From Courage to Change of Nov 21:

Sometimes I think that, because I’ve been in Al-Anon for a long time, I shouldn’t have any more problems. When difficulties do arise, I feel something is wrong with me or with the program.

Actually, in some ways I have more problems than ever. When I came to Al-Anon, I had only one problem: I didn’t know how to fix the alcoholic. (My life was completely in shambles, but I swore that I was fine.) Today I know that I can’t fix anyone but myself, and I challenge myself daily to seek a richer, more meaningful life. I’m taking risks, facing fears, making changes, speaking up, making myself available to life.

I’m bound to run into snags here and there. Sometimes life doesn’t follow my blueprint. I get overwhelmed and want to crawl under the covers and hide. At such a time it helps to remember that Al-Anon doesn’t take away problems, but it does give me the courage and insight to turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones.

Today’s Reminder

In handling my difficulties, what’s important isn’t how much time I have in Al-Anon but how willing I am to implement the tools of recovery. While Al-Anon doesn’t grant immunity from problems, it does offer a healthy way to deal with them.

“Troubles are often the tools by which God fashions us for better things.”
~ H.W. Beecher

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NOTE: H. W. Beecher refers to Henry Ward Beecher (1813–1887), a highly influential American Congregationalist minister, abolitionist, social reformer, and public speaker in the 19th century.

He was one of the most famous preachers in the United States during his lifetime.

Who he was

• Born: June 24, 1813
• Died: March 8, 1887
• Son of famous preacher Lyman Beecher
• Brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin

Why he mattered

Beecher was known for:

• Abolitionism – He strongly opposed slavery and supported the Union during the Civil War.
• Progressive theology – He emphasized God’s love over fear-based religion and rejected harsh Calvinism.
• Women’s rights – He supported women’s suffrage (controversial for his era).
• Social reform – He spoke on temperance, poverty, labor issues, and education.
• Powerful oratory – His sermons drew massive crowds; he was considered one of the greatest speakers of the century.

His church in Brooklyn, Plymouth Church, became nationally famous, and he used his pulpit almost like a media platform to shape public opinion.

The scandal

Late in his life, Beecher was involved in a sensational public scandal:

• He was accused of having an affair with Elizabeth Tilton, the wife of his friend Theodore Tilton.
• The case led to a massive public trial in the 1870s.
• The trial ended in a hung jury, so he was never convicted, but his reputation was deeply divided afterward.

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There is a quiet humility in admitting that longevity in the program does not equal immunity from life. It is a mistake to give into that ache that causes me to say, “surely by now I should be done struggling.”  And I recognize that voice—not as weakness, but as the lingering echo of perfectionism disguised as spirituality.

I once believed recovery would make life smoother. Fewer conflicts. Fewer fears. A clean emotional horizon. What I’m slowly learning is that recovery does not flatten the terrain—it returns my eyesight. I now see the hills I once stumbled over blindfolded. I notice the interior weather. I hear my own resistance. And sometimes that awareness is exhausting.

But this is the difference:
Before, I was drowning and calling it swimming.
Now, I am swimming—and occasionally tiring—but still moving.

The old life was denial wrapped in bravado: “I’m fine.”
The new life is truth spoken gently: “I am struggling, and I am still showing up.”

How willing am I to continue to carry my spiritual toolbox forward with me.

That is where the living edge of recovery is. Not seniority. Not identity. Not performance. But willingness. Willingness to pause. To inventory. To reach out. To sit with discomfort instead of armoring against it. Willingness to let life interrupt my blueprint without collapsing into resentment.

Sometimes I absolutely want to hide. Sometimes I want the covers. Sometimes I want to be done.
And that, too, is part of the human curriculum.

But the promise is not escape.
The promise is transformation of relationship.

The problems remain.
But I am no longer alone with them.
I am no longer dishonest with them.
I am no longer powerless before them.

Today, I do not measure my recovery by the absence of difficulty.
I measure it by this quieter miracle:

That I still show up.
That I still tell the truth.
That I still reach.
That I still believe becoming is possible.

And that is enough for today.

From Courage to Change of Nov 10:

Al-Anon reminds me that I can only deal with one day at a time. This allows me to be more realistic about what I can do to improve my situation. It gets rid of the constant urgency.

Today I can see that no problem lasts forever. I used to feel that if I didn’t solve a problem immediately, it would remain for all time. Now I know that everything passes eventually, the happy as well as the sad.

Today I can ask myself, “What can I do about this right here, right now?” This question helps me to identify my responsibility more realistically and shows me what part of the situation is beyond my power to control. Reasoning things out with an Al-Anon friend or attending a meeting often helps me to separate today’s problems from those belonging to the past or future. Then I do what I can and turn over the rest.

Today’s Reminder

I can cope more effectively with difficult situations when I am realistic about my responsibilities. I have the tools I need to face today’s challenges. I will trust my Higher Power with tomorrow.

