Callouses Wanted ...?

I have been spending some time practicing guitar at home to build up some callouses after not playing for about 18 years or so. Generally I have been able to play for a maximum of 20 minutes at a time in the last week or so, about one to two days apart. 

They were building up a little, but they were still hurting after practicing.  

Then tonight I was at someone's home and since I could play guitar and nobody else showed up who wanted to play one, my host handed me a guitar to play.  I ended up playing for about an hour.  OUCH.  I enjoyed playing with a group, but wasn't counting on the extra punishment to my fingertips!

Callouses are necessary to be able to play guitar for any period of time exceeding five minutes.  Developing them hurts.  But the body does build up extra layers of skin to compensate for the punishment and playing is easier with them there.

So callouses are wanted - on the fingertips. For guitar players that is.

Callouses on the outside are fine.  It's when there are callouses on the inside that I get very concerned.  When another's suffering doesn't touch me, when I could "care less" - those are the things to alert me that I am building a callous on my spirit.

We're humans.  We're not Vulcans.

Deciding that we are going to expunge negative emotions from our lives - at whatever age that happens - has the negative side-effect of numbing us to the pleasant emotions such as joy, love, tenderness, and peace.  This happens when we allow ourselves to be hurt but we deny that we are being hurt.  It happens when we keep getting into situations that are bad for us, and numbing ourselves to the pain by telling ourselves that we don't feel angry, or sad, or whatever. Before we know it... we are living in a stoic fog.

Emotions - I am so fond of saying this that I'm sure you must get tired of it - are NOT BAD.  They are emotions. They were designed to alert us to our inner life.  They are valuable.

I reiterate.  Emotions are not the enemy; they are a part of our human nature which was put there by God when He made us in His image!  He has emotions - and He gave us the capacity to have them too...because He loves us!  They have a purpose!


Stoicism is not to be desired.  Emotions were created to alert us that something is wrong, to enjoy the moment, and to motivate us to do great things: right wrongs, meet needs, go the extra mile.

When our emotions get us into trouble is when we: 
1) hold onto them (prolong them more than the moment requires),
2) deny that we are having them (suppress them) or
3) tell ourselves that we are really feeling the opposite of what we are feeling.  Some people call this "speaking in faith."  I just call it "lying."  

I know because I spent a lot of years in denial of what I was truly feeling.  It ate at me like a cancer and caused me to live in a spiritual straitjacket, not trusting my own feelings.  These days, I still do deny my feelings sometimes, but not nearly as often as I used to.  

And you know what?  When I admit what I am feeling and let my emotions alert me to what is going on in my inner life, that kind of honesty refreshes my spirit.  I don't hang onto things, nurse grudges like I once did.  And I can forgive stuff that people do to me just a LEEEtle bit more quickly.  If I were doing this all on my own I could boast, I suppose.  But God is the One who has given this to me in this journey ... and it is He who gets the credit. 

It's Okay to Rest

Sometimes the frantic pace and the enormity of the steps I've been taking in the last two years to be free of those things that bind me to the pretense of life, weigh upon me and I become weary.

Tonight I told a friend that there was a verse I clung to in early recovery and - truth be told - still cling to, because my journey is far from over.  It's Psalm 139:3 which I discovered in the New Living Translation, a prayer King David prayed to God.  "You chart the path ahead of me, and tell me where to stop and rest.  Every moment You know where I am."  What a comfort and a relief it is to know that resting is allowed when I just can't take another step!  

Everything needs rest.  The rests give meaning to music, to art, to life.  They rejuvenate, allow for healing and reflection to take place.  In the physical world, rest allows the body to repair itself.  It's okay to rest.  It's okay to take time aside to allow the world to stop spinning - even if only for us - and allow us to breathe.

The journey I've been on is like that of so many others, and in the resting times I can remind myself that I'm worth it, that my relationship with God and with myself is worth taking the time to cultivate, nurture, care for.  I dig out a list of affirmations that I say to myself sometimes, and remind myself that who I am today is not who I was two years ago, and who I will be in two years will not be who I am today. 


Like the ugly duckling in Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale, I am becoming who and what I was meant to be, often without realizing it.  Every now and again I get an inkling - but it makes me so grateful to know that God is not finished with me yet - not by a long shot.  

