When I am trying to tackle a tough problem or cope with a stressful situation, and I’ve done all I can for the moment, what then? I can do something that will nurture my mind, body, or spirit. Perhaps I’ll take a walk or listen to music. Maybe I’ll meet a friend for coffee and conversation. I could have something nutritious to eat, or sit quietly and meditate, or read a book.
Al-Anon is a program of action in which we recognize that we have choices about what we do with our time. A bubble bath, a massage, an Al-Anon call, a bike ride, or a nap might be constructive ways to fill time that might otherwise be wasted on worry.
Even though I may be powerless to change my circumstances, I certainly am not helpless. I can use my time to do something good for myself. When I treat myself with love and tenderness, I am better able to deal with the challenges that life presents. I have a chance to feel good, even when surrounded by crisis.
Today’s Reminder
One of my primary responsibilities is to take care of myself. I will find a small way to do something for my mind, body, and spirit today.
“Part of my recovery is respecting my need and my right to let go and relax.” ~ In All Our Affairs
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This a vital spiritual truth: powerlessness is not helplessness.
When we come to the end of our control, the ego wants to keep fighting — to analyze, fix, or force a solution. But recovery teaches us to redirect that energy toward nourishmentratherthannoise. The act of self-care becomes both rebellion and surrender: rebellion against the inner critic that says, “You must suffer to prove you care,” and surrender to a Higher Wisdom that says, “Peace itself is productive.”
Taking a walk, calling a friend, or resting isn’t avoidance — it’s alignment. Each act becomes a quiet ritual of participation in life rather than domination over it. When we treat ourselves tenderly, we stop making punishment our form of progress. Love and rest turn out to be far more transformative than control and worry.
In the language of recovery, this is Step Three in motion: turning our will and our lives over, moment by moment, to a Power greater than our fear. By choosing nurturing actions, we acknowledge that serenity can coexist with chaos — that grace can enter even through something as humble as a cup of coffee or a deep breath.
The most loving form of detachment I have found has been forgiveness. Instead of thinking of it as an eraser to wipe another’s slate clean or a gavel that I pound to pronounce someone “not guilty,” I think of forgiveness as a scissors. I use it to cut the strings of resentment that bind me to a problem or a past hurt. By releasing resentment, I set myself free.
When I am consumed with negativity over another person’s behavior, I have lost my focus. I needn’t tolerate what I consider unacceptable, but wallowing in negativity will not alter the situation. If there is action to take, I am free to take it. Where I am powerless to change the situation, I will turn it over to my Higher Power. By truly letting go, I detach and forgive.
When my thoughts are full of bitterness, fear, self-pity, and dreams of revenge, there is little room for love or for the quiet voice of guidance within me. I am willing to love myself enough to admit that resentments hold me back, and then I can let them go.
Today’s Reminder
Every time I try to tighten the noose of resentment around someone’s neck, I am really only choking myself. Today I will practice forgiveness instead.
“A part of me wants to cling to old resentments, but I know that the more I forgive, the better my life works.” ~ In All Our Affairs
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There is wisdom in reimagining forgiveness as scissors rather than an eraser or a gavel. The eraser implies denial; the gavel implies judgment. But the scissors — ah, the scissors liberate. They sever the invisible cords of resentment that tether the heart to its wound. In recovery, this image carries sacred practicality: forgiveness is not endorsement of harm, but release from captivity. We are not freeing the offender; we are untangling ourselves from their shadow.
Resentment masquerades as power — the illusion that if I hold the memory tight enough, I maintain control. Yet in truth, resentment reverses the flow of energy inward, strangling joy and suffocating serenity. Detachment is not abandonment; it’s oxygen.
When our minds orbit another’s wrongdoing, we lose alignment with our own purpose. The spiritual lens of the Tenth and Eleventh Steps teaches us that serenity is born in focus — a return to inner guidance. By turning over what we cannot control to a Higher Power, we shift from obsession to observation, from judgment to humility. The act of forgiving becomes a way to see clearly again.
