Serenity is possible

Intermittently cloudy and bright Christmas morning here, wondering whether to sit outside or indoors. A morning of hugs and greetings and phone calls, gifts of chocolate, pecan biscuits, homemade jars of raspberry jam, last year’s almonds and walnuts from local trees.

We had some newly sober women around for supper last night, sat out around a small fire and chatted, enjoyed the cool of the evening. They were shellshocked to be having Christmas meals with no alcohol around. No sneaking sherry in the kitchen. No empty winebottles on the table. No ruining everyone’s Xmas. All I could say in a vague unhelpful sort of way was that it does get easier, but I could see the sense of lostness. Been there too.

Hopefully they feel brilliantly clearheaded this morning and ready for another sober day. Sobriety always makes sense in retrospect. Nobody ever regrets not getting fall-down drunk and wrecked yesterday. Somebody said to me in a meeting a while back: if you can’t stay in the day, remind yourself  what a good sober yesterday feels like the morning after.

And my own secret aid to peaceful interactions and balance at this time of year is the Serenity Prayer. Sometimes soothing and reassuring, and sometimes like a dash of cold water in the face. When the going gets tough, this is what makes the difference, a sobering reality check.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

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