Servant, not Master

Last week, I was asked to post something and all I could come up with was a poem (Behind the Counter) that appears below. Today, reading an entry in the little recovery booklet, As Bill Sees It, I became inspired to add another thought. On page 259, titled "Servant, Not Master," the reading emphasizes spiritual matters over material goods, an issue that this alcoholic struggles with in life. What Bill Wilson writes, follows: "One of A.A.'s Loners is an Australian sheepman who lives two thousand miles from the nearest town, where yearly he sells his wool. In order to be paid the best prices he has to get to town during a certain month. But when he heard that a big regional A.A. meeting was to be held at a later date when wool prices would have fallen, he gladly took a heavy financial loss in order to make his journey then. That's how much an A.A. meeting means to him." I liked that. For the sheepman, the selling of his wool was the servant, not master, in his life. How can we learn from that A.A. loner? Follow in his footsteps and serve, rather than be served. That is something for me to think about, in my own desire to stay sober.

Back To My Roots

This summer vacation my husband and I decided to return to our home state of New Jersey for two weeks of fun in the sun at the beach. I'm a firm believer that just because I'm on vacation does not mean I'm on vacation from AA.
I was lucky enough to be able to get to a meeting almost every day at 7 am. To my delight they were literature meetings. Big Book, As Bill Sees It, Step, Grapevine, etc... What a way to start the day! The regular attendees numbered around 40-50!
For those of us that have relocated in sobriety it's always a tough deal. For me I'm still dealing with the feeling that there is no AA like Jersey AA and I've been in Ohio for 12 years!
Being a small person with a BIG personality (that's the description I've heard recently and have adopted!) it only took me couple of days of handshaking to get to know most of the room!
I have many fond memories of my early years in sobriety running around the state going on speaking commitments,detox commitments,picnics, checking out new meetings and all kinds of other outings with a whole crew of other newcomers. N.J. is much smaller than Ohio and lends itself easily to in state travel. Oh! and did I mention that I was almost 20 years younger as well?!
Anyway I felt really grounded knowing that no matter where I go there you are and for that I am truly grateful. I know that all I have to do is reach out my hand and you will be there for me in the spirit of the fellowship.
When I moved here to Ohio I made a commitment to do a 90 in 90, get a Sponsor right away, find a Home Group and get active.
The most amazing thing about going back to my roots was in coming home to Ohio I realized I have roots here too. It took a while but I love the fellowship I have found here. I have made many fast friends just like the book promises as I trudge the road of Happy Destiny. I have a Sponsor I wouldn't trade for anything and of course the world's best Home Group.
I guess to sum it all up I am home in Alcoholic's Anonymous no matter where I go!
Thanks AA.

Behind the counter 

Even though I rail against

this job at times,

I do the tasks well,

serving this one and that,

answering their requests

for meat, cheese, directions.

 

There is a nobility in service,

the masters say:

“Feed people. Serve people.

Love everyone. Tell the truth.”

Do my colleagues do that?

I think they do, mindfully.

 

Not like me, with too much thought.

I know I am here to be taught.

 

Just yesterday, a customer

I call “the hello lady”

got angry, again,

called me ‘the slowest woman in town.’

Maybe she was referring to someone else

in the line that she overstepped.

I took offense, yet, returned with

all she needed - kindness.

 

The cross-dressers are the best.

Today, a man in a purple scarf waited for me

as I served him.

It felt as if I were the one honored, instead.

We shared a smile and a conversation,

and I don’t even remember

what he bought.

 

At times I fill up with memories

of arrogance when I rushed through my own life,

overstepping boundaries,

ignoring a kindness, or a query.

My own needs were oh, so urgent,

When time, I thought, was in my control.

 

The cell phone folks are the worst.

I vow to drown mine!

 

Like pets in the kennel, 

the customers are all different.

Some are polite, or curious,

While others just snarl and bite.

It’s not their fault, it’s the nature

of the lives we lead.

Yet everyone, even you, eats.                        

 

by Pat Magee 12/04 

JEWELS FOR AMENDS

My mother died during the worst period of my addiction. When she married my father, she took over a house that already contained my grandmother, Dad's oldest brother, two small children of Dad's sister who died in childbirth, and the multiple duties of a farm wife. She was a loving person who never complained and always had a song or a smile on her lips. I was the third (and destined to be middle) child, the first girl. It soon became apparent that I was never going to be the cute little curl-um and dress-um-up child I believe she had longed for, but once that became clear, she let me be the person I willfully chose to be. And willfullness marked the next decades of my life. I thought I was better than my roots, and once I left home for college I chose a lifestyle of which I knew my parents, who did not drink, would never approve. I eloped after college and during the next years my husband of that time and I slid through the levels of an alcoholic marriage. I brought her grandson for brief visits but basicly denied her a relationship with him in an futile effort to hide the chaos going on in my marriage.

Eight years after her death I got sober. Once I divorced myself from chaos and started to appreciate the values I had been raised with, I felt a powerful remorse for how I neglected my relationship with my mother. How to make amends to such a gentle spirit? By that time I had found the comfort of a new marriage blessed by my family of origin, and Michael and I had found the serenity of a small house in the country with a large garden and fruit trees and berries in abundance. I treasured the peace of coming home to our "farm" after a stressful day working with addicted adolescents. I remembered the hours my mother had spent in a hot kitchen canning vgetables and fruit from our garden to provide for our winter fare. I could see the pride she took in the colorful rows of cans that lined our cellar shelves. Best of all were the days she made jams and jellies and we kids got to eat the foamy skimmings the next morning on our toast. It occurred to me what a fitting tribute to my mother making jelly would be. So each fall I go through the ritual of gathering the fruits and vegetables, experience the hard work of peeling them and preparing jars, scalding my face over the bubbling sweet liquids as I stir the jellies feeling connected to my mother. And surely, as with most amends, I receive more than I give. Not only do the rows of colorful jars delight my eye and give me a feeling of acomplishment, but also these "amends" become gifts for my grandchildren and special friends.