Step 12: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to [others], and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

I resent dirty dishes. It doesn’t matter how many times I clean them, there they are again, sitting like little sassholes in the sink all dirty and expectant. What, pray tell, do you want from me? 

My parents have an arrangement that began when my brother and I were wee tots. My dad would clean up after dinner; my mom would bathe the babies. What a team. Even though my brother and I presently bathe ourselves, the tradition of my dad washing dishes persists. I love cooking. But being single means that I also have to be the one to clean the dishes. If you grew up in a home where you had to do household chores, this possibly hasn’t been a rude awakening for you. However, as I grew up doing farm chores and manual labor, I find the monotony of standing over a sink night after night wearisome. After I cook and eat, I set my bowl in the sink, miffed at the injustice of the fact that I must also clean. 

To be clear, washing dishes is not a difficult task, nor is it particularly time consuming, particularly the dishes created by one human. And even more particularly when that one human has a dishwasher. 

I am told that this tension of reality meeting our idea of how things “should” be is common in marriage. Each person brings their own customs and ideas of how a marriage works into their new life. If each party grew up in vastly different households, this can cause a lot of friction as they are confronted with these deeply ingrained "rules." Each party likely thinks that their upbringing is the normal and right one. My indignation at the dirty dishes I made makes me think that it is not only married people who run into this issue. I don’t have roommates or a spouse, so there is no division of labor. If I don’t do them, they won’t get done. Unless I hire someone to do them, but what am I, made of money? No, no I am not. 

One of the beautiful things about the Twelve Steps is that they are never done. Another is the community aspect. The supposition of AA is that sobriety is impossible in isolation. I think spirituality works the same way. Heck, almost all of life works the same way. We need support in order to continually come back to work that is never done. And unless you’re a straight up narcissist, you will find that there is joy in being part of someone else’s support system as well. Mutuality in relationship keeps them healthy, aka the presence of both give and take from each party, or an equal interest in the well-being of each other and the relationship. 

There’s this idea of transformation all up in the Bible, especially in the New Testament where there’s talk of baptism, death to life, and being born again. Based on stories I heard from Christians, I thought I was supposed to have had this big, dramatic moment of transformation. I thought it meant that, once that happened, I would never struggle with doubts and I would magically become this sunny, bubbly person. But I don’t think it works like that most of the time. I was working off of a perfectionist’s assumption: that faith is something to be achieved. I didn’t take into account the habits and expectations that we bring into our faith, which as we have previously discussed don’t die easily. 

There’s a phrase I love in 2 Corinthians 3:18, that we are being transformed “from one degree of glory to another.” I know that glory is a really religious word and I try to steer clear of exclusive lingo here. But basically, the idea is that it is a continual process. Like the 12 Steps suppose, the implication of spiritual awakening is a new radiance that comes from having our wounds slowly healed and our missteps constantly forgiven. 

When I get overwhelmed by the monotonous slog life can be, and more specifically, a life of faith, is it generally because I forget that I do not have to do any of this alone. I have a God who has promised to never leave me. I have a group of humans who care about me. What if there, in the unglamorous moments of washing dishes, writing blogs, and ordinary catch-up chats, that is where the miraculous happens? What if in the small moments of our lives we are transformed the most deeply? 

I hope you have enjoyed this series as much as I have. It's been humbling to wade into the 12 steps and wrestle with them on the pages of this blog each week. I'm going to leave y'all with the serenity prayer, which is said at the end of each AA meeting.

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

If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, check out the resources on the Alcoholics Anonymous website, or call this National Helpline for Substance Abuse and Mental Health. 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

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Step 11: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

The stinging pain of the needle repeatedly poking into my skin had dulled. After the first ten minutes, it had become a temporary unpleasantness between me and my third tattoo. My friend Abby sat near me in "The Iron Rose," a tattoo shop in Tampa, Florida. It is apparently a new tradition when we are together, me getting a tattoo, as she and I had ventured together to a mall on the outskirts of ChangMai, Thailand where I got my second tattoo. The timing for each was practical. In Thailand, I paid the equivalent of 50 USD for what would have easily been a $100 endeavor in the states. In Tampa, I avoided being charged almost double for the privilege of being tatted up in New York. What a town.

The trip to Tampa had been somewhat spontaneous. I was in Grand Rapids at my very first writer's conference. It was the end of April and, in true Michigan fashion, an ice storm grounded every plane and trapped us in the airport for 12 hours with the empty promise of take-off times that would never happen. When the voice over the intercom finally admitted that our flight was cancelled and we would be booked on flights the next day, I called Abby to see if I could crash with her. It was during this unplanned time that she suggested I spend a week with her and some family at their beach house in Tampa.