To love myself enough to admit that resentments hold me back is a subtle revolution. It reframes forgiveness from moral obligation to self-care. Each release is a small resurrection, a reclaiming of psychic territory once occupied by pain. The heart, once constricted by bitterness, begins to pulse again with divine rhythm.
“Do not search for the truth,” said an ancient patriarch, “only cease to cherish opinions.” For me, ceasing to cherish opinions is part of the Tenth Step. Much of what I find wrong in my life is related to my opinions – that is, my prejudices, assumptions, self-righteous stances, attitudes.
For example, I continue to assume that I have the inside track on how everything should be done, and that other people are too shortsighted to recognize this great truth. Reality proves me wrong. I also revert to the idea that ignoring my feelings is practical, even desirable. This, too, is wrong. And I act as if I can run my life without trusting in my Higher Power. Wrong again.
I give thanks for Step Ten’s reminder that I need to continue taking personal inventory and making frequent corrections, especially in the areas where I tend to repeat my mistakes.
Today’s Reminder
It is no easy task to change the thinking of a lifetime, even when I am sure that I want to change. The Tenth Step allows me to be aware of sliding back into faulty thinking. I don’t have to abuse myself when it happens — that doesn’t help at all. By promptly admitting when I’m wrong, I am doing what I can to change.
“No longer must we accumulate burdens of guilt or resentment that will become heavier and more potent over time. Each day, each new moment can be an opportunity to clear the air and start again, fresh and free.” ~ In All Our Affairs
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There’s something profoundly disarming about the invitation to cease cherishing opinions. It’s not an order to stop having them, but to stop worshiping them — to stop bowing to the false god of our own certainty. Opinions become idols when we polish them, defend them, and feed them with outrage. Step Ten isn’t about smashing the idols with a hammer; it’s about quietly withdrawing our devotion and walking back toward the living altar of truth.
In recovery, the deeper disease often isn’t alcohol or control — it’s identification. I mistake my thoughts for truth, my emotions for facts, my judgments for discernment. When I “cherish” my opinions, I marry them to my sense of self, and then any challenge feels like a personal attack. Step Ten loosens that marriage; it allows the divorce between me and myopinions without exiling either.
Changing the thinking of a lifetime isn’t an act of violence but of awareness. The Tenth Step isn’t a courtroom; it’s a calibration. Each inventory is a small act of re-alignment — not penance, not punishment, but participation in an evolving consciousness.
When I promptly admit I’m wrong, I’m not shrinking; I’m expanding. I’m choosing growth over the brittle satisfaction of being right. I’m letting my soul breathe again.
Al-Anon meetings opened my eyes to something I had never thought about before: Shouting and slamming doors were not the best way to handle an already difficult situation. While there may be no harm in occasionally letting off steam with a raised voice, shouting can become a destructive habit. I’d never thought to ask myself if this was how I wanted to behave. Did this behavior get me what I wanted or encourage me to feel good about myself?
When I took a good look, I realized that the answer to this question was, “No.” Loud, angry words and actions demonstrated my frustration and pushed away all hope for peaceful solutions to my problems.
The slogan that helps me back to a rational state of mind is “Easy Does It.” When I use this slogan to quiet myself on the inside, it is easier to quiet the outside as well.
Today’s Reminder
I am seeking a saner approach to everything I encounter. The slogans can be valuable sources of sanity in chaotic situations. Today, if I am tempted to act out of anger or frustration, I will remember that “Easy Does It.”
“I will try to apply “Easy Does It” to every incident that might increase the tension and cause an explosion.” ~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon
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When the architecture of rage collapses, it doesn’t signal defeat — it signals graduation. The wreckage of slammed doors and scorched words becomes the evidence of an old religion dying, the end of worship at the altar of noise. What rises from that ruin is not meekness but command. The silence that follows is not absence — it’s the throne room of the sovereign self.