There are times that I feel ostracized and stuck in the ice like that young cygnet (baby swan) who all his life thought he was a duck.  There are so many parallels there that I can't begin to name them.  But even in his exile, he was becoming.  As he was trapped, he was becoming.  And when the ice receded, he had become without knowing it.  That is the miracle. It happens without me even being aware that it has... or without me pulling myself up by the tail feathers to see what's happening.  God ALWAYS finishes what He starts.

I can rest in that, too.

Learning to let go

I always wanted a horse when I was growing up.  My parents couldn't afford one.

So I hung around horsey places, I hung around horsey people just in case one of them might let me ride.  I put up with a lot of mistreatment at the hands of these people just to be near the horses.

Once I was at the barn / pasture where this one girl was boarding her horse.  She decided to give her mare a bath; it was a hot summer day and the bath would cool her horse off and give us something to do.  So we did - we washed and rinsed the giant beast, and we towel dried her as much as possible.  Then this girl suggested that I get on the horse - bareback, no bridle - and she would lead her around the pasture. 

I should have known what was coming.  We got to the far end of the field from the barn, and this girl let go of the animal's lead and just slapped her rump.  Princess took off trotting toward the barn.  I wasn't a very good rider and my legs flopped all over the place as I tried to "keep my seat."  My companion laughed at me. (WHOLE other post!) And then I did something - perhaps a leg slipped back toward the hind quarters, and Princess took the proper suggestion she thought was coming from me - and broke into a canter.  That's right.  She started to run.

I had absolutely no control.  Inside I was panicking, because she was headed straight for the fence.  Forgotten was any decorum or trying to "look good" or "do things right".  I was afraid for my life! 

My fantasy ride had turned into a nightmare.  I had to get off. That was the one thought in my mind.  Somehow, I still don't know how, I managed to kick one leg over her neck so that I was riding sideways on her back - my plan was to launch myself from her back, far enough to land clear of her pounding hooves.  And that's what I did, landing like a sack of potatoes on the ground, ripping my pants in the process!

The girl caught up with me, laughing her fool head off.  She gasped through the paroxysms of laughter that she didn't know why I got off; I was riding with the most perfectly balanced seat she had ever seen me ride with.  I was just glad to be alive.  Later though, I thought that perhaps the reason I had done so well was because I wasn't concentrating on having my hands here, my heels down, my calves in perfect alignment with and parallel to my spine, and my shoulders square.  My mind was completely otherwise occupied.  Granted, I was in survival mode!  But the point was that I had let go of my need to control the situation and was just focusing on the need of the moment.

I'm also told (though I have a hard time believing it because of my fear of the water) that the same thing happens when learning to swim.  I heard one fellow say just tonight that the point at which one can learn to swim is the point at which one can trust him or herself to the water.  The phrase he used was "let the water be the water."  That stuck in my mind. 

Let things be what they are.  Let God be who He is.  Let people be who they are.  Let myself be the me I am at the time, whether the reality is that I am sad, angry, joyous, or any number of different "MEs" that I can be.

It's not wrong to do that. It's not wrong to stand up for myself when a boundary is being crossed.  It's not wrong to feel angry when I am wronged.  It's not wrong to feel sad when I experience loss or loneliness. If I let go and let whatever it is happen, and just concentrate on the need of the moment without wondering where I'm going or where I've been, or whether I'll make it or not, or whether someone else will wreck everything, things do go better.  I find a balance I never knew I had, and when I look back at it afterward, I realize that this balance was actually God doing for me what I could not do for myself. Or perhaps it was Him making me aware that there was something that needed attention in my life. 

It's a scary place to be, this living in the moment, this letting go and letting God be God (just like letting the water be the water or forgetting what I'm "supposed" to be doing).  I don't always get it right.  Sometimes I forget and slip back into the old way of doing things and I've learned to trust that gut feeling of something not being right...and checking to see where I am spiritually. 

It doesn't feel safe somehow, giving up control of my life to God and letting Him run things.  But it feels right.

Powerless Alone

It's an awesome view.  It's a daunting climb.

Anyone who has ever been within two miles of a mountain can appreciate the awesome grandeur of nature, and the overwhelming task it would be to reach the summit.

Especially alone:  it would be impossible for one person, alone, to reach the top unaided.

Yet we try every day to live our lives unaided.  It might succeed for a time, but there comes a time when we are faced with a rock cliff that is impassable.  Without help it is too much for us.

