to know that some meeting was better than no meeting.

So I decided to take a chance.

The sign said it started at seven. I walked in around seven forty five, and the meeting was still going and just breaking into share groups.

This was different. It was a welcome change.

A man named Jeff greeted me like he had been waiting for me to arrive. He asked my name and what brought me there. I was caught off guard. It felt personal to be asked that directly, but as I later learned, that is recovery in action.

I told him I was just looking for a meeting, and he smiled and said, “You found one.”

That night marked the beginning of something I never expected. A renewed connection with God.

He was bringing me back to Him slowly and at my pace, even though I had done everything I could to keep Him at arm’s distance.

I felt like the prodigal son being welcomed home. For the first time in a long time, something inside me stirred. It was hope.

It did not take long for me to realize something was happening that I could not fully explain. I was not just going to meetings anymore. I was starting to open up.

Each time I shared honestly, something inside me loosened.

The walls I had built to protect myself were starting to come down. I began to sense God’s presence again. I started to feel like it might be safe to trust these people.

An experience I had as a teenager convinced me that trusting church people with my struggles and fears was impossible. But the people in recovery did not judge me or preach at me. They listened. They understood. They cared.

In their acceptance, I began to see God’s grace in practice.

Recovery was doing what religion never could. It was teaching me how to be honest, how to trust, how to connect, and how to belong again.

Somewhere in that process, I realized that God had not given up on me. He had been waiting there the whole time for me to humble myself, let go of my resentments, and surrender to His will.

As I followed the suggestion to keep coming back, I noticed these meetings had three parts. There was a time of worship and giving thanks to God, a time of teaching or testimony, and then the share groups.

The share groups were familiar to me from other recovery meetings, so that is where I started. Once I understood the structure, I began arriving just in time for them, and that was okay. No one looked down on me or made me feel different. I was accepted just as I was.

After a while, I started showing up right after the worship so I could hear the teaching on one of the steps or listen to someone share their story. Jeff, the man who greeted me that first night, became my sponsor.

He encouraged me, which is a nice way of saying he told me, that it was time to stop running from God. He invited me to attend the whole meeting, including the worship. I reluctantly agreed. I am so glad I did.

Through those moments of worship, something came alive in me again. God was meeting me where I was and gently leading me home. I started to feel grateful.

I did not realize it at the time, but each small step I took toward honesty, connection, and openness was also a step toward God. I had been running from Him for so long, but through recovery He patiently waited for me to come back.

The verse says, Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. James 4:8.

For years, I thought that meant I had to clean myself up first. What I really had to do was show up. One honest step in His direction. God did the rest.

Looking back now, I can see that recovery did not just bring me healing. It brought me back to God. It brought me home.

My relationship with God is no longer based on performance. It is based on understanding that He accepts me just as I am. I began to see that in the rooms of recovery, and it helped me understand that God accepts me, listens to me, and loves me, imperfections and all.

This devotional was written from that place. From the heart of someone who discovered that healing is not just about recovery, but about relationship. My prayer is that as you read these reflections, you experience the same grace that brought me home.

The Real Reason I Was Upset

When God Showed Me the Hurt Beneath the Reaction

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.
Psalm 139:23

We had been holding our Christ-centered recovery meetings at our church for about six months, after nearly a year of prayer, preparation, and leadership training. My wife and I had invested our time, energy, and hearts into getting it started. The meetings were thriving, with more than fifty people attending each week.

Then one afternoon, the pastor called to tell me we could no longer use the fellowship hall where we held our meal time. His son had started using the room for a business gathering. I was stunned. The meal time was such an important part of what we did – it was where newcomers met others, developed relationships, and connected with potential sponsors. I couldn’t believe that after all that effort, we were being displaced for a sales meeting.

Frustrated and angry, I called my sponsor. I explained what happened and how unfair it felt. He listened and then asked, “Why are you so upset?”

“I just told you,” I said, “They took our room from us!”

He asked again, more pointedly, “Why are you so upset?”

I repeated my reasons, still irritated. Then he said something that stopped me cold. “Which one of your core issues is being stirred up by this situation?”

I paused. In that moment, I knew exactly what he meant. I wasn’t just angry about losing a room. I felt rejected, overlooked, and unimportant. It touched old wounds of not feeling good enough or chosen. The truth was, those feelings were my issue, not anyone else’s.