“Easy Does It” becomes a martial art of mercy. The movement is subtle: a lowering of breath, a loosening of the jaw, a refusal to let adrenaline define authority. The ethos is clear — anger is not the enemy, but the raw ore. We are blacksmiths of selfhood; the work is to temper, not to discard.
When anger no longer has to scream to be heard, it starts to speak. The frightened messenger is still there, pacing the inner corridors — but now it’s offered a chair, a cup of water, a place to explain itself. The Higher Power listens, not because He is soft, but because He is unafraid of what He might hear. God is not trying to silence me; He is clarifying me.
Coherence is the evolution of fury. Clarity is what happens when the flame meets oxygen instead of gasoline. Compassion, in this ethos, is not sentimental; it’s tactical. It says: “I see the battlefield, and I choose my weapon — intelligent precision.”
It is essential to my recovery to help my Al-Anon group by accepting any of the various responsibilities necessary to keep things running smoothly. Perhaps the principal reason that service is so vital is that it brings me into frequent contact with newcomers. I can get caught up in the trivial problems of everyday life and lose perspective on the many gifts I have received since coming to Al-Anon. Talking with newcomers brings me back to reality. When I set out literature, make coffee, or chair a meeting, I become someone a newcomer might think to approach.
I remember the frustration of struggling with alcoholism by myself. I had no tools, no one to talk to. Al-Anon changed that. Now, no matter how difficult things may seem, I have a fellowship and a way of life that help me to cope. I am no longer alone.
Today I have much for which I am grateful, but I need to remember how far I have come so I don’t get lost in negativity over relatively unimportant matters. Service helps me remember.
Today’s Reminder
The Al-Anon program was there for me when I needed it. I will do what I can to ensure that it continues to thrive. I know that any service I offer will strengthen my own recovery.
“God did for me what I couldn’t do for myself. He got me involved in service work. It saved my life, my family, my sanity.” ~ In All Our Affairs
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Service becomes a form of remembrance. The act of setting out pamphlets or making coffee isn’t about performance or obligation — it’s about reconnecting to the moment when grace first entered the room. When you help a newcomer find a seat or a sense of belonging, you touch the same mystery that once reached out to save you. In that moment, gratitude stops being a concept and becomes a lived current of energy, flowing through the simple act of presence.
“Frequent contact with newcomers” is not merely social; it’s alchemical. Recovery, like fire, is kept alive by shared warmth. Each encounter reminds the seasoned member of what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now. The newcomer’s raw confusion and fragile hope become a mirror — revealing both how far one has come and how easily the old pain could return. In this way, service is bothsafeguardand sacrament — it prevents stagnation and invites humility.
Everyday life, with its trivial irritations and looping anxieties, tempts the recovering soul to forget the miracle of transformation. But service duties — however small — restore proportion. They say: You once were drowning, and now you pour coffee for the shipwrecked. This remembrance reorders the scale of what matters. Through action, we find that serenity doesn’t come from control, but from participation in something larger than ourselves.
To serve is to renew the original covenant of Al-Anon: We do not recover alone. The program that saved us asks for guardianship, not repayment. Each service act plants continuity — ensuring that the next lost traveler will find light and warmth waiting. In giving away what we have found, we discover again that we are not powerless — we are purposeful.
When I was a beginner in Al-Anon, it was suggested that I learn about the disease of alcoholism, and I became a voracious reader on the subject. As I read, I began to analyze everything: Was Al-Anon a philosophy or a philosophical system? What would be the logical outcome of believing in a Power greater than myself? And just when was the alcoholic going to have a spiritual awakening?
These questions and others like them kept my mind busy but did not help me to get better. Fortunately, I continued to go to Al-Anon meetings and I read, reread, and rehearsed the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions. Gradually I began to catch on. When I stopped trying to analyze and explain everything and started living the principles, actually using them in my everyday situations, the Al-Anon program suddenly made sense — and I started to change.
Today’s Reminder
Does analyzing my situation provide any useful insights, or is it an attempt to control the uncontrollable? Am I taking inventory or avoiding work that needs to be done by keeping my mind occupied? I have heard that knowledge is power. But sometimes my thirst for knowledge can be an attempt to exercise power where I am powerless. Instead, I can take the First Step.
