They Held Me Accountable

The first home group I attended met in a warm, windowless classroom on the second floor of a small Methodist church not far from where I grew up. Adorned with majestic stained glass windows and tall wooden crosses, the church was always quiet come meeting time, and absent, as far as I could tell, of anyone but us recovering drunks with our little Styrofoam cups of lukewarm coffee, cheap sucking candies, and the countless cigarettes many of us chain smoked before and after the meeting, standing in close circles chatting beside our cars.