Loving the Sacred through Word and Image. The Ferryland – New Foundland Iceberg Easter 2017. A Word Press Production.

Monday: The Missing Link

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This morning my phone rang, and as usual I answered it. It is a great feeling to know that I am still useful. This evening I took that friend to a meeting, even though it was bitterly cold outside. We, in Montreal, are still trying to accept that a bitter winter is upon us.

It usually does not get THIS COLD here, this early. But it HAS.

Last night, I had a conversation and today I am blessed to have a best friend in my life.

Very Thankful.

The taxi drivers in Montreal are all tightly wound because of the competition that UBER has put down on them. Yet, there is at least one taxi driver in this city who willingly stole $150.00 from me on a bitterly cold (-30c) night. I’d never taken a taxi before to a meeting, and I won’t soon do that ever again either.

That drama is now being played out by my bank.

Merry Christmas, you dirty animal.

I hope that when karma comes back around that you loose more than $150.00.

Maybe you should loose your cab and your livelihood, because you are a dishonest pig, who should never serve the general public.

Alcoholics are allowed to get angry, at the right moments.

Tonight’s read, The Missing Link, was written in the portion of the Big Book, hosting seventeen stories, of folks who did not loose, anything, nor did they hit bottom, like the stories that come before them.

But it reads in the book that: “Their bottoms rose to meet them, and they realized they had a problem, and they came into the program.”

Oh, we all lamented tonight, that someone should have said STOP. But many of us, at the meeting, all honestly admitted that, for many of us, nobody was going to stop that party where we were concerned. No way, the party was just too good to stop.

I tell this story of my best friends, Peter and Mike.

We, the three of us, along with a sister, used to host, heavy metal vomit parties, with the requisite beer and hard liquor. Alcohol, was readily available to us, at all times, like water. I don’t ever remember having issues with procuring alcohol, ever.

We had a system.

Invitations went out prior to the parties. The girls were always advised to bring a second change of clothes, if they planned on drinking.

After the party, drunken and stupid, we would load, said girls, into a car and drive them around the neighborhood, while they puked it out. We’d bring them back, they would shower and re-dress, then we would take them home. A little more sober than when this all began.

High School is well known for its S.A.T. Tests …

Standard Aptitude Tests.

We did them three times in High School. Well, on my third pass, we decided to throw caution to the wind, and drink excessively the night prior. I was terribly drunk, as my friend carried my limp body into the house. Mum said nothing. And put me to bed to sleep it off.

The next morning we got up and headed into school for the test.

Thank God I was in the library, which was in the biology wing. A bathroom, just down the hall from said library. As each module began, I would start bubbling. Then have to hurl, run to the bathroom, puke it out, come back and finish said module.

It was not pretty at all.

My best friend Peter, committed an indiscretion, with my virginal cousin who was visiting that summer. She gave up her virginity to a boy. My father called her father, who flew down to Florida, for “The Talk.”

I never knew what was said, but after that night, my best friend, was no longer my best friend. In fact, I never heard from him ever again, until I looked him up on Facebook some time ago.

A handful of friends I grew up with eventually got sober. Others still drink, responsibly.

Other friends, I have attempted to reconnect with, were cold and unresponsive. Intimating that it was just ME that had a problem, and that it was good I had contacted them, but thanks but no thanks.

I’ve reflected recently about Listening, Choices and Actions.

From a young age, I listened to many things said to me, around me, and behind my back, and in front of others. I think, growing up, I may have made some wise choices. But you toss a kid into the world, without a safety net and no counsel, those good choices become far and few between.

For the last twenty three years, since my diagnosis, I have been learning how to make good choices. And I know, that when I make choices by myself, that there is a high probability that those choices are going to be SHIT.

I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. And almost died because of really bad choices and actions. So you can say that this last stretch of fifteen years has been in perfecting my listening, my choice making and my actions.

Because our writer honestly asks in his story … “What are shortcomings?”

I am told, and we heard this tonight from our 28 year celebrant that, if you don’t think you have shortcomings, stick around, you may find some along the way.

Another friend of mine, with a little time, is asking this question…

“When is my miracle going to happen. I’ve been around a number of years, and I just can’t seem to find my miracles.”

We all laughed at him, in love …

Stick around until the miracle happens.

A woman used to say that to me when I first got sober. Every day.

I forgot that. So I had to go back out looking for my own personal miracle.

How wrong I was.

Now I know that miracles do happen. They have happened in my life. And continue to happen quite frequently.

God is Good.

I am loved.

I have the BEST friend in all the world.

And one day that dirty rotten taxi driver will get his comeuppance.

Karma is a bitch…

 

 

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