We need a guide.  We need someone who has traveled this path before and can help us, not only through the difficult parts but also through the easy parts when sometimes, we are tempted to take back control of our journey.  How often we've taken an easier, softer way only to find that we end up in an impossible situation from which there seems to be no escape! From that point we must then retrace our steps back to the place where we grabbed the map.  

That's why God extends His offer for us to believe that not only CAN He take us through, but that He WILL (i.e., He wants to.)  How much better it is if we just let Him take the lead, trust that He'll show us the right way, trust that He will make the changes we have tried (and failed miserably) to make in our lives - just by virtue of our growing realization of His presence in us, transforming us from the inside out! 
 
He's very flexible.  He knows us better than we know ourselves and He will stay with us right to the end.  He finishes what He starts, perseveres even when we give up.  

And He's been there.  And back.  His invitation is still open.

Journey - not Destination

One of the most amazing trips I ever took was with my brand-new husband back in the summer of 1981.  We took three weeks and toured all over the Maritimes, even spent a week in the States.  We started with the Cabot Trail, toured the south shore of Nova Scotia, headed up through the Valley and up to Digby, crossed on the ferry to Saint John, visited with a couple of people there for a day, went to the summer camp where we first became a couple, stayed in that town for a week, then headed up to Houlton Me, crossed at Woodstock and took in King's Landing near Fredericton, traveled down to my home town (Sackville NB) and visited with my mom and dad overnight before heading to PEI to live.

I think it was the only time in my life up until that point, that I enjoyed the journey instead of asking, "Are we there yet?"  I loved the person I was with, enjoyed even the silences.  We stopped along the way to take in all the marvels of the scenery around us.  I still have the yellowed photos from those days.  (Bonus: it only rained 3 days out of those 3 weeks!!)

Most of the time I want to "skip to the end."  

I get impatient.  I want things to be the way they're "supposed" to be in the final product without being willing to go through the process it takes to get there.  

There is power in the process.  There is value in the journey.  Without it, how can I remember how I got from A to B, much less describe it to someone else who might need to get there?

True in traveling; true in life.

There is a promise that, the first time I heard it, I was confused by.  "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it."  Well.  There were lots of things in my past that I regretted.  You might be surprised at some of those things.  And the things I regret have changed over time.  When I was younger (say, 10 years younger), I regretted my rebellious youth. I could see no useful purpose that it served.  As my children grew into those years, I started to see the value in them.  I found that I could relate to their own confusion, to their feelings that parents are the dumbest animals on the planet.  

Up until about a year and a half ago, I regretted my growing up years. I was full of shame.  I wished that I had been brought up differently, that certain things had never happened to me.  Part of me still does regret it, still does wish I didn't have to go through the things that to this day occasionally haunt my dreams (although they don't nearly as much as they once did!)  The memories were painful; I didn't want to go there, and I wished it would all go away.  But I had started a journey of healing.  And soon I realized that God had brought me to this - allowed me to go through even the 'bad' stuff - for a very special and unique purpose.

I remember a message I heard once about "Moses' rod" - and I think that this bears repeating.  The very symbol of Moses' old life, of the failure he experienced in trying to deliver his people on his own and running away - only to become a shepherd on the back side of the desert for 40 years - was the very thing that God used to not only convince Moses that his life had purpose, but also earn him a hearing with the man who held his people captive. When God asked Moses to throw down his rod on the ground - and it became a snake - Moses was getting rid of all the baggage that accompanied what that rod represented to him: loss, failure, limits, guilt, and shame.  After he picked up the snake and it became a rod in his hand again, ever afterward Moses referred to that shepherd's staff as "the rod of God." God had become his shepherd; the rod was a constant reminder that God can use and transform anything or anyone.  

Even failures.


Today, I'm learning not to regret the past, not to want to shut the door on it.  Not so that I can return there myself, but so that I can see others suffering in that place and show them that there is a way out.  And along the way, I can truly enjoy the journey and trust that my Shepherd is by my side.

Run for the Rose

It was June 1973.  Triple Crown fever had edged north because finally, a race horse named Secretariat had a chance at winning the third jewel of the Crown: the Belmont Stakes.

He'd won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes by two and a half lengths each, breaking the track record for each race track.  Spirits were high as he entered the Belmont on June 9, 1973.

I remember watching the pre-race activities on TV with my dad.  Excitement was building.  As the great chestnut horse was warming up you could hear the noise level of the crowd increase.  He was up against only four other horses that day.