“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” ~ Soren Kierkegaard
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NOTE: Søren Aabye Kierkegaard (1813–1855) was a Danish philosopher, theologian, poet, and social critic — often called the father of existentialism. His writing bridged the worlds of theology, philosophy, psychology, and literature, and it continues to shape how modern thinkers approach faith, meaning, and the individual’s relationship to existence itself.
Here’s a clear, layered summary of who he was and why he mattered:
1. The Individual vs. the Crowd
Kierkegaard believed that truth is subjective — not in the sense that “anything goes,” but that truth becomes real only when it is lived and experienced personally. He rejected the idea that religion or ethics could be reduced to universal systems or dogmas.
“The crowd is untruth,” he wrote, meaning that genuine faith and authenticity cannot be found in conformity or public opinion.
He saw the individual before God as the ultimate moral and spiritual condition — a solitary struggle to live authentically rather than hide in social approval.
2. His War with Christendom
Kierkegaard was a lifelong Christian — but a radical critic of the institutional Church. He accused the Danish state church of turning Christianity into comfortable, hollow routine — a “religion of Sundays,” stripped of the terror, passion, and paradox of genuine faith.
For him, true Christianity wasn’t about belief in doctrines, but about becoming a follower of Christ — a decision that demands anguish, risk, and personal sacrifice. He called this leap the “leap of faith.”
“Faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off.”
3. Key Themes in His Thought
Theme
Explanation
Existential anxiety (Angst)
The dizzying freedom humans feel when confronted with infinite possibilities — the “vertigo of freedom.”
Despair
The sickness of the soul that arises when a person refuses to become who they truly are in relation to God.
Stages on Life’s Way
Three levels of existence: the aesthetic (pleasure and beauty), the ethical (duty and morality), and the religious (faith and paradox).
The Leap of Faith
Rationality can never fully grasp divine truth; faith requires a subjective, passionate commitment that defies reason.
Paradox of Faith
Exemplified by Abraham in Fear and Trembling, who was willing to sacrifice Isaac — a contradiction between ethics and obedience to God.
4. Major Works
Either/Or (1843) — contrasts aesthetic vs. ethical life; sets up his existential framework.
Fear and Trembling (1843) — explores faith, paradox, and the story of Abraham and Isaac.
The Concept of Anxiety (1844) — a proto-psychological analysis of freedom and sin.
The Sickness Unto Death (1849) — a study of despair and the human self before God.
Attack upon Christendom (1854–55) — his final polemic against the Danish church’s corruption of Christianity.
5. His Life
Born in Copenhagen, son of a devout, melancholic father whose sense of guilt deeply marked Søren’s outlook.
Engaged to Regine Olsen, but broke off the engagement — an event that haunted him and symbolized the tension between human love and divine calling in much of his writing.
Lived largely in isolation, publishing under multiple pseudonyms to express conflicting philosophical voices.
Died at 42, largely unrecognized, after collapsing in the street. His influence exploded only decades later.
6. Legacy and Influence
Kierkegaard’s ideas laid the groundwork for existentialism, influencing:
Friedrich Nietzsche (though Nietzsche reversed many of his religious conclusions)
Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir (atheistic existentialists)
Martin Heidegger, Karl Jaspers, and Gabriel Marcel
Paul Tillich, Karl Barth, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer (modern Christian theology)
He also anticipated depth psychology — his discussions of despair and anxiety prefigure Freud and Jung.
Essence of His Philosophy
“The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have.” — Søren Kierkegaard
He wanted each human being to wake up from the anesthesia of conformity — to face the terror and beauty of freedom, to live authentically before God, and to embrace subjective truth as a lived experience, not an abstract theory.