The tattoo was somewhat spontaneous as well. When I booked my plane ticket, I reasoned that if I was going to get another one, Tampa seemed like a better place than New York from a cost stand point. If the stars aligned and I found a good shop with an artist I liked and could come up with a design, might as well. I googled "best tattoo shops in Tampa" and found a list. After looking through the websites, I found the right man for the job.

We arrived at the shop and I showed him my derpy drawing/approximation of what I wanted. He googled "Ebenezer stone" and sketched a few options. We went through the fonts until I found the line between messy and legible that I was looking for. Not fifteen minutes later, I was lying face down on the table being stabbed repeatedly by an inky needle.

I first learned what an Ebenezer was at a youth retreat called Happening, outside the context of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, of course. Ebenezer means "stone of help," and comes from a story in the Old Testament. I'm not going to get into it here. If you want to read it, head to 1 Samuel 7. The story is bananas. Basically, the stone was set up as a marker, a reminder to remember how God had helped in a particular situation. As someone who hates asking for help, I need the reminder to remember everything that has been done for me, that God is trustworthy.

That being said, I do a fair bit a gripping to God about how he's not coming through for me on any number of issues. I don't know why God doesn't recognize that my time table is the best one. Something about God being omniscient, I guess. It's interesting, though, if I'm only going to God to complain, or demand something, or as a last resort, am I just treating God like a vending machine or a genie?

Step 11 guides its participants to improve their conscious contact with God, focusing more on God's will than our own. This is a totally different practice than asking God for what we want. I will say that is an important type of prayer, but prayer has more potential than trying to get God to give us what we want. Richard Rohr writes,

For many, if not most, Christian believers, however, [prayer] became a pious practice or exercise that you carried out with the same old mind and from your usual self-centered position...Prayer was something you did when you otherwise felt helpless, but it was not actually a positive widening of your lens for a better picture, which is the whole point. (Breathing Under Water, pg 95)

I spend a lot of time on my own. This is great for introverted me. But it also means I spend a disproportionate amount of time in my head. And what comes along with too much time in my head? Tunnel vision. I get so focused on what I think God owes me I forget to look for what God has already given me. Not only that, I am limited in how I believe God will answer my prayers. I can't imagine any scenario other than the one I have come up with, and so when it doesn't happen, I am disappointed.

There are, of course, times in our lives when we will be more needy and petulant than others. God isn't surprised by this. In fact, Steps 4-10 focus on becoming more honest with ourselves, our needs, and the harm we have caused. But think back to steps 1-3. We admit we are powerless, come to believe that God could restore us, and make a decision to turn our lives over to God. Asking for help is the catalyst for all of the other steps. But traveling through those steps, we arrive at a place of greater maturity when we are ready for more, and God is ready to show us more. One of the nice things about the steps is that they allow for relapses and derpy moments. In recovery, you're never really done with them, whether you go through them repeatedly or it takes you years to master a single step.

There are countless stories in my life where God has come through for me in ways I could have never imagined. Having a friend in Grand Rapids when I was stranded by a freak ice storm who was able to host me in spite of a hectic work schedule then invited me to Tampa, for example. And yet, it is absurdly easy for me to forget. It's easy for me to start to think I am above God's help. But in the moments when I have the audacity to believe that God is exactly what God claims to be, that God might even love me and want the best for me, my picture of what is possible broadens. And I remember.

If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, check out the resources on the Alcoholics Anonymous website, or call this National Helpline for Substance Abuse and Mental Health. 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

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Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

Between my first and second years of grad school, I participated in a summer program called Greensboro Light Opera and Song. The stories from those six weeks are legion and could fill an entire book. In this intensive program, my anxiety reared its head whenever I walked into a rehearsal or class. One day I worked with this coach, whomst we shall call Dr. Henry. In the classical singing world, coaches help with language, stylistic choices specific to certain composers and time periods, and performance decisions, whereas voice teachers focus on vocal technique.

I went in ready to sing a difficult piece called “Mi Tradi” from Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni. The first thing one generally does in a coaching, after some small talk and introductory information, is sing the piece all the way through. I was nervous, having never worked with Dr. Henry before and generally having more than my share of performance anxiety. So to try and keep myself loose, I started swinging my arms. Anxiety causes tension, and tension is no bueno for singing.