My sponsor encouraged me to look at it differently. “Either the other group will take off and need a bigger space, or it will fade away. Either way, you’ll most likely get your room back.”

So we moved our meal time into the sanctuary. It meant more set-up and clean-up, but we made it work. And just as he said, within two weeks the other meetings faded and we got our fellowship hall back. But the real victory wasn’t getting the room back. It was learning to pause, look inward, and let God deal with the root instead of the reaction.

Prayer:

Lord, when I feel angry, overlooked, or rejected, help me to stop and ask what You are showing me. Teach me to take inventory of my heart and to let You heal the places where I still feel not good enough. Thank You for using every circumstance, even the unexpected ones, to draw me closer to You. Amen.

The Impossible Ammends

Not every amends can be made in person.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

The other day I was thinking about my mom and how much I miss her. She passed a few years ago, but her memory still finds me at unexpected times. As I thought about her, a moment from years back came to mind, a time when I was brand new to recovery and just learning to set boundaries. I realized that in my efforts to change and work the program, I had been harsh and unkind to her. That memory brought a deep sense of regret. But since she was gone, I reasoned it was a conversation I would never get to have with her.

Then I decided to try something I had heard about in recovery and had practiced before, the “empty chair” exercise. I pictured my mom sitting across from me in an empty chair. I began to speak to her out loud and told her I was sorry for how I had treated her, for being selfish, distant, withdrawn, and dismissive. As I talked, I started to see something I had not seen before. I had been punishing her for things she never did. I realized I had been blaming her for the abuse I suffered from my stepdad, as if she could have somehow made it stop. But the truth was, she never hurt me. She tried to protect me, and when she did, she got hurt herself.

As I spoke those words aloud, I felt something lift. I had not realized it until then, but I had been carrying anger and guilt for a very long time, and it was time to let it go. I prayed and asked God to help me forgive completely and let go of what I had been holding on to for so long. What followed was peace, the kind only God can bring.

That time of prayer and honesty brought peace and healing to my heart. I know there is still more work to do, but it was a real step forward. I have come to accept that my mom, like me, was also doing the best she could. I no longer hold her responsible for what she could not control. That realization has helped me show more compassion toward others who are struggling in their own pain. God continues to teach me that forgiveness is not about changing the past. It is about allowing His grace to change me today.

Prayer:
God, thank You for helping me face the things I have held inside for so long. Continue to teach me to forgive completely and to show grace to others the way You have shown grace to me. Keep changing me through Your love, one day at a time. Amen.

Trust, but Verify

Courage isn’t opening up all at once, but opening up wisely

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3

Freedom doesn’t come from hiding; it comes from honesty. I was hurt very early in my Christian walk by the person who led me to the Lord. It was gut-wrenching and painful. This person shared things I had told them in confidence and they even mocked me behind my back. That experience left a deep wound, a scar that shaped how I saw people for years. From that moment on, I kept my guard up, convinced that if people in the church couldn’t be trusted, no one could. I learned to smile on the outside but stayed guarded on the inside. I reasoned that I was protecting my witness, but really, I was covering my pain. If no one knew my challenges, then they couldn’t use them to hurt me again.

For a long time, I believed that sharing my struggles was like announcing to the world that I was weak and didn’t measure up. But in recovery, I began to see that it wasn’t the principles of trust and confession that were wrong, it was trusting and sharing with the wrong person. Admitting my wrongs (confession), done safely, is where healing begins. Telling the truth to someone trustworthy has become one of the most freeing experiences of my life. Every time I bring something into the light, it no longer has power over me, and I find a little more freedom. That’s what recovery has taught me: when I tell the truth in a safe place, I am actually humbling myself, and when I do I receive the grace that God promises.

God has a way of using safe people to rebuild broken trust. Through relationships in recovery, He showed me that it’s possible to open up again, not carelessly, but courageously. The Just for Today bookmark reminds me that I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I thought I had to do it for a lifetime. So, I adopted my own slogan: “Trust, but verify.” It allows me to be open and honest in pieces and still feel safe. I can share something with someone, but not everything all at once. I pause and see how they respond, and if it still feels safe, I can share more. For me, it has worked. Healing didn’t come all at once, but through each moment of honesty and grace. My walls began to lower, and I could finally breathe. I learned that trusting again isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a demonstration of freedom from the wounds and scars of the past. And I can see the reality of the promise in James 4:6.