From the opening bell he knew what he was going to do - what he had done in the previous two races - take each quarter-mile faster than the last. But nobody expected what came that day - something that has not been equaled since.  The announcers were amazed, excited, and dumbstruck all at once!

Join the excitement of that race:




The announcers estimated a 25-length lead at the time of the race - which was in itself a never-before-seen lead.  But race analysts afterward calculated that Secretariat held a 31-length lead over Sham and the other horses racing that day.

When the lead started to open up on the back stretch, I remember leaning forward in my seat.  Finally I jumped to my feet as the camera panned back further and further to be able to keep all the horses in the viewfinder.  Even at my tender age of 12 years I knew I was watching history in the making!  I wanted to jump up and down and scream!

What a tremendous victory!  There was no question of who won that day, no photo finish to ponder over.  Secretariat had emerged the clear winner and earned his spot in the annals of history... just watching the race footage brings back the thrill of that day. 

It kind of reminds me (in small measure) of the victory Jesus won over sin, death, and hell - a perfect trifectate if there ever was one!  He emerged from the tomb, the Victor, from the dark domain.  He conquered the enemy of our souls and He invites us to join in the celebration!

If that's not something to jump up and down about - I don't know what is!

Loving God, Loving Each Other

There's an old Gaither song that goes, "Loving God, loving each other, making music with my friends...loving God, loving each other, and the story never ends."

If I had to choose a social activity I enjoy the most, it's jamming.  I come from a musical family.  We sang with each other all the time.  Everyone in my family could play the guitar and sing.  Mom could even play the piano - took lessons at one point enough so that she could play hymns if need be.  I took lessons too - but only for a short time.  (Long story, not gonna go there today.)

I started playing the guitar when I was 10, more to have something to share with my brothers than anything else. Dad had an old Barrington guitar with the strings about 1/4 inch from the fret board (OWCH!) and he said that if I was serious about learning, I could learn on that.  Deep breath.  "Okay."  And I was stubborn enough to want to "show him" - and I did.  But whenever I could I used to play my brother's guitar when he was out.  Then I'd put it back before he got back.  Usually that worked. 

I won't go into a big long history but the times I spent jamming with family and friends, whether for church or just family gatherings, were some of the best memories I had growing up.  It was the one time nobody was angry with anyone else.  That carried through to my times of ministry after I got married and moved away.

Once in music ministry the "jamming" times got reduced to "worship team practice."  I do love to worship God and I enjoy being in ministry... but I'll be honest here.  Often times I could easily go home before the service because my soul is so nourished by the music practice alone.  What starts out as a technical practice turns into worship all by itself - and I do feel gypped when it doesn't happen. Music is an effective vehicle to reach the heart, and the heart must be involved for true worship to happen.  I especially love it when the Spirit moves us and everything flows as if we'd done this all our lives.  That happens in services too - which is mostly why I stick around, I guess.  You never know when God is going to show up.  It's really cool when He does!

But sometimes things can get into a routine, you know?  So when someone suggested to hubby and me recently that we go over to his house for a jamming session with some of our mutual friends - we hesitated (well, because we're introverts) but then said, "Sure!"  

We had such a blast! We brought the heavy keyboard to the basement from where it sat in the living room; the sound system was set up down there for the instruments, etc. It was great to get together and play and sing together, we must have been at it for over 2 hours.  Wow.  It sure didn't seem like that long.

And something else happened during that time too.  Something that often isn't on my radar. 

Fellowship.

Oh I am NOT talking about what PASSES for fellowship (you know, small talk over a pot cluck - er - pot luck).  This was a communing of spirits united in worship of God.  At the end of the evening we had grins all over our faces, happily winding up cords and putting the keyboard back where it belonged, talking amongst ourselves.  One person told us that she had been involved in music for a long time but that this was the first time she had ever just "jammed" with a bunch of other musicians / singers.  "It's so much FUN!" she giggled.  

Knowing chuckles came from around the room.  We weren't laughing AT her; we were remembering when that same realization dawned upon each of us.  After the evening's activities, we all felt strengthened, uplifted - yet each of us was surprised by it, amazed by it, and determined to get together again.   

No wonder.  

