Noble

Adjective

1. having excellent moral character, possessing high ideals or excellent moral character

2. relating to high moral principles, based on high ideals or revealing excellent moral character

A big part of the AA tradition is to make a fearless self inventory. To identify those we have harmed as a result of our addictions and to make apology to them and where possible, restitution. So far I’m finding this spiritual growth thing slow going, like trying to build a house, brick by brick, did I mention I also have to make my own bricks like the Israelites in captivity? Yet, it is coming along, or rather, I am crawling along and seeming to become more awake and aware of how our lives are all entwined, like so many degrees of separation.

Evidence: I had begun a message to my ex-love, with Christmas wishes as a very plausible excuse. I had filled it with all the many reasons, oh so cleverly disguised, why he was a fool to have lost me. But for some (fateful) reason I had not printed it. But, but, but. I slept on it. I replayed it. What was I trying to do? Thinking deeper. Oh, Friend, it so easy, so convenient and so self-comforting to delude ourselves about our motivations. You hurt me. I hurt you. Isn’t that simple enough? That’s nothing less than the way of the world, the expected way. That is not the Christian way, “The Way” that I am coming to know. I have every reason to be bitter and lash out - according to the world’s view. But what do I look like when the Almighty looks at me? My Bible says that His ways are not our ways.

What do I truly believe? That I married a flawed person? That I loved in a flawed way? I can do nothing else. Only God can love each of us perfectly. The man I loved above all else, including my own health and self-esteem, succumbed to mental illness. In a way I feel I abandoned him, that he shouldn’t be left to try to fend for himself But, but, but. The world says he has the right to choose his own path, even if that path destroys him. I must leave it to God. Then could there be any excuse for trying to ease my own pain by rubbing salt into someone else’s wounds? How can that feeling have anything to do with love? This man doesn’t even know he is inflicting wounds on himself – or Lord, he does know and is helpless to stop. God be with people who are so tortured!

Oh my lost one - how I loved him even as he slipped through my hands! My pleading, my explanations came to mean nothing and then he stopped hearing me altogether. Then I stopped pleading and explaining. Lord, give me peace. The recollection of that beautiful face, that familiar embrace, that voice opens up an ache for everything that the world said I was promised after loving him, having children together, caring for him and bearing his deceptions for the decades that will now forever mark my life. The world lied! We are not promised even one more hour with the one we love. Heed this. It is a lesson learned at great cost.

Now, what does the splendor of my God suggest to me? That though my beloved has cut me so deeply, he, as Jesus said, doesn’t even know what he does. Do I know what I do? Do I dare to voice what else I’m thinking? That my co-dependence has prolonged his illness? Do I dare admit this to myself? That I tried to help and made it worse? Doesn’t love cure everything? Or is that what the world says - again? I want to shut this all off and watch some other show. This one makes me feel uncomfortable.

But watch it I will, my Lord I told You that I wanted only Your will for my life. In that, at least, I did not lie though it seems the path has been littered with lies of every description – the worlds, the fairy tales, my partners, my own. I have a choice to look in the mirror and truly see who is there. I can choose to stay my own hand and not strike out. The only choice I ever have is the choice of what I will do. What must I do then, Lord? And then the still, small voice - You come immediately to my mind, to my ear. Praise You! Yes, Lord. I will praise You and thank You. Thank You for letting me experience such a love in my lifetime - imperfect as it was, as I am. It was a construction as beautiful as a perfect rose, and as fragile. Thank You for the wonder of parenthood and my beautiful children. Thank You, Dearest Father for bringing me to a point where I can recognize my shallow motivations. Let me strive toward that light however much it shows of my own sin. Let me become what You have in mind. Let me choose instead to act nobly.

Ki