Prayer:
God, thank You for healing my broken trust and teaching me how to be open again. Help me to recognize the safe people You’ve placed in my life and give me the courage to keep living honestly. Use my story to help others find safety, healing, and hope in You. Amen.

God Met Me In My Mess

The Moment I Stopped Trying to Earn God’s Love

Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16

I felt trapped in a vicious cycle that I couldn’t escape. No matter how hard I tried, I kept repeating the same destructive behaviors. I would pray and plead, “God, please take this urge away,” but the moment of relief never lasted. Like the proverb says, I kept returning to my own vomit. Each time I failed, the shame grew heavier until I started to believe that maybe this was just who I was now. I felt hopeless, discouraged, and distant from God. How could He possibly take me back again? I knew better, and that made it worse. I loved God deeply, but I was too embarrassed to pray. I repented, but I still carried guilt like a permanent scar. Even when I did pray, I found myself begging for forgiveness over and over, as if His mercy depended on how sorry I felt. Though I knew in my head that He promised forgiveness, I didn’t believe it enough to feel it in my heart. Slowly, without even realizing it, I stopped praying altogether.

Through recovery, something began to change. At every meeting, we prayed, once to open and once to close. So that meant I prayed. I was praying again. The prayers were familiar and I recognized the words, but now they seemed more real to me. I had a spiritual awakening, realizing that even simple, common prayers carry deep meaning when spoken from the heart. God reached me there, taking the little bit I had to give and welcomed me. He didn’t reject me or chastise me for not doing it better. He just accepted me as I was, and He came to meet me right there. I started to feel like I was getting to know God, not just about Him.

My relationship with God began to deepen, and prayer was becoming a conversation. I laid down my facade and was finally being honest. I could talk to Him about anything and everything. I started having discussions with God like I would another person. I started sharing my struggles, fears, and plans with God. I thanked Him, asked His advice and opinion, and I even questioned Him. What was important was that I stopped lying to God and told Him the truth. The amazing thing is that the more honest I was with Him, the more I trusted Him, and the more peace I felt. Prayer wasn’t about earning His approval anymore, it was about connection. I discovered God wasn’t waiting for me to get it right; He was waiting for me to get real.

Prayer:
Father, thank You for accepting me right where I am. Thank You that I don’t have to perform or pretend to earn Your love. Teach me to keep coming to You honestly, without fear or shame. Help me to grow in our conversation and to stay open to Your voice every day. Amen.

Living Amends

Letting go of yesterday by living differently today.

We know that our old life died with Christ on the cross so that the power of sin would be destroyed. We are no longer slaves to sin. Romans 6:6

I was thinking about my son this past week. He was born at Thanksgiving, and this time every year I am reminded of another thing to be thankful for. But not all the memories are good. His delivery was rough, and there were complications. He and his mom stayed in the hospital for several days, but I went home that night because family was coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. At the time I was a young retail manager, less than a year into the job, and terrified to ask for anything. The next morning was Black Friday, the busiest sales day of the year, and instead of being at the hospital with my newborn son, I went to work. Looking back, it breaks my heart that fear had that much power over me. I am embarrassed to admit that I left my wife and son alone after an emergency birth because I cared more about approval than presence. And the worst part? No one even noticed. No thank you, no good job, nothing. All that sacrifice, and it meant absolutely nothing. I carried that shame with me for years.

I have learned in recovery that I cannot rewrite that choice. I cannot go back and be the father or husband I should have been. I must stop wishing for a happier past. But what I can do is face the truth of who I was back then. I can admit that fear and people pleasing ran my life. I can admit that my thinking was so twisted that I believed showing up at work mattered more than showing up for my family. That kind of honesty hurts, but it is the only way I can grow. A living amends means I do not pretend it did not happen. It means I face the truth and ask God to change the patterns that drove me there in the first place. And then I allow Him to change me, by actually doing things differently.

So when my youngest daughter was born, I made a different choice. I asked for time off. Not just the day she was born, but the next few days too. I stayed with my wife. I held my daughter. I was present. And the feeling was completely different. There was no guilt, no shame, no heaviness following me around. Just gratitude, relief, and the sense that maybe I was finally becoming the man I always wanted to be.

That shift did not come from me trying harder. It came from working the steps with my sponsor and putting the principles of recovery into action in my life. This allowed God to untangle the fear that used to control me. That is what living amends is to me. It is making different choices in similar situations. This is an amends I make for myself, and because of it I am slowly becoming the version of me that God intended.