We'd dipped into the pool of inner strength called "the joy of the Lord."  And it's only found in His presence.  He said, "Wherever two or three of you are gathered in My name, there am I in the midst."  The same thing happens when we just sit and share with each other the great things God is doing in our lives, without judging, without trying to fix the other person, just being grateful for what God is doing.

Whether we can sing or play an instrument or not, enjoying God's presence is what we were hard-wired to do. It's what He planned all along. 

And He loves it when a plan comes together.

Thanks, Skip, Ralph, and God!

The year was 1997 I think.  My husband and I had declared bankruptcy; the trustee had disallowed the rental we were paying to own a computer.  It, the printer, and the fax machine were confiscated.  Our home business was essentially cut off at the knees. 


God was faithful to me during that time, as He always was.  (See my posts from last summer/fall regarding bankruptcy - just search on my search bar at the top left of the page).

I was always in the habit of writing letters to people; I still love to do that.  In the letters I would share what God was teaching me at the time.  Writing is very cathartic for me.  (Perhaps you've noticed - grin.)

Anyway, I called my mom up one day in 1997 and she said, "Oh Skip's here.  He wants to talk to you."  

So I said sure... and during our conversation he said, "You know, we've all been talking about you."  (I thought - oh great, now they talk about me behind my back!!) He continued.  "We all agree that you should write a book."

I was flabbergasted.  A book?  The objections started pouring out of me.  "But Skip, I don't even have a computer!  how can I write a BOOK?"

He was nonplussed.  "We all believe you can write a book.  You have a real talent for writing.  And someday you might have a computer again.  I bet you could at least write an outline down, save it somewhere and then write a book when you get a computer again."  I was still not convinced.  "Well, at least pray about it," he said.  "I really think you have it in you." We finished our conversation and he passed the phone back to Mom.  I don't remember what else we talked about; I was still reeling.


After I hung up, I told my hubby about Skip's suggestion.  He believed that I could write too, but he was so discouraged by the bankruptcy that he hesitated to advise me.  Finally he said, "Well, it can't hurt to pray about it.  If it's God's will, He'll find a way to make it happen."  So that's what I did.  I laid the situation out before Him (as if He didn't already know) and said that in order to write a book I needed a computer.  I couldn't afford one; at the time  they were running about $2,000 apiece for a 386 computer and if I were to get a used one, it would cost me at least $500 or more, money I certainly didn't have!!  I left the whole thing in God's hands, and within two days I had an outline for a book, and put it aside.  And then ... I just forgot about it. I had a lot on my plate at that time - small children, a tight budget, and no credit.  I was in survival mode.  

Two weeks later Ralph, hubby's brother-in-law, came to visit unexpectedly.  We didn't know what he did exactly ... except that he worked for Unisys and he was on PEI on business writing a software package for some company.  I never mentioned Skip's suggestion to him.  He started talking about his work - email - software.  Hubby and I exchanged looks.  

Suddenly Ralph caught on to the fact that we didn't have a computer.  He shook his head in disbelief.  "I can fix that for you no problem," he said.  "The place I work is throwing out old computers all the time.  I can put together some components and build you a computer from stuff they are going to send to the junk pile!"  We made some noises about him not needing to do that, that we had no money with which to reimburse him.  He insisted and refused to charge us anything; we thanked him profusely.

A week later, we got this huge box in the mail.  In it was a 286 computer, loaded with Dos 6.1, Windows 95, and Microsoft Word.  We had never mentioned that we would need a word processing software.  He just loaded it on for us.

Okay, God.  I get it.

For the next five or six months I sat at that computer and wrote and cried. And wrote and cried. I put down all the stuff that had happened to us since we got married, and spoke of the faithfulness of God through it all, even through my dad's death and the bankruptcy.  

Reading it through one day after it was done, I realized I could never publish this book as it was.  It had turned out to be laced with baggage from my past, baggage I didn't know how to deal with, couldn't BEGIN to deal with at the time.  It was almost a tell-all book, like "Mommie Dearest" by Christine Crawford, daughter of Joan Crawford.  Ugh.  Poison dripped from its pages.  

I shuddered.  No.  This book ... though I would not delete it and might someday rework it - or rewrite it without the poison, would not be submitted to a publisher.  

Fast forward twelve years, to February 2009.  Finally I was in recovery through trying to help someone else with his problem - and I found myself dealing with these self-same issues, this baggage I had looked at in 1997 and not been able to face.

