My home group is awesome. Over the years, I've felt that way about a variety of meetings - our Friday evening "family" of various configurations that was the precursor to so many hilarious meeting-after-the-meeting dinners, holiday parties and other gatherings; the huge Saturday nooner where 15 strong, solid women sat against one wall week after week; the break-away from that big group that began in the tiny bride's dressing room at a local church. Last night I ran into someone from my very first home group, a young woman who came in at 16 and used Led Zepplin as her Higher Power. She is now nearly 50, with 33 years sober. I was moved to tears as we talked about those who've passed on in the years since we all sat around that long table upstairs at Irvington - Boxcar Leonard, Jack, Kim, Wayne, ... those who welcomed me when I still felt like a shivering denizen of King Alcohol's mad realm; those who helped me feel at home in this strange new world of sobriety.

My home group today meets on Sundays at 11am - church time, and that's often what it feels like. Our name is, "We Had to Have God's Help," from a section of Chapter 5 in the Big Book, and shares frequently circle back to the miracle of recovery and the sometimes harsh reminders that we don't do this thing alone.

To me, a home group encompasses all aspects of community. "We are people who normally would not mix" but do, based on our mutual tragedy and our mutual goal. My favorite home groups over the years are the ones that walk through life on life's terms with its members - births and deaths, marriages and break-ups, jobs and school and what do I do about the holidays? In the home group we notice who is missing, and welcome those who've wandered. Sometimes, in a big group, there are pockets of friends. In a smaller group, we're all friends, at least during the hour that we come together.

Sometimes people will describe this or that meeting as being "clique-y," like there is an inner circle. What I notice is that each meeting has a culture, and yes, the people who know each other, know each other. I try to be mindful of greeting those new to our group. And I know that I'm not going to feel at home in a particular meeting until I start showing up with some regularity.

Speaking of regularity, I met with one of my in-home groups this week - a foursome that has been gathering for, what - six or seven years now? We've worked through the steps under various disciplines, from Alanon, to Buddhist, to applying the steps to the aging process. It is so very comfortable to sit with these people, first in meditation, then in sharing. It is where I trust, and am trusted. It is where I am myself, and no longer need to describe my issue-of-the-day in detail because it is remarkably similar to my issue-of-last-year and my friends know who I am.

That knowing-who-I-am is the part of a home group that is invaluable - both you knowing who I am, and me learning who I am. Sometimes I say what I need to hear in a meeting, though I don't know that until the words comes out of  my mouth.

Home groups change. People move on, and people move in to take their place. I change. My schedule changes, my needs change, connections change. I used to worry about that, thinking I was doing something wrong for wanting to move on, but I think it simply means I'm alive and I'm human. We alcoholics are known to dislike change, but often change merely indicates growth in one area or another.

My home group is awesome. I hope you feel the same way about yours. If not, why? What might need to change to make it so?