I made it all the way through the piece and looked at Dr. Henry. He asked why I was swinging my arms. I explained about the tension. He replied, “Are you aware that as the song went on and got more difficult, your arms moved faster and more rigidly?” I don’t know if y’all are good at forcing yourself to relax, but I approach it with the Type A manhandling posture that I use for virtually every task. OK, Marebs, I think, You’re going to relax. Here we go. OK NOW STAY EXACTLY LIKE THAT AND DON’T CHANGE ANYTHING DON’T EVEN BREATHE. Healthy? No. Effective? Also no.

Dr. Henry proceeded to tell me about his own struggles with tension as a young pianist. He said that he was so nervous, his right quad would seize up and his leg would start bouncing. It got to the point where he was unable to effectively use the piano pedal because he couldn’t control his leg. Then one day, he let go of his obsessive perfectionism and his leg loosened up.

I used to believe I would have that moment as a singer. And maybe I would have, had I stuck with it full time. I’ve generally found that, for me, unlearning anxiety and its physical manifestations has been gradual. I have a monthly voice lesson, during which my voice teacher and I work to undo the habits of fear. It is painfully slow, but it is there. Because for me, it’s about trust, trust of my voice that I will have to build. My voice is like an enraged toddler whom I must coax to come out with the promise that it is safe to do so, possibly even fun. Like a defiant toddler, it responds with a metaphorical screech of I don't believe you and proceeds to lock itself in its room and throw things. Bless it.

This fear is not limited to my singing life, it’s just the most obvious place it manifests right now. It goes much deeper than that, and so the recovery process has been as much spiritual and emotional as it has been physical and mental. As much as I would like to have a one and done moment of epiphany where I magically no longer struggle with performance anxiety, I don’t think it will work like that. It’s something that pops up all over the place, and I’ve had to learn to identify and call it out. It is not only detrimental to my well-being and flourishing, but also to my relationships.

Step 10 is about continuing to take an inventory and promptly admit when we are wrong. I’m not going to discount the dramatically miraculous here, but I will say that, for most people, spiritual and emotional habits are not unlearned in a moment. At my church, we just finished a series on freedom, looking at the Exodus. Each week, the pastor reiterated, “It took 40 days to get Israel out of Egypt, but it took 40 years to get Egypt out of Israel.” While Israel had been physically taken out of bondage in Egypt, they didn’t know how to live as freed people. They had to learn the habits of freedom.

On the AA website, the reflection on Step 10 states, “For the wise have always known that no one can make much of his life until self-searching becomes a regular habit, until he is able to admit and accept what he finds, and until he patiently and persistently tries to correct what is wrong.” Remember from Step 4 that this inventory process is done with the full knowledge of God’s love and acceptance, and is therefore fearless. There is a saying in AA, progress not perfection. We can’t work this all out on our own, then emerge into our relationships with all of this perfectly sorted out. I wish it worked like that, but it doesn’t.

I am fortunate to have in my arsenal a rude therapist. By rude, I just mean uncomfortably accurate in his assessment of my true motivations. He calls me on my bologna, aka the nice stories I tell myself that keep me in the same patterns that brought me to his office in the first place. Sometimes it's hard to assess my motives and actions because I'm too close to them, and more often than not, my ego is mixed up in there. Just like Dr. Henry was able to notice my arms swinging at manic speed, I can't always clearly perceive my actions and motivations. Good friends and trusted mentors can help us here as well.

Even though our path to recovery starts with a moment of epiphany, our old patterns and temptations often follow us. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the patterns are symptoms of something deeper and more basic: fear, loneliness, anger, pain. It takes time for our knee-jerk reactions to change. As much as I want to manhandle my way into immediate change, it's about as effective as forcing myself to relax. Maybe I can imitate the behavioral change for a while, but the old spirit still lives inside of me. So I have to keep going back and looking for those same dusty patterns. Maybe the more we do it, the quicker we are to admit when we are wrong, and the more humble we become.

If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, check out the resources on the Alcoholics Anonymous website, or call this National Helpline for Substance Abuse and Mental Health. 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

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Step 7: Humbly asked [God] to remove our shortcomings

My prayers sound super holy. My out loud, in-front-of-others prayer, that is. And by holy, I mostly mean sincere and humble with all sorts of Christian-y words. My by-myself prayers? Much less impressive, and depending on the day, far more swearing than I'd like to admit.