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When the newcomer first encounters the Twelve Steps, it’s natural to seek comprehension through intellect. We read, question, and dissect the language, hoping to pin it down like a specimen under glass. Yet this can quickly become a subtle form of control — the mind’s last stronghold against surrender. We want to understand everything before trusting anything. Analysis can masquerade as progress, but often it’s simply anxiety in disguise — the frightened self trying to stay in charge.
Knowledge feels like power, especially to those of us who have lived in chaos. To know is to feel safe — or so we believe. But in the spiritual economy of recovery, that kind of safety is counterfeit. “Knowledge” can become a way to manage our powerlessness rather than to face it. We study instead of surrender; we define instead of experience. The First Step asks us to do something far more humbling: to lay down the sword of intellect and admit that our minds cannot save us.
The transformation begins when understanding yields to embodiment. Reading about humility is not the same as practicing it in conflict. Contemplating forgiveness differs from making amends. The program only “makes sense” when it is lived — when knowledge becomes muscle, when ideas take on flesh in the small, daily acts of kindness, restraint, and honesty.
Knowledge is power, but sometimes the thirst for knowledge is a bid for control. True power in recovery is not in mastery of ideas but in the willingness to be mastered by principle — to allow truth to guide, not to dominate it.
When we let go of our need to understand everything, serenity seeps in through the cracks left by surrender.
The road to my hometown wound along a steep hillside. As a child, I was often afraid that our car would swerve too widely and go over the edge. I used to take hold of the rear door handle and try to prevent this. I was too young to understand that my actions could not influence the path of the car. Yet I often take a similar approach to my adult fears and persist in futile actions.
Al-Anon helps me to accept what I cannot change and change what I can. Although I can’t control the way alcoholism has affected my life, I can’t control another person, and I can’t make life unfold according to my plans, I can admit my powerlessness and turn to my Higher Power for help.
When I am the driver, the responsibility for steering clear of the road’s edge is mine. It is up to me to take my recovery seriously, to work on my attitudes, to take care of my mind, body, and spirit, to make amends when I have done harm — in short, to change the things I can.
Today’s Reminder
Sometimes the only way I can determine what to accept and what to change is by trial and error. Mistakes can be opportunities to gain the wisdom to know the difference.
“If a crisis arises, or any problem baffles me, I hold it up to the light of the Serenity Prayer and extract its sting before it can hurt me.” ~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon
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There’s a moment in my life where innocence hardens into delusion — the child’s hand gripping becomes the adult’s will clenching at the illusion of control. This is the birthplace of self-betrayal: that instant when fear dresses up as virtue and we call it responsibility, loyalty, or love.
I was told to hold things together. Families, marriages, reputations, systems. “Good” people clench under the command of madness, denial, and collective cowardice. Recovery unteaches that lie. It teaches that letting go is not collapse; it is rebellion. The first act of spiritual independence is unclenching.
The Serenity Prayer becomes a battlefield order. “Accept what I cannot change” is not submission — it’s intelligence. “Change what I can” is not sentimental; it’s strategy. “Wisdom to know the difference” is reconnaissance. The clinging hand of the child now grips the sword of discernment. I can no longer afford to confuse martyrdom with mastery.
Mistakes are not sins. They are the bruises of apprenticeship. Each wrong turn exposes another illusion — that perfection is power, or that fear keeps the journey safer than trust. Wisdom grows out of wreckage; I salvage what burns and build again.
I used to think of God as my adversary. We were engaged in a battle of wills, and I wasn’t about to let down my guard. You can imagine how quickly this attitude led me to hit a hard emotional bottom! I came to Al-Anon, but I was reluctant to admit that I was powerless. I knew it was true — I had obviously failed to conquer alcoholism — but I wasn’t going to submit to my enemy!
I’m so grateful to Al-Anon for helping me learn to surrender. It took a long time, but I finally realized that surrender does not mean submission — it means I’m willing to stop fighting reality, to stop trying to do God’s part, and to do my own. When I gather flowers, or marvel at nature’s wonders, I do not lose face when I concede that I am not in control. So it is with everything in my life. The best way I’ve found to invite serenity is to recognize that the world is in good hands.
