I am writing this in limbo, having received word late last week that someone very important to me is in hospital on the other end of the country, in renal failure. What I'm told by a friend who is there, is that it is terminal and just a matter of time.

A matter of time - God's time, not ours. I often say that I don't believe in a puppet-master god, but that's what it has felt like this past year. Having reconnected with my first husband, making living amends and rekindling a nice friendship, I was feeling that the only missing link from those days was another ex - the man I was with when I hit bottom. We'd had a very intense relationship that encompassed the ending of my marriage, my father's death, his brother's heart attack, and Mt St Helen's erupting, among other things. It ended (though that itself was protracted) when I was unable to put down the needle. But God bless him, seriously. By all rights he could've kicked me to the curb and no one would've been surprised. Instead, he worked with my cousin to get me into treatment - paid for it, and then helped me get on my feet in that crucial first year of sobriety so that I could focus on recovery. I am eternally grateful to him for essentially saving my life. We had only sporadic contact over the past 10-15 years - he'd gotten married and had four kids (after a 1st marriage with another four children). Events transpired in his life last winter, resulting in his sister-in-law reaching out to me with his phone number.

We've had several good and necessary conversations over the past year, which felt like prayer answered. And then, feeling in my gut that something was wrong, I got word that he is in hospital. I am heartbroken, and so very grateful for the re-connection that we've had.

I was struck by the irony on Sunday that while I was completing a half marathon, the person who insisted that I go to treatment was dying, likely from the effects of his alcoholism. Life certainly hasn't turned out the way I thought it would. And I'm seeing the stark reminder of the benefits of recovery, thinking of dear Walt, who outlived a 30 year diagnosis of liver disease by living a sober life, compared to my ex, who didn't.

My ex is a good man. Was Walt a better man? What about Richard, my meth cook lover who died of an overdose so many years ago. He was a good man too. I think of young Jenny, who drank herself to death, and Brad, who took his own life, and countless others over the years who've died directly or indirectly from the disease. And then I think of those of us who have been able to walk away from the darkness. I know it has something to do with willingness, with suiting up, but I still don't understand the mechanics of the thing.

How do you quantify desire? How do you measure willingness, the willingness to step through the fear of doing something you've never done before, without the buffer of drugs or alcohol? How, exactly, does surrender happen, that moment when something snaps inside and you say, "I just can't do this anymore"?  It is certainly not logic - we all know that you can't think your way out of addiction. And you can't just feel yourself sober either. If that were the case, a bad case of the "what did I just do?" would've led straight to recovery. The surrender that we hear so much about is the spiritual equivalent of laying oneself bare, flat out "God, take me," and then being willing to stay in that terrifying place of not knowing what's next.

The Steps outline it perfectly, especially when I read them through the lens of desperation. One is that I am utterly and totally powerless. What a place to be, and one that takes so long to realize. Thank goodness for Two, the coming to believe that we can be restored, and then Three, making the decision to trust. We then have the task of putting pen to paper to determine what, exactly, we are turning over, and then in blessed Step Seven, say "My Creator, I'm now willing that you have all of me." Here I am, coming out of the fog, lost and confused. Guide me, please.

The ongoing relevance of our program is that I can apply that one, two, three & beyond to whatever troubles me, though I still need to have that moment of remembering that I am not in charge, which usually comes after beating my head against the wall of self-will. "Figure it out" is not one of the Steps, though how I do try.

So today, I balance sadness with gratitude. I pray that my dear friend is at peace, however this chapter of his story turns out, forever grateful for where and how our stories intersected.

Several times over the years I've had those God-shot coincidences of crossing paths with the exact person I needed to talk with. What about you, and how did that turn out?  Where do you find your place of surrender today, with whatever part of the "ism" that you struggle with?