have to follow that route. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I said, not exactly to "God" but definitely not just to myself, "Whatever happens, let me accept it." Instantly a wave of calm washed over me. The panic evaporated. I knew from the core of my being that, because I was sober and was not going to drink over this situation, I was fine. I trusted — something. I fell asleep.
That was sixteen years ago. When I woke up the next morning, I knew I had taken Step Three at last and I was filled with joy. Step Three has continued to manifest in my life in ways that are ever more surprising and profound, for, as the "Twelve and Twelve" promises, "Once we have placed the key of willingness in the lock" and experienced that first opening of the door, "we find that we can always open it some more." Shortly after "turning it over" that night, I broke up with the man I was living with. A few years later I married a man I met in AA. I have stayed sober and continue to go to meetings.
And, interestingly enough, following a spiritual path has become increasingly essential to me. Contrary to my fear that taking Step Three would condemn me to a life of brave self-sacrifice, I find instead that it frees me to think and act as my truest self. My work, which is writing and leading wilderness trips, helps people explore the connection between nature and spirituality. In following this path, my own journey has flowed along several tributaries. Ultimately, however, the entire process comes down to Step Three: I stay sober and turn my will and life over to the care of God as I understand this wise and radiant entity which is manifested in my own soul.
There is an update to this story. One defect of character I battled for years was a bitter jealousy of other writers whom I perceived to be more successful than I. I had worked hard to let go of this chronic ache, but it continued to be easily provoked. A few weeks ago, I did a guided imagery session in which I saw the black, bitter bile of professional jealousy being removed from me by a kindly monkey, who placed it in the earth, where it dissolved and became harmless. A couple of days later my young stepson called to say that his first book had been accepted for publication. I waited for the grip of jealousy, but, astonishingly, felt nothing but happiness for his success.
The next day I reflected on this phenomenon as I drove along the highway in my car. I was thinking about how inner change seems to come only when we are truly ready for it. And then I heard, very clearly, a voice: Are you finally ready to let go and live your destiny?
An old, lingering part of me — that couldn't pass up an opportunity to bargain for what I want — rose up and I thought: Maybe if I say yes, I'll become a famous author.
Yes, I said to the voice.
No, it said. Are you ready to let go and give your life to God?
As often as my Higher Power had addressed itself to me directly in my years of sobriety, it had never before referred to itself as God. Certainly I had never called it that. The fact that it now did so shook me mightily. How could I argue?
Yes, I said simply. I'm ready.
I felt then a remarkable sensation. It was as if my entire body was being emptied of what it no longer needed and was instantly filled with something else. The sensation was of light and energy, a kind of tingling current moving through me.
Here was yet further evidence that AA's miracles can always deepen and crystallize if I don't drink, practice the Steps, and trust the process. As long as I am willing to do what I am called to do in any given moment and to abandon the effort to control the results of my actions, then I am following the path that my Higher Power — call it God, Good Orderly Direction, the soul, the life force, or anything else — has set out for me.
Trebbe J.
Thompson, Pennsylvania
Wait for the Pitch
March 2001
IT WAS THE SUMMER OF 1999, and in order to cover the costs of the October wedding my fiancée and I had planned, I was working as a maitre d', babysitting boozehounds in a fancy gin joint. The money was more than fair, but I hated the job.
I was in my sixth year of sobriety. I knew all about the "actor" noted in the Big Book and his desire to control the elements of production, I was familiar with the key of willingness, and I was aware of the nature of a determined and persistent trial. In my opinion, I had pinned the Third Step to the mat. Still, I suffered tremendous anxiety when I wondered how we were going to pay for our wedding, how I could stomach another night at that job, and how we were going to manage after we got married.
Deep in the throes of this apprehension, a friend who's well-placed in the corporate world offered me four free tickets to an afternoon Yankees game. They were playing my favorite team, the Tigers, and the seats were right behind their dugout, behind third base. It was just the break I needed and I gladly took the tickets. But consternation came on the heels of my acceptance.
None of my buddies could take an afternoon to loll at the ballpark with me. I was stuck with three great tickets, and I didn't know what to do with them. I resolved to turn them over to the One Who Has All Power. I got down on my knees and said I would trust him to figure out what to do with those tickets.
Riding the No. 5 train to Yankee Stadium, I sized up my prospects. Nobody felt right. I continued to place my trust in my Higher Power.
I encountered a man with two children, a boy and a girl, at the box office. Three baseball fans. Three tickets. I asked the dad if he wanted them. I couldn't accept any money (give freely what has been freely given), but I warned him and the kids that they'd be stuck with me for the afternoon. I promised to be on my best behavior, and politely declined his beer offer. A soda, I thought, would be fine.
I got what I came for. It was a tense contest. In a late inning, the Tigers put a man on first, and the next batter took off with the pitch. He lined the ball to right field, and the runner, who'd gotten a terrific jump, was rounding second. The Yankees' right fielder came up with the ball cleanly, but he rushed his throw to third. It landed in the coach's box, kicked off the railing in front of us, and caromed just over our heads. A vicious scramble ensued. The little boy got showered with beer, but his dad emerged with the ball. He handed it to his son, soaked but happy, the proud new owner of a Major League baseball.
A Yankees' beat writer led off his column the next day with that throwing error, the beer-drenched boy, and the dad who retrieved the ball. Reading the reporter's account, I realized that God was the one who brought all that together. It spread out from him, through me. A dad saved some money, a little boy won a souvenir, and a newspaper guy found a lead for his report, because I had trusted that God would show me how to act in this simple situation.
The Tigers, truly awful that year, beat the soon-to-be-World-Series-champion Yankees. Our wedding was a memorable, elegant event for which we received all the help that we needed. I have retired from gin mill work forever, God willing.
Today, I face difficulties that make distasteful jobs and the distribution of free tickets pale in comparison. My greatest challenges are before me. But my experience with the Third Step, even in the smallest matters, gives me the courage to meet whatever lies ahead, twenty-four hours at a time.
Pete P.
Manhattan, New York
SECTION TWO
The Acid Test
"Then comes the acid test: can we stay sober,
keep in emotional balance,
and live to good purpose under all conditions?"
