Letting God be God in Recovery

No, he said, he did not go to church.  “But you do believe in God?” I asked, hardly daring to hope he did not.  He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky, where big, spreading clouds streamed by.  “God isn’t the problem,” he said. – Patricia Hampl, Virgin Time: In Search of the Contemplative Life, p. 43

As I have posted before, when I got sober, I came to grips with God as a higher power, and am quite content with the direction and faith communities in which I seek and travel today.  In his new book On the Brink of Everything Parker Palmer writes (p. 105):

And why have faith, if God is so small as to be contained within our finite words and formulae?  To write and live in faith, we must let God be God – original, wild, free, a creative impulse that animates all of life, but can never be confined to what we think, say, and do.

This understanding resonates with me.  I well recall as an elementary school student being made to memorize the call and response of the Baltimore Catechism.  It seemed a perfunctory chore at the time without any meaning.  I could never memorize the responses correctly until put to the task by two matronly great aunts, who apparently I feared more than the nuns.  Though I got the lines in my head, the words still had no meaning.

My greatest “aha” moment on this journey came 7 or 8 years ago when I was sitting in an AA meeting and heard the Third Step read, though I had heard the same words at least 1000 times before: “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.”  My mind became completely focused by understanding this as an action step and one of liberation as well.  I was no longer confined by the Baltimore Catechism or any other dogma of my past.  As Parker Palmer mandates I must let “God be God” without any of the limits imposed by the baggage I collected over the years.

Like so much in my life today, whether dealing with cancer, maintaining an attitude of gratitude, or the liberation to follow a spiritual path toward true self, the genesis was found in the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous.  For that, I am truly blessed.

 

 

Happy Birthday to Emma!

Fall 1999, somewhere along the Buffalo River in Arkansas on our first cross-country adventure.

Today is my bride, Emma’s, birthday. I am grateful that we have been able to grow together and experience all the adventures, here in the South and abroad, of life with family and friends, career choices, geographic moves, and a slew of canine friends.  Over that time, we have always been there for each other, supporting our mutual and individual dreams.

In our 20 years of knowing each other, she has never seen me drunk or high on illicit drugs – though she has experienced many of the “isms” that the recovering alcoholic continues to deal with one day at a time – like anger, self-righteousness, resentment, pride . . . the list goes on . . . and has never wavered in her love and support.

Besides being my best friend for the past two decades, today Emma is my rock and strongest supporter as I deal with the uncertainties of cancer.  There is no way to know what tomorrow will bring, cancer or not.  We have only today . . . and today, we celebrate the birth of Emma Marie French Connolly, my wife, partner, spouse, lover, confidant, and light of my world as we each travel down that path toward our true selves.

I am truly blessed.

Chemotherapy vs an Alcohol Hangover

Thirty-six hours ago I started my first round of chemotherapy.  After the first 4 hours at the Touro Infusion Center, I came home with a portable apparatus that continues to pump the chemo into my system.  I have spent my time sleeping, trying to sleep, being nauseous, watching the numbers go down of the remaining 5FU cocktail pumping into my system, punctuated by three rounds of reasonably intense vomiting.  As instructed, after the third regurgitation experience in less than 24 hours, I called the oncologist, who ordered another anti-nausea script and instructions if I vomited again before morning to go straight to the ER for a fluid IV to keep from dehydrating.

Suffice it to say chemotherapy has not been pleasant experience.  I expect feeling better by about Sunday, a couple of days after I am off of the pump.  Then the process will begin again in a week or so for three more two-week rounds.  The immediate side effects of the 8-week regimen should be over by the time of Emma and my 19th Wedding Anniversary on December 11.

My oncologist said from the outset that if I could not “tolerate” the chemo regimen, other treatments could be tried.  My response has always been that I was not opposed to chemo so long as it was doing some good and not simply a shotgun approach to treatment.  As I explained in an earlier post, the former is the approach after my recent biopsies.

Today while laying there I compared chemo’s physical side effects with hangovers from my years as a practicing alcoholic.  I thought of one of my last really bad hangover experiences some 30 plus years ago.  I had been working on a project that was very important for me to complete.  It was so important, I had not touched a drop of alcohol for nearly one week so that I could complete the task.  On the final day of the project, I knew that if I spent another 8 hours, the work would be completed to my satisfaction – something I could feel good about.  I got up that Saturday morning and started working.  After consuming a pot of coffee, I knew I only had a few more hours more work.  I would succeed and prove to myself and everyone else that I could function.  I was a bit tense and on edge from all the coffee and went to the refrigerator to find something to calm my nerves a bit.  There were two unopened bottles of beer.  I knew that I could handle two beers without deviating from my project plans.  I drank them.  The last thing I remember was walking to the corner store to get more beer, project unfinished.  I “came to” the next morning about 5:00 AM with my head pounding, gut wrenching, and most importantly, my mind screaming for my failure once again.  Later that day when delivering my incomplete project, I was sucking on antacids and soft drinks just to keep from vomiting while I spoke.  It would be several days before I felt “normal” again.

There are many similar stories I could tell.

While laying in bed just now, I compared that experience with my current physical condition with chemotherapy.  I certainly feel no worse physically today than I did back those 3 decades ago.  And more importantly, today the chemotherapy is based on a reasoned approach to wholeness whereas the alcohol only took me deeper into the depths of despair.

This morning my gratitude list contained the following:

Grateful today for:
– being able to truly appreciate one day at time, and one hour at a time.
– having the time and resources to take care of my illness.
– I keep saying that the best training I have had for dealing with my cancer today is my years of recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous!

I do not know where this chemotherapy journey will lead me – perhaps to the ER room before the day is out.  But, one day at a time, one hour at a time, and one minute at a time, I am grateful for the opportunity to live life on life’s terms today, and for the support my community of friends provide on this journey toward true self.