Passing Through the Eye of a Needle

On a day a little less than four years ago, a day that had began as uneventfully as any ordinary day. As the hours passed and everything went right the day took on an air of perfection. Normally, that would have been a warning of impending doom-- for me. We had more people show up than ever before. The weather was as beautiful as any spring day I had ever seen-- and I really love springtime. There was a beauty in that spring day that surpassed the warm feeling of the sun as it caressed my skin on the back of my neck. It ran deeper than the loveliness of nature with all of the newly blooming greenery. Everything around us held so many possibilities--I think that the men at the farm could see a parallel to their lives just by looking around them.

After a harsh winter, God starts His world anew. Each spring, through some magical process, all of nature comes back to life. Everything on God’s earth is resurrected. His power to renew life seems so apparent in the springtime. There should be no atheists in the springtime I could smell spring flowers in the brisk Washington air. I delighted at the sound of children laughing. People were all over the place buying, selling, bartering and trading. It seemed like one of those Middle-Eastern bazaars. Somebody even had some oriental rugs for sale. We had everything there except belly dancers. I was very pleased. You see, I’m an accountant and we were making money. Who could ask for more? My only worry was that the wind might change and the scent of the flowers may not be as strong.

On a beautiful day like that I have to pause and thank God. To me it’s like God has taken His world back and turned it into a natural cathedral. New flowers blooming, birds returning to their summer homes, tress sprouting new leaves and the smell of all those flowers in the air all around me. In the distance I could see snow capped mountains kissing the clouds. The shear beauty of His handy work was awe-inspiring. That was exactly what I was feeling as I sauntered carefree as could be toward the small cottage where I lived. Life in the country suited me. I was sure that when I recalled this day--sometime in the future it would bring me a great deal of joy. I had never felt more content.

George Tillman, my good friend, had donated the land. He also endowed the money to keep us open. But if we wanted any, and I mean any frills, we had to raise the money through one of our enterprises. We had several. Though the flea market wasn’t our most profitable, we all enjoyed it. By raising our own money, it gave the new people on the farm a sense of being productive. Some of the guys had never worked before unless they were on work release or something.

George was also my first sponsor (that’s someone who directs you on how to incorporate the twelve steps into your life). He and I came to be very close. He became my role model-- you might even say a father figure to me. I had lost my father at an early age. George was in his forties, and he had traveled the world doing fascinating things. Most of the things he had done seemed like fantasies to someone like me. I was maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven. I hadn’t lived a very adventurous life. I had only left my home state (Washington) to play college football. I had visited relatives in South Central L.A. a couple of times. I guess just walking down the street in South Central can be an adventure--at least it was for me.

The friendship between George and I had begun as hero worship on my part. Well, I guess he was flattered by being looked up to. But as time passed our bond of friendship grew-- without doubt became very meaningful to both of us. I am confident in saying that we loved each other-- we depended on each other for emotional support. Never in my life had I met someone as easy to talk with about any subject. At the time, I thought that I was having a lot of problems. I could talk to him about any of them. He had a way of making anybody feel at ease, open up and talk about intimate details of their lives. He seemed to have some kind of power that made you relax. I would say more like he had some mystical aura. You knew that you could trust him even if you had never trusted anybody before in your life. I can’t remember him ever having betrayed anybody’s trust.

We would talk for hours about everything from football, to recovery, to solving the world’s problems and, naturally, women. We were both ex-jocks and I think we considered ourselves intellectuals of a sort. Most of the people I have met in recovery think they have great intellectual capabilities. We can solve the problems of the world but not our own. Some of the stories George told me about the women he had known were hard to believe. Some of the exotic places he had been made me long to travel to far away places. I guess I’m a country boy really but I became a lot more sophisticated just listening to him.

Looking back on it, George would allow me to do most of the talking about personal things. He would listen with an interest that was real. It was obvious that he cared and wanted to help. I have seen him talk to the most hard-hearted men in prison and get through to the human side of them. They talked to him about things that had been hidden for years from everybody. He helped so many people that way.

George understood his addiction problem better than most of us at the farm. He wasn’t afraid to look at himself and face the imperfections he found. "Drugs ain’t your problem, homeboy" he would say over and over again when we talked about addiction. "Keep it in today" Was another of his favorite clichés. At the time it seemed to me that he was a person that made it a point not to look back or carry around useless baggage, grudges or hidden agendas. He would talk about his feelings like being lonely but only in a way that wasn’t self-pitying or self-serving. Never blaming others for his actions or for causing his feelings. We never talked about why he felt the way he felt; only what he was going to do to feel better. One never got the impression that George was being superficial or less than honest. He was just taking responsibility for his recovery. The fact that he rarely talked about himself made him very unusual for a recovering person. We are always whining about something or another. He seemed to be more concerned about the problems of others than his own "situations." He often said he had situations not problems.

George was more than willing to make an effort to change any negative aspect of his own personality. He was a very giving man both of his time and worldly possessions. He always had a positive outlook and tried to make our outlooks more positive. Just trying to do that with someone like me was a full time job. I could make a problem of getting up in the morning. My glass was always half empty.