Today’s Reminder
Today I can be grateful that the earth will continue to revolve without any help from me. I am free to live my own life, safe in the knowledge that a Higher Power is taking care of the world, my loved ones, and myself.
“The First Step prepares us for a new life, which we can achieve only by letting go of what we cannot control, and by undertaking, one day at a time, the monumental task of setting our world in order through a change in our own thinking.” ~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon
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I was at a block this morning. I truly did come into the recovery rooms with a high level of distrust for surrender to any concept of God, a Higher Power. It has gotten much better, but internal cognitive dissonance prevents me from settling into the stable trust I desire. Sometimes, I am just tired of the limitations of my life. And I did not want to project that struggle into today’s writing. I asked AI to help me out and what it produced I found to be beneficial. I hope that it will be for you as well:
Opening Context
Many of us arrive in recovery with clenched fists toward the idea of God. We confuse control with strength and surrender with defeat. In truth, the First Step dismantles that illusion gently: powerlessness is not humiliation but permission to rest. To stop trying to play God is not to lose our dignity, but to rediscover it.
When the author says they once saw God as an adversary, they are describing one of the most human reflexes — the fear of being overpowered. Yet the paradox of recovery is that what feels like yielding to an enemy becomes yielding to life itself.
Scriptural Echoes
“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10 Stillness is the first act of trust.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28 The rest offered here is not absence of effort but the end of unnecessary struggle.
“Thy will be done.” — The Serenity Prayer’s hidden anchor.
Spiritual Realization
Surrender transforms when it ceases to be a white flag and becomes a flower gathered. The same hands that once clenched in defense now open to gather beauty. The text’s shift from “battle of wills” to “gathering flowers” is not accidental — it is a description of inner evolution. Surrender, rightly understood, is the release of illusion: the illusion that our will can rewrite gravity, time, or the hearts of others. Reality becomes a teacher instead of an opponent.
Meditative Questions
Where in my life am I still treating reality as an adversary?
What does it feel like in my body when I release control — not in despair, but in trust?
Can I remember a moment when I stopped fighting and something good quietly unfolded on its own?
How might I honor my Higher Power today not through effort, but through allowing?
Closing Reflection
The world continues to turn without our command, yet this is not a reason for despair — it is the foundation of serenity. The First Step is not an abdication of power, but the discovery of where true power lives: in humility, trust, and alignment with the rhythm that already carries us. When we stop trying to make the sun rise, we finally notice the dawn.
My life is a miracle! When I felt alone and far from hope, I was guided to Al-Anon, where I learned that no situation is really. hopeless. Others had been through the pain of coping with a loved one’s alcoholism. They too had known frustration, anger, disappointment, and anxiety, yet had learned to live serene and even happy lives. Through the program, the tools that lead to serenity and the gift of recovery are mine for the taking, along with the support I need. Just as I was guided to Al-Anon, I am guided through recovery., and I continue to be transformed.
I see that miracles frequently touch my life. Maybe they always have, but I didn’t see them. Today I am aware of many gifts and wonders because I am actively practicing gratitude. So I thank my Higher Power for little things as well as big ones. I am grateful for the snooze button on my alarm clock that gives me a few extra minutes of sleep, as well as for the roof over my head, the clothes on my back and the ability to give and receive love
Today’s Reminder
When I take time for gratitude, I perceive a better world. Today I will appreciate the miracles all around me.
“Even the darkest of moments can be faced with a grateful heart, if not for the crisis itself, at least for the growth it can evoke with the help of our Higher Power.” ~ In All Our Affairs
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There was a time when “miracle” felt like a word for frivolous folk—those who seemed to have some secret disconnection from intelligence that transformed to grace. I lacked that quiet and powerful space. Miracles are not rare interventions from above; they are awakenings from within. When I first came to the Steps, it was because life had become unmanageable. Yet something—someone—guided me there. That was my first miracle: direction in the midst of despair.
