Some of the people I know and love are alcoholics. They struggle, yes—but they also know a truth that many of us forget: we cannot make it ahead on our own. Alcoholics Anonymous becomes for them more than a time or place; it is a circle of honesty, accountability, and grace.
You know the rhythm: a dimly lit room, coffee in a styrofoam cup, someone begins, “Hi, my name is Keith, I’m an alcoholic.” And the room responds, “Hi, Keith.”
Then comes the story—the ache and the hope, spoken aloud and received by others who carry their own wounds.
One recovering addict once said, “The hardest part is coming back the second time.” Read More

The silver-gray VW SUV stopped at the light on Highway 20 just in front of me. On the back of the car was a sticker with the words “Little explorer on board ” in cursive letters. As the father-in-law and grandfather of two firefighters, I know the sticker intends to alert first responders that a child is more than likely in the vehicle.

