The Big Book and I

It was a Monday. My husband and I were walking toward the treatment center, where I was scheduled to spend twenty-eight days in-patient, and I had a death grip on his hand. We had been to the treatment center the previous Friday for my evaluation and a tour of the facility. I had seen all kinds of little slogans on the walls--"Let Go and Let God" and "There But for the Grace of God"--along with the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, all bearing the word "God." Turning to my husband, I'd said, "They're going to proselytize!" I was heading into a who-knows-what kind of situation, and I was terrified.