I remember sitting in community group one time (that's our church's word for Bible Study) and we were individually out-loud praying for the person to our right in front of the whole group. There were probably eight people in the room that evening. I was praying for a friend in medical school who was struggling with the rotation he was on at the time (read: the specific field he was learning about in action in a hospital), and I started with my customary deep breath and casual "Hey Jesus," because we're old pals, me and that guy.

I started in with a series of effusive thank you's before laying my request before the Lord, as I was taught. I then proceeded to wax rhapsodic about the wonders and beauty of the human body and prayed for my friend to be filled with awe at the... and I completely lost my train of thought. Not only that, I started thinking back to the words I had been saying and thinking, "Wow I sound mad pretentious," so any hope I had of continuing had been drowned by self-conscious incredulity. I stumbled through the rest of the prayer, tacking on a "in Jesus' name" to cover my bases, and the next person in the circle mercifully took over.

I would like to think that out-loud prayers are a good practice and that mine might even be earnest. But how much of it is me trying to game the system, thinking that the exact right phrasing is all that is keeping me from getting God to bend to my will? Do I really believe that the quality of my prayer, the amount of Scripture I reference in said prayer, or the amount of affirmative sounds I get from the people listening is what will wrestle the begrudging "yes" from God's lips? And I wonder, am I praying to sound impressive and clever, or out of a humble desire to draw near to God?

I touched on ideas of control, honesty, and surrender over the last couple of weeks: getting to the point where we can admit the exact nature of our wrongs, then becoming entirely ready to have these defects of character removed. Now we have made it to the action step, and it is maddening for the task-oriented among us.

Step seven states that we humbly ask God to remove our shortcomings.

It's hard for me to think about humbly asking for anything. If I do any humble asking, it is a last resort. I will do absolutely everything I can to figure out and fix on my own before even considering an ask, and even then it is rarely humble. I have always wanted to appear impressive and put together, as if my life depended on it. But I suppose I wouldn't be so interested in these steps if my manhandling, steam-roller method actually worked out well for anybody.

A humble ask means surrendering the timing and the means and the method of the answer. Anne Lamott writes that grace is being all out of good ideas. The humble ask isn't predicated on good behavior or strength of will or having a solid strategy. The humble ask says, "I'm out of good ideas." It requires a great deal of honesty. Luckily, the prior steps serve to increase our honest self-awareness. But it also requires that we be gentle with ourselves. Brennan Manning writes, "...the more fully we accept ourselves, the more successfully we begin to grow. Love is a far better stimulus than threat or pressure."

We can only humbly ask something of someone we trust, someone we know will not hold the favor over our heads or use our vulnerability against us. When it comes to the intimate act of removing shortcomings, I find it difficult to trust anybody that much, even God. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote that building trust is like dropping out bread-crumbs of vulnerability and honesty. If it goes well, then we can continue to drop crumbs until we are certain that the person is trustworthy.

I tend to do the same with God, measuring God's trustworthiness by my standard of whether or not God plays by my rules. Fortunately for me, love is patient, and if God is love, then God is also patient. There is a phrase that is repeated several times throughout the Old Testament that describes God as, "gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." Or, as Richard Rohr describes, "God is humble and never comes if not first invited, but God will find some clever way to get invited."

Just as I drop breadcrumbs of trust for God, God also drops breadcrumbs of faithfulness for me. I think that the humble ask is more about honesty than agenda. Sure, something happens, but it isn't a fear and shame-based obedience. It is a transformative grace and presence, a steadfast love that proclaims over and over that God is faithful and trustworthy. But it's not like the clouds part and God magically makes us perfect with the snap of a metaphysical finger. The humble ask is about saying the out-loud prayer knowing that the answer isn't up to your phrasing or your good ideas. It is finally agreeing to the honest invitation that God has set before us and saying, "Alright, then. Let's do this your way."

If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, check out the resources on the Alcoholics Anonymous website, or call this National Helpline for Substance Abuse and Mental Health. 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

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Step 6: Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

My senior year of college, I suddenly found myself enamored with Coca-Cola, preferably of the Vanilla variety. It was weird because I have never been a sweets person. Sure, I enjoyed dessert, and as a true Southerner, I could down some sweet tea. I found myself drinking multiple sodas per day. I figured it was under control as long as I wasn't buying 12 packs. Then I started buying twelve packs.

I knew that all that sugar couldn't be good for me, but on a certain level I didn't care. I felt I should want to stop drinking soda, but I still craved it. So even as I tried to moderate my habit, I found myself daily giving in, then feeling like a failure. Because while I knew that this was a habit I needed to break, I couldn't get enough of the bubbly, syrupy goodness.