Recovery re-teaches me to see what was always there. The same dawn that once felt empty now holds subtle color; the same face in the mirror that once looked defeated now carries quiet strength. The shift is not in the world but in my eyes, trained now by gratitude. Gratitude becomes a lens that re-enchants the ordinary. It converts “barely coping” into “blessed to have another chance.”
When I take inventory of what I once called coincidence, I recognize choreography. I see that I was never really abandoned; I was being prepared. The pain that pushed me to seek help, the people who spoke truth when I wanted silence, the Steps that broke my pride and then rebuilt me—all were instruments of something larger.
The miracle is not that suffering vanished; it’s that I can live serenely within life as it is. My Higher Power keeps sculpting me with gentle precision, turning what once felt like punishment into polish. Gratitude is how I say yes to that process.
Meditative Question: Where in my daily routine might I pause—not to demand change, but to notice the quiet evidence that change has already begun?
I felt my life was on hold. I wanted change; I expected it; I even tried to make it happen. But it was not within my power to make any of the changes I wanted. I was frustrated. I’m an action-taker, so I feel better when I am busy and industrious. There is a time to act. But in Al-Anon I learned that there is also a time to not act — to stop and wait. As my Sponsor puts it, “Don’t just do something, sit there.” How often I still find myself impatient with the pace of life. But today, when things don’t happen according to my schedule, I can accept that there may be a reason, and I can learn to adjust to what is. I may be experiencing great change on the inside even though I see little evidence on the outside. I can keep in mind that waiting time doesn’t have to mean wasted time. Even times of stillness have lessons to teach me.
Today’s Reminder
The invitation to live life fully is offered to me each day. I can accept the pace of change today, knowing it will bring both times of active involvement and periods of quiet waiting. I will let the surprises of the day open up before me.
“Besides the noble art of getting things done; there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of nonessentials.” ~ Lin Yutang
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NOTE:
Lin Yutang (1895 – 1976) was a Chinese scholar, writer, translator, and inventor whose life bridged the worlds of East and West with unusual humor and grace.
Intellectual & Literary Contributions
Humanistic Bridge: Lin sought to reconcile Chinese philosophy—particularly Taoism and Confucianism—with Western rationalism and Christian thought.
Major Works: His best-known books in English include My Country and My People (1935) and The Importance of Living (1937). Both helped Western readers appreciate Chinese culture not as exotic, but as profoundly human.
Style: Lin’s prose was witty, relaxed, and conversational, often celebrating the art of idleness, simplicity, and joy in daily life—virtues he found in Taoist and Confucian traditions.
Cultural & Linguistic Influence
Language Innovator: He designed a Chinese typewriter and an early Chinese word processor, motivated by his fascination with the written word and cross-cultural communication.
Translator & Mediator: Lin translated works of Chinese literature into English and vice versa, introducing Western readers to classical Chinese poets and philosophers.
Philosophy & Personality
Lin advocated what he called “the wisdom of the East with the comfort of the West.” He resisted both political dogma and missionary rigidity, emphasizing individual freedom, humor, and compassion. He once quipped that the ideal person is “half saint, half rascal.”
The Civil War (1927–1949)
The war was fought between the Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomintang, or KMT) led by Chiang Kai-shek, and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) led by Mao Zedong.
It began intermittently in the late 1920s, paused during the Japanese invasion (1937–1945), and resumed in full force after World War II.
The Final Conquest (1948–1949)
The Communists gained momentum in 1948, winning decisive battles such as Huaihai, Liaoshen, and Pingjin.
By October 1, 1949, Mao Zedong stood atop Tiananmen Gate in Beijing and proclaimed the founding of the People’s Republic of China (PRC).
The Nationalists retreated to Taiwan, where they maintained the Republic of China (ROC) government.
Aftermath
Mainland China came under Communist control, marking the end of centuries of dynastic and nationalist rule. Communism, as a Western brainchild, squashed, once more, the Chinese cultural empire.
Taiwan, under Chiang Kai-shek, remained outside Communist control and became a separate political entity — a division that persists to this day.