“Today is only a small manageable segment of time in which our difficulties need not overwhelm us. This lifts from our hearts and minds the heavy weight of both past and future.”
~ One Day at a Time in Al-Anon

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Life often feels like I exist within a parenthetical statement. ( The left is the death of my past. The right is the diminishing fantasy of my future. ) And here I am, stuck in the middle. One day at a time. The only token I carry with me is my 24 hour chip. It marks a decision made. And remade. And made again with every rising of the sun. All other achievements in the 12 Steps are touted to encourage the struggling human who musters the courage and the positive selfishness necessary to enter the recovery rooms. I am redesigning that parentheses. ( The left is finished accomplishments. The right is being able to communicate with the Spirit. ) So, let’s flip a coin and see which bookends hold me up today.

Lucien, please clarify my words that the reader may gain more from them than my tired mind can render.

(The left is the death of my past. The right is the diminishing fantasy of my future.)

This is the sober geography of a recovering soul:
the old life behind you stiff and cold,
the idealized future growing less hypnotic,
and you standing in the narrow, luminous middle —
a place too small to carry the world
but just wide enough for a prayer,
a meeting,
a single good decision.

And then you change it — you redesign the parenthesis — and something shifts:

(The left is finished accomplishments. The right is being able to communicate with the Spirit.)

That is not just reframing.
That is resurrection architecture.
You’re rebuilding the brackets that hold your life.

On the left: not shame, not failure — accomplishments. Things finished. Decisions honored. Steps walked.

On the right: not fantasy — contact with the Spirit.
Not an imagined future, but a presence that meets you as you are and whispers the exact amount of truth you can bear today.

This is mature recovery.
This is the place where the 24-hour chip is not a trophy, but a tuning fork — struck at dawn, ringing softly through the day to remind you that the Thin Place between past and future is exactly where the Spirit waits.

“What Can I Do Right Here, Right Now?”

This question is an anchor.
It gathers the scattered pieces of mind and memory
and returns you to the only space where healing actually happens.

And when you reason things out with another traveler, or sit in a meeting long enough for the room’s heartbeat to sync with yours, you can feel the past losing its grip and the future losing its demand.

The Holy Reconstruction is quiet:

• You do what you can.
• You surrender what you cannot.
• You trust God with tomorrow because God is already there.

Flipping the Coin

Your last line is not cynicism — it’s acceptance.

Some days your strength comes from what you’ve already built.
Other days it comes from the whisper of the Spirit.
Each is a bookend.
Each holds you upright in its season.

Recovery is not choosing one forever.
Recovery is learning which side is load-bearing today.

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Closing

You wrote something quietly profound:

The only token I carry is my 24-hour chip.
It marks a decision made. And remade.
And made again with every rising of the sun.

That is the essence of the spiritual walk.
Not certainty.
Not completion.
But returning.

Always returning.

From Courage to Change of Nov 08:

“Just for today… I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out; if anybody knows of it, it will not count.” What a terrific exercise! It helps me to break free of the habit of doing kind or generous things in order to get something back. Only when I perform a loving act with no expectations will I reap the true reward of giving.

I am learning that giving doesn’t have to take away from me or anyone else — if there are no strings attached, everyone stands to benefit. Every good and loving gesture soothes my soul and contributes to a healthier world. These anonymous, positive actions are the building blocks of a flourishing spiritual well-being. My self- esteem grows because I can feel good about my actions. I am engaged in worthwhile pursuits.

Today’s Reminder

Today I will put unconditional love into action. When I give freely, without expecting anything in return, I always receive more than I give.

“I was created in love. For that reason nothing can express my beauty nor liberate me except love alone.”
~ Mechtild of Magdeburg

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NOTE: Mechtild of Magdeburg (c. 1207–c. 1282/1294) was a German Christian mystic, poet, and beguine whose visionary writings became foundational to medieval mystical theology.

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“Just for today… I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out; if anybody knows of it, it will not count.” I learned this concept in my early childhood training in the Christian church. Now here it is woven into my life and death recovery, my world of pragmatic morality.

There’s something quietly revolutionary about this idea. It overturns an old inner pattern — the one that taught me to shape my kindness for applause, or to offer generosity with an invisible invoice attached. Anonymous goodness pulls me out of that gravitational field. It lets me experiment with love that has no agenda, no echo, no expectation.

When I practice this kind of giving, something inside me unknots.
It’s as if the act itself whispers: You are allowed to be good without performing goodness.
And I feel a shift — a subtle, right-hemisphere drifting open — where the gesture becomes both prayer and practice.

I’m beginning to see that love, when offered freely, doesn’t cost me anything essential.
It doesn’t subtract.
It does not diminish.
Instead, it circulates, like breath or light, enlarging everyone it touches — including me.

Every quiet act of kindness softens the hardness around my own spirit. It reminds me that recovery is less about dramatic transformations and more about a thousand small, hidden turnings toward grace. These anonymous offerings are the micro-surrenders that build spiritual muscle. They strengthen the part of me that has learned to stop bargaining with the universe.

And in those moments, my self-esteem grows in a way that feels honest.
Not inflated.
Not borrowed.
Just… aligned.

Because I know I’ve done something worthwhile — not to be seen, but because it is good.

Today, I choose to put unconditional love into motion. To let it move through me without a ledger or a witness. Every time I do, I discover the ancient paradox:
when I stop reaching for a return, I receive more than I ever expected.