I’m sitting out here in a back yard that over the last couple of weeks has really begun to feel almost like my best friend.  It’s a beautiful night in September.  I’ve got a fire going and I’m sitting out here listening to the crickets. 

I’m aware of an abundance of love in my life – in my relationship with my wife, in our community.  I have the opportunity to go deep into my healing and my recovery work.  And I’m blessed to be able to walk alongside others as they do the same.

And for the first time, maybe the first time in my life, I’m actually aware that I’m worthy of it. 

And that might sound like a pretty arrogant thing to say, but the truth of the matter is: when you grow up in a household that’s riven by dysfunctionality, you don’t really get to see a lot of sunshine – when there’s a constant storm of emotional abuse, maybe physical abuse, or sexual abuse,  broken up only by these brief moments where the love actually seems unconditional – but that’s nothing more than the eye of the hurricane passing over.

But you latch onto these things.  You learn to take them inside.  Let them feed you.  Let them hold you through the next storm – ‘til the next moment of clarity,  the next moment of sanity…