Tonight marks sixteen years since my last drink, which seems a little tacky or crazy to announce on a blog, but my gratitude engulfs too far & wide to care right now.
My last drunk was super dull, and I got clean on Super Bowl Sunday. Which, next to New Year's Eve, is the apex of secular holidays, no?
I have no words, even though I've been giddy all day and looked forward to a celebration. I have no words for the kind of hearts-knit-together bond that comes after the abyss of addiction.
The work of the most sophisticated philosophers I've been exposed to --- the best stuff around, I'm telling you --- it can be distilled down to echo something I've heard in a meeting from a bearded logger or a knitting grandma. 'Healing' was such an embarrassing word to me, at 19, filled with bravado and nonsense and fear, but healing is precisely what God has delivered through the fellowship of other people whenever I'm willing. Any practical spiritual growth I've been granted has come from the Twelve Steps, and limitless healing is what I've found in meetings. I absolutely love my people and am especially thankful to the friends who made me a fidgety wreck with all the unwarranted props tonight. Soli Deo Gloria.