12 Steps & 12 Traditions

This month’s Step and Tradition articles from the Digital Archive:

Vol. 15 No. 12

Step Three--Across the Board

THERE are a lot of angles to this program," the guy said after the meeting. That rang a bell with me. I knew he had been a professional thief while drinking, and I acknowledged the fact that I had probably been a more successful crook in the old days, in terms of the take, than he ever had. I could spare him a quarter that day, bus fare to the employment office. He didn't ask for it.

For me now there are many new and splendid angles to be found in following the Twelve Steps. Perhaps if I outline some of my recent experiences other alcoholics may benefit: I have accepted my illness, struck bottom, been through the wringer. I was pretty close to a hopeless case. Today I am a free man.

About six weeks ago I found the courage to change my geographical location. This involved taking a plunge--an act of faith. I decided to turn my will and my life over to the care of God, as I was coming to understand Him. I was testing the Third Step and myself--across the board. It seemed like a God-given opportunity, since nobody could possibly be harmed.

I had accomplished all I could, where I had been. I had stayed dependably sober for over six months in my job as a night clerk in a small town Maine hotel. The job had been vastly entertaining and was no place for a lazy man. Before that I had spent seven months in the Augusta State Hospital. The authorities had secured the hotel job for me during a trial release. Last December I won my final discharge. I felt guided--impelled--to find work closer to my wonderful wife, who lies paralyzed in a nursing home in the southern part of the state.

Here honesty compels me to mention three minor slips, none leading to disaster, which I had during the summer and winter. By the Grace of God, these setbacks taught me that I must forever use relentless caution.

I don't know or much care whether people thought I was being foolhardy or not. I had figured the angles according to the Twelve Steps. They had already served me well. With little money and employment at an historical low in Portland, on the Sunday before Christmas I set out, carrying an odd assortment of bags, bundles and a sloppy blanket roll.

Friends had offered me shelter and storage space along the way, people who had known me before as an interminably steady drinker, 'round-the-clock, day-in-day-out. Some loyalty in them, which I marvel at yet, induced them to stand by in just the right way.

This crazy adventure had begun to develop strict rules, to be broken at my own peril. For example, according to one of the rules, to accept hospitality calls for immediate and concurrent repayment of some kind. I must make myself both useful and scarce, respect my hosts' hours and foibles, be unassuming and adaptable. It is wise always to leave sooner than they expect me to. My entertainment value as a bum who has been locked up will soon wear thin. I am learning to deal with normal people on their own terms. I am almost becoming one of them.

Another rule to be respected under Step Three as I practice it is always to apply for any kind of work I can do through every open channel. I won't get work I don't need. I won't deprive another man or woman. Take a look at my results: Right now I have a job as houseman in a sanitarium where my aged father is a patient. It pays peanuts but with bed-and-board and a little money it puts me in a place where I can make some amends, get to church, attend AA meetings, write some items like this one, while I wait for a better job to claim me the first of next month.

Two days before Christmas I walked into a good small hotel in Brunswick, cold off the street, and saw the assistant manager. Seventeen days later I was offered a job starting February first. It's not forever, but six good weeks, at two-and-a-half times the pay I made before looks better and better. Does it occur to anybody else that my small act of faith is its own reward?

The strictest rule, which on occasion one must hold to against heavy odds, is this: never beg. Beg only of God. It happens that I set out in a generous season; perhaps unconsciously I was banking on Christmas gifts. Well, I got some and I gave some too. The one that counted was adequate. I spent the holidays beside the woman I belong with. I had no reason to expect unusual generosity and I had not asked for alms. I had merely informed those who had reason to know where I was going, giving little hint of why.

I was getting the best of care. Within ten days of Christmas I had received sixty dollars when it was reasonable to expect about twenty-five. In the following ten days another fifty-five dollars had come my way. Some of it, in good conscience, I could only take as a loan. This includes a twenty dollar bill pressed into my hand on the eve of my birthday by our remarkable parish priest. I am fully aware of his goodness to my wife, indeed his amazing gifts to the whole sprawling parish. But I needed it then; he knew what I was up to after few words. And don't think I forget to pray for him every Saturday!

It was never natural for me to keep track of money before. It would have been too embarrassing. Now it seems to be part of the deal. I can tell you that I have lived in simple comfort for over two weeks at the YMCA, three nights in a good country inn, other nights clean and warm. I have eaten more than adequately and sometimes with relish. I have spent diverse hours in churches, libraries, museums and in AA quarters. I have had time to write and read, and can afford stamps, change for the kitty and the offering, and minor repairs to equipment. I still have two dollars and sixty-five cents in my pockets, and expect more when I need it. Now this strikes me as close to miraculous--true prosperity.

The pleasure of sobriety is such that I must frequently give thanks for it. At times lately my joy has been so keen that I have had to request serenity. I also find reserves of courage and patience. I must have been made over, converted, by one of those spiritual experiences of which tradition tells us.

If it could happen to me it could happen to a dog. I guess it did.

Allen W.
Maine

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