This lasted for over a year. I would go between loving the stuff and feeling content with it, to hating myself for loving it so much. It was just soda, what was the big deal? Plenty of people drink it all the time and they seem fine. I felt like I was under a lot of pressure, what with my senior research project and performance just around the corner. I told myself I could have this one vice. Maybe I would regret it, but that was a problem for future Marebs.

April of the following year, I was in Cambodia. I had gotten dengue fever during the hottest month of the year in a country without the medical resources to which I was accustomed. Basically, I had to take Tylenol to try to break the 104 degree fever and hope I would get better on my own. This isn't just a Cambodia thing; to my knowledge there isn't actually a cure or vaccine for dengue.

I did anything I could to try to cool down, including drinking cold beverages. The only cold beverage I could get was canned Coca Cola. As I was also constantly nauseous, it seemed like a God-send. I forced myself to drink water occasionally, but I basically lived off of Coca Cola for the five days my fever lasted. It seemed like one upside of this miserable disease was getting to drink all of the Coke I wanted and a solid reason to not feel guilty about it.

As soon as my fever abated, so did my taste for Coca Cola. To this day, I cannot drink full sugared soda. For the rest of the mission trip that took me to Cambodia, I would occasionally drink a soda, but it no longer created the same euphoric effect. Suddenly, I was aware that it was too sweet, the flavor artificial, and the experience no longer enjoyable.

Now, I can't even think about Coke without also recalling lying on a child-sized mattress on the floor of our tin-roofed dorm, body aching, unable to cool down, miserable and making everyone around me miserable. If you've ever watched the show House, I think I was only 2% more pleasant than Dr. House during that month.

Step six talks about being "entirely ready" to have our character defects removed. I'm not saying that liking soda is an issue of character or to shame anyone who likes soda. I think I knew, even in the midst of it, that for me it wasn't just about wanting to drink soda. It was like a switch flipped and soda suddenly comforted the place where my anxiety and fear live. That's why it was so hard to kick.

For the purposes of this discussion, let's define a character defect as a habitual response to stress, pain, or fear that is ultimately harmful to us and the people around us. Lying, arrogance, lashing out, isolation, [insert your thing here]. We may know that these things are not especially good for us or our relationships, and yet we still reflexively reach for them when we feel vulnerable. Have you ever, through sheer force of will, tried to get rid of one of these old habits? Were you able to or, like so many New Years Resolutions, did you slowly lapse back into your default?

Perhaps I couldn't initially kick my soda habit because deep down I didn't really want to. I was too enamored by the comfort and familiarity of the habit, and how good it made me feel in the moment. It felt empowering and satisfying to defy what I knew I shouldn't do. When given the choice, I just wanted to experience that indulgent feeling. So until my brain began to associate the experience of drinking soda with something neither positive nor comforting, I was always going to choose the soda.

If we put this into spiritual terms, we know that there are things we do, and can't seem to stop doing, that are harmful to our relationship with God, ourselves, others, and creation. Personally, I have this idea that, because I am a Christian, I shouldn't experience this tension anymore. After all, Paul writes, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!" (2 Corinthians 5:17). I feel like I must be missing something. I should be a new creation, and yet I find myself falling back on my same old comfortable habits.

I think that becoming "entirely ready" is a process. Just feeling the desire to put aside unhealthy patterns in part of that process. In his book Bold Love, Dr. Dan Allender describes this gradual growth thus:

"The believer has been grafted into the vine, and over time, she will have the capacity to bear fruit... This implies a process--a development from the day of attachment to the vine to the day that her roots are embedded in the vine, then to the day that her branch buds, and finally to the day she offers fruit to the tender Gardener who grafted her to the vine."

I don't think that we can guilt ourselves into better behavior, especially when it comes to our most deeply ingrained and harmful habits. I think there comes a moment when, though we have been fighting for better habits and failing, we reach a sort of rock bottom, a moment when the behavior is no longer associated with anything positive, or the supposed positive no longer outweighs the negative. We move from shaming "should" thoughts and into the reality of true, deep conviction. And we understand, maybe for the first time, what it is to be entirely ready. It's that moment when we stand at the crossroads and we decide to turn the other way.

If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, check out the resources on the Alcoholics Anonymous website, or call this National Helpline for Substance Abuse and Mental Health. 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

What do you think?

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