Thoughts From the Porch: I don’t watch a lot of television. I usually have other things to do. In fact, until Margaret and I married five years ago I hadn’t even had a tv set for several years. I find that if I do sit down to watch the small screen I might as well right off the rest of the evening. Somehow, I slowly become one with the recliner until the 10 o’clock news…

Last night was different. I wasn’t feeling well so I crawled into bed to watch tv an NCIS “marathon” (a nicer sounding term for “binge-watching”), hoping I’d nap a bit instead. That’s not what I got though. I won’t bore you with the details of the episode. It had to do with the death of one of the character’s father. I applaud the screenwriters and actors. It was well done and elicited an emotional response: unusual for the small screen with it’s laugh tracks and brevity. Even though my Dad has been gone almost 15 years, the tears flowed. Unresolved grief has a way a making an appearance at strange times.

I reflected on that a lot this morning on the porch. There’s some promises offered in the recovery community that may seem like a real “no-brainer” to the rest of society. The one that grabbed my attention this morning is that we’ll “not regret the past…”. Church had another version: “forgive and forget”. I’m not sure that either are entirely true.

I do have regrets today. At least I think so. Identifying what I’m really feeling is still hard sometimes, even after some years of practice. I spend my days trying to find the right word when writing for my clients or my thoughts from the porch. Today I feel inadequate doing so. I‘m not sure how to label it. I guess regret will have to do.

I look back at my life and I find things I just wish I had done differently. I wish I’d been a better father and a better son. I wish a lot of things, but as Dad used to remind me, “Wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which gets full first”. I learned to admit my failures and make amends, to make things right, to the best of my ability. That’s brought me a sense of freedom, forgiveness, and peace. But it doesn’t change the fact that I wish none of it had ever happened; or at least Dad were here to talk to about it. Grief must not have an expiration date…

Maybe regret isn’t what’s really going on. It’s not regret as much as it is grief. The reality is he is here to share this with. As I sat reflecting this morning I heard him remind me all that “what’s done is done, life is what it is, and God is good. What am I going to do about it?” Thanks for the reminder, Dad. Good advice for a wonderful morning…

I enjoyed the unusually mild March morning. It’s almost seventy degrees and a t-shirt all that was required to be comfortable as I sipped my coffee. The Rose of Sharon trees are covered in green and the lawn is beginning to change from the brown of Winter to the green of Spring. The weather looks to be seasonal, but dry. Maybe I won’t have to mop up after the dogs for a few days. All is well in the world.

We moved to our quiet little neighborhood about four years ago. To be honest with you, White Settlement wasn’t on our radar, but I think God had other plans. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, we saw the house on a Wednesday and closed a week later. The whole process was quick and simple. It seems to work that way with God’s gifts.

There’s this little church and its sign I always look for as I go back and forth to our local grocery or gas station. They always have a message with a play on words, but I think what makes me chuckle a bit is the church’s name: a “full gospel”: church. It apparently isn’t for people who only want part of the gospel. Sometimes I laugh too hard at my own jokes. You know, “I can’t go there because I only want a little taste of Jesus”!

Over the last four years I’ve though a lot about that little church. Not enough to go there mind you, I’ve noticed that most of its members are a lot older than I am. Not that it should exclude me, but I’ve noticed that churches are like people. They can age and die too if there’s not enough youth and vitality left to keep them fresh.

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I realize I want the “full” gospel. The word “gospel” means good news. I love good news. It beats the alternative! The good news for me initially related to my recovery from addiction. It’s come to mean much more as I grow older. Still, there are times I’m resistant to “all” of the good news, to a new way of living and relating to the world. Resistance seems to grow in direct proportion to my comfort level. The more comfortable I am the less I grow in my humanity. Comfort always seems to lead to resistance in its most ugly form: complacence.

I learned a long time ago that one’s spiritual path can take many forms. My belief took a “Christian” form. I make no excuses for my faith as a disciple, a follower of Jesus, because the bottom line is I want to be like him when I grow up. I want to learn how to love others. I want to participate in humanity. For someone who’s life has included the dis-ease of raging self-obsession, that takes transformation. Maybe that’s the other component of the “good news”. Maybe that’s what keeps people from wanting the “Full” gospel. Transformation is scary, and it means letting go and venturing into the unknown. Letting go is never easy. Not everyone wants to. Not everyone is able to. I get it. I can only speak for myself, but I’m ready for the whole thing…

Category: Recovery

No Regrets?

Church Signs