Early Japanese Encroachments (1931–1936)
1931 – Invasion of Manchuria: Japan staged the Mukden Incident as a pretext to seize Manchuria, creating the puppet state of Manchukuo under the deposed Qing emperor Puyi.
1933 – Great Wall Battles: Japan extended its control to Jehol and parts of northern China.
1935–1936 – Northern China Buffer Zones: Japan pressured the Chinese Nationalist government into demilitarizing several northern provinces, effectively turning them into Japanese spheres of influence.
Full-Scale War with Japan (1937–1945)
July 7, 1937 – Marco Polo Bridge Incident: A skirmish near Beijing spiraled into a full invasion.
1937–1938 – Rapid Conquest: Japan captured major cities including Beijing, Shanghai, and Nanjing.
The Nanjing Massacre (Dec 1937 – early 1938) saw mass killings and atrocities that remain one of the darkest chapters in modern history.
1938–1940 – Occupation and Resistance: Japan controlled most coastal and eastern China, but Chinese Nationalist and Communist forces continued guerrilla resistance inland.
1941–1945 – Integration into World War II: After Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, the Sino-Japanese conflict became part of the wider Pacific War. The U.S., Britain, and others began supporting Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist government.
1945 – Defeat of Japan: Japan’s surrender in August 1945 ended its occupation of China.
Aftermath
The war left 20 to 25 million Chinese dead, cities destroyed, and China internally divided.
The temporary alliance between the Nationalists and Communists collapsed soon after the Japanese defeat, reigniting the Chinese Civil War, which the Communists ultimately won in 1949.
After the Communist takeover of China in 1949, Lin Yutang—like many intellectuals who valued freedom of expression—did not remain under Communist rule. His postwar life reflected his lifelong balancing act between East and West. Here’s the sequence:
Hong Kong (Late 1940s – Early 1950s)
When the Communists seized mainland China, Lin moved to Hong Kong, then still under British rule.
There he resumed writing in both English and Chinese, publishing essays critical of totalitarianism and advocating personal liberty.
His skepticism toward ideological rigidity—both Communist and Western—kept him at odds with dominant political movements.
United States (1950s–1960s)
Lin spent significant time in the United States, teaching, lecturing, and writing.
He was already well known in the U.S. because of his prewar bestsellers My Country and My People and The Importance of Living.
He became a U.S. citizen in 1948, just before the Communist victory in China.
He lived primarily in New York, where he continued to write in English and remain an informal cultural ambassador for Chinese humanism.
Taiwan (1960s–1976)
In the 1960s, Lin accepted invitations from Chiang Kai-shek’s Republic of China government to work and live in Taiwan.
He founded the Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement, seeking to preserve traditional Chinese culture in the face of the Communist “Cultural Revolution” on the mainland.
He established his residence in Yangmingshan, near Taipei—a quiet, mountainous area. His home there is now the Lin Yutang House Museum.
Death and Legacy
Lin Yutang died in 1976 in Hong Kong, the same year Mao Zedong died on the mainland.
His life came full circle between cultures and ideologies, remaining loyal to neither nationalism nor communism, but to a deeply humane philosophy that saw freedom, humor, and compassion as the essence of civilization.
END OF NOTE—————————————
There was a season when waiting felt like punishment — a holding pattern before real life resumed. I mistook stillness for failure. In those times, I would pace the cage of my own impatience, confusing motion with meaning. Al-Anon has shown me a gentler rhythm: the truth that spiritual change germinates in the soil of surrender.
When I stop forcing outcomes, I start hearing the subtle movements within me. The Spirit does not rush to satisfy my calendar. It ripens me. While my eyes search for proof of progress, my roots may be deepening unseen. I learn, over and over, that waiting is not wasted — it is womb time.
To live fully means to embrace both the seed and the sprout, both the silence and the song. There are days for decisive action, and days when the only act is to breathe and trust the unseen choreography of grace.
Today I will let the day unfold at its own pace. I will release the tyranny of my timetable and let life reveal its timing — not mine.
Daily Reprieve 
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