Prayer:God, thank You for showing me how to make living amends through the choices I make today. Help me stay honest, stay willing, and stay open to the changes You are forming in me. Amen.

Perfectly Human

Accepted without having to prove it

To the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved. Ephesians 1:6

Growing up in an alcoholic home, I learned that I had to be perfect or be punished. Love was conditional, and mistakes came with consequences. So when I began seeking God, I carried that same belief into my relationship with Him. I attended church every time the doors were open, read my Bible voraciously, and prayed continually. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was seeking God’s approval, trying to earn His love using the only skills I knew: by being good, trying to be perfect, and not making mistakes so I wouldn’t be punished by Him. I was trying to earn something that was impossible to attain, something God had already provided for me.

It was in recovery that I began to see what I was really doing. I was trying to control my relationship with God. If God was pleased with me, then I thought I would be safe with Him too. Deep down, I feared the ultimate punishment from Him, hell. It wasn’t easy for me to grasp any of this. My denial had many layers, and because of my extensive time spent studying the Bible, I had plenty of rationalization and justification for my beliefs, or so I thought. But God did for me what I couldn’t do for myself. He broke through the walls I had built to protect myself. By working the steps and finally being honest and vulnerable, I began to see that He accepted me, even with my faults and imperfections. Then came the aha moment: God made me perfectly human, not a perfect human. When I understood that, the walls I’d constructed to protect me and keep others out just seemed to crumble, and I felt the heavy weight of trying to be perfect, that I had carried for so long, finally fall away. For the first time, I could accept that God loved me without conditions.

Today I no longer try to be perfect. I understand now that perfection is only an illusion, just like control. My value isn’t based on how well I perform, but on accepting that I have value simply because I exist. I deserve to be loved for who I am, not for what I can do, but because He made me. And that, all by itself, is enough.

Prayer:
God, thank You for loving me just as I am. Thank You for making me perfectly human and for accepting me in Christ. Help me to rest in the truth that I don’t have to earn Your love or prove my worth. Teach me to live each day in Your grace, free from the illusion of perfection, and confident that I am already accepted in the Beloved. Amen.

Different Memories

Learning to accept someone else’s reality without losing my own.

I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. Philippians 4:11

About 6 months into my recovery journey, I was feeling pretty good about myself and optimism filled my soul. I was developing a healthy self-esteem. I was sharing this with my younger brother, explaining how recovery was helping me heal, not just from hitting my bottom, but from the scars and terror of our tumultuous childhood. I was absolutely shocked by his response. I was expecting him to listen, understand, and agree. Instead, he said, “What do you mean?” I said, “You know; the beatings, the fights, emotional damage, the name calling and abuse from our stepdad.” My brother looked me square in the face and with no emotion, said, “I don’t know what you are talking about, I never experienced that.” I stood there stunned, unable to speak. I couldn’t believe what he said. I pressed a little more yet he remained resilient in his position.

The thing is, my brother had suffered far more physical and emotional abuse than I ever had. In fact, my stepdad kicked me out of the house when I was 18 because I stood up to my stepdad when he was beating my brother. I told my stepdad to leave my brother alone and go sleep it off. My brother had absolutely no memory of it at all. He was so calm and reserved about it, I wondered if somehow, I was imagining all this. Did I invent some abusive childhood home life to explain my pain or seek attention? But why would I do that? And deep inside, I knew certain facts don’t lie.

Thankfully, recovery gave me new tools to help me work through this. In speaking with my sponsor, he assured me this was common. He even reminded me of how long it took for me to see I needed help. For years, many people suggested recovery to me, and I was just as adamant that I didn’t need it. These people were from similar backgrounds, also in recovery. Even though I never told them about my childhood, I leaked so bad they saw it gushing out of me. It was the damage done to a child growing up in an alcoholic home. I think of the saying, “If you spot it, you got it.” They saw it all over me, even though I never did. And neither did my brother. Denial, what is thy name?

It was hard at first, I didn’t understand how my brother could absolutely deny all of the things I remembered vividly. But I’d experienced transformation in my life, which was the precipice for the conversation in the first place. He saw the change in my attitude and in my growing acceptance. That also meant accepting that my brother had a different reality than I did. He remembered our childhood differently. I didn’t need to argue or prove my version of events. He didn’t have to acknowledge my pain either. I loved him; he was my brother. And I decided to show him love and allow him the same freedom to live his life his way, the same way I have been allowed to live mine. That is exactly what recovery has taught me to do. That is the gift I can give to him, but really it’s also a gift for me. Acceptance is truly the answer to all of my problems today.

Prayer: God, thank You for healing my pain and replacing it with Your peace. Help me to continue to accept things and people as they are, not as I want them to be. Grant me the grace to love others as You love me, so that I can live in contentment. Amen.

Masters in Manipulation

It takes one to know one.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7

I remember when I was stalled doing my fourth step. Each week when I met with my sponsor, he would ask how I was doing on my inventory. Each week I would say good. Then the day came when he said, “Ok, next week we start your fifth step.” I swallowed hard… gulp… voice quivering and quaking… “Already?” I mustered. He chuckled and said, “Yeah, it’s been long enough.” And he was right too. I was putting off doing the fifth step because I was afraid. I didn’t know what to expect and knew I would not be in control. I had never done this before. What if he laughed? What if he rejected me? What if he fired me? Would he still like me? What if he thought less of me? All of these thoughts were swirling around in my head.

I find that I often put off doing things that I don’t want to do. It’s not surprising, the things I want to do, I do or make time to do on purpose. But the things I don’t want to do seem to always get relegated off to the future. I wonder why? Sometimes it’s because I just don’t want to do it. Maybe I’m busy, or maybe I just don’t want to stop what I’m doing to do something else. Other times I don’t know why, I just don’t want to do it. But I was thinking about this today, and then I had another thought. Maybe procrastination is just another form of control. You see, if I put something off, I choose when I’m gonna do it. It doesn’t matter what it is either. It could be taking out the trash. It could be folding my clothes. It could be a project at work. It could be calling a relative or meeting up with a long-lost friend. Whatever it is, I’m realizing that when I put it off for the future, sometimes it’s because of control.

I think maybe some elements of fear also show themselves and could be another reason I put things off. I don’t care whether it’s fear or control… I don’t want either of these in my life. Maybe it’s because I have a Master’s degree in manipulation and control, that I can see it from afar off. It takes one to know one, you know what I mean. I realize that some may not see it this way or share my perspective. And this may just be the pendulum swinging back to overcompensate from my extreme dysfunction in this area. Once, I prided myself on being able to convince anyone and talk them into anything, or get them to acquiesce to my reasoning, all manipulation and control. It was in working the steps that I saw these two demons for what they really are, and I do not want anything at all to do with manipulation or control anymore, or ever again. So I run and flee from even the appearance. And boy, can I see it rear its ugly head from a mile away.

Reflection: What’s one thing I’ve been putting off that could bring me peace if I simply did it today?

Sleeping on the Couch

𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝.

Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up. James 4:10

The other day, I’m sorry to say, my wife and I got into an argument. It wasn’t resolved, and she asked me to sleep on the couch. “Asked” is a polite word. The next night I started setting up camp on the couch again when she looked at me and said, “Don’t you want to sleep in your own bed?”

I told her, “I’m waiting for you to invite me back.”
In my head that sounded noble.
But she simply said, “It’s up to you if you want to sleep in your own bed. Take the initiative.”

That rattled me. I sat there going back and forth in my mind, do I ask to come back to bed, or do I stay put on the couch? I eventually realized what was really going on. It wasn’t honor or principle. It was pride. Why would I not want to sleep in my own bed next to my wife, the woman I love? Because in my twisted thinking, I determined that her “inviting me back” meant she was apologizing. Pride was calling the shots again.

That night, I’m also sorry to say, I chose the couch. I told myself I was being noble. But the next morning, as I sat drinking my coffee, I started to feel that quiet tug inside. The principles of recovery were still working, just slower than I wanted to admit. Recovery has taught me that growth doesn’t always happen in the moment, it happens when I’m willing to respond to what God shows me, even if it’s the next day.

So I humbled myself, apologized, and asked if I could come back to bed. My wife hugged me, told me she loved me, and apologized too. That night, I slept in my own bed again, and I slept in peace.

The principles of recovery help in everyday life. They’re not just words on paper. The stuff is real.

Prayer:
God, thank You for helping me see how pride can keep me stuck in places You never meant me to stay. Teach me to humble myself quickly, to take the first step toward peace, and to keep choosing love over being right. Amen.