I was facing it now.  Part of my recovery was writing.  So I decided to write down my thoughts and my journey and keep it in a binder, so that once I got to the other side and started seeing some hope, I wouldn't forget how I got from A to B - and might (someday) help someone else get out of his or her miry clay of hopelessness.

It took several months of what you might call reconstructive spiritual surgery before I reached that point I had not even dared dream possible.  As I came through and started to see some successes, I realized that THIS was something to write about and maybe help others to recover as well.

A book started to take shape, and I called it (what else?) "Get Unwrapped!".  It took me about six months to write.

When it was done almost a year ago, I asked someone to take a look at the first complete draft of my book, as sort of a "human trial" so to speak. 

It's not like a novel; it's more like a manual for recovery, So it takes a while to go through, even though it is not very long.  So far, the feedback has been positive.  I did another " field trial" with two more people, and the reactions I've gotten have also been quite positive.

On June 7, 2010, Skip passed away. 

I started this blog the next day with a tribute to him.  I said that he always wanted me to write.  

But I guess this is the "rest of the story."  I believe Skip now knows about this book and that he is thrilled for me.  He is part of that great cloud of witnesses cheering us all on - but I think he cheers for me too.

So right now I am in the final stages of getting my book ready for publishing.  

Since I'm not one for jumping through hoops and such, and I like to retain as much control over my work as I can, the option of e-publishing has always been an option for me.  E-books are so cool.  They're cheaper than paper books and they take up less space.  Plus you don't get those awkward cramps in the back of your hand from holding a book open with one hand.  They never run out of stock, and can be downloaded and read on the computer, or on an e-book reader like Nook or Kindle.  

Consider my book the seed idea for this blog: a how-to manual for recovery from a lifestyle of rigidity, perfectionism, excessive care-taking, and misery, and deliverance into a whole new world of grace, freedom, happiness, and peace.
 
And when the book itself is completely ready, uploaded, and online for purchase, you can bet that I will be so pumped about it that you, my faithful readers, will be among the first to know! 

Easing back in

Okay so I've been thinking about this for a long time.  I've missed playing my guitars for so many years, complained about it, blamed this person, that person, busy-ness, the loss of my callouses, and/or my having to spend so much time at work, for keeping me from it. Lately it's been a more legitimate reason: my right shoulder made it painful for me to get my right arm out and around the acoustic guitar.  Funny how when I didn't MAKE the time to play the acoustic guitar, I was really making excuses for not playing it because I just got out of the habit.  But when I wasn't ABLE to play it anymore... suddenly I wanted to.

So a couple of days ago, I finally decided that enough was enough.  I needed a guitar body that was thin enough for me to get my arm around the front without hurting my shoulder, and where the strings kissed the frets to make the callous-building process as painless as possible and still allow me to get a decent sound out of the thing.  

Enter my friend who's pictured above.  She came home with a second-hand amplifier and cord - and I set her up and tuned her right away.  

Yes - it felt good to play again! 

I name stuff from guitars to cars to plants.  I'm kind of funny that way; each seems to have its own personality or symbolism for me.  This one was dubbed Penelope after my grade six teacher (see one of yesterday's posts) who was gentle, and who helped develop my writing talents.

My getting this guitar for myself is one sign that I'm giving myself permission to look after me, to look after my spirit.  

It will be a few weeks before my callouses will have built up enough for me to be able to play in front of people.  But I'm enjoying our time as we worship God together and get to know one another at the same time.  

My Story - my thanks!

The interchange went something like this today:

"It's really weird.  The more I tell my story, the more I find I am helping others who are suffering like I was, to come into their own freedom, and the better and more solid I am in my recovery.  I can talk about my past without becoming angry and upset, and God has given me a compassion for those who injured me in the past, and a burning desire to help those who are still living in suffering and denial."

He smiled.  "Telling one's story is a truly powerful thing."

We went on to talk about how after a certain time, one who is being healed of so many things in his or her inner life comes to the point where going back to the pre-recovery lifestyle is repulsive.  

I believe one book says this about that: "For by this time sanity will have returned. ... if tempted (to go back to the old lifestyle) we recoil from it as from a hot flame.  We react sanely and normally, and we will find that this new attitude has been given to us without any thought or effort on our part. It just comes! That is the miracle of it. We are not fighting it, neither are we avoiding temptation.  We feel as though we had been placed in a position of neutrality, safe and protected.  We have not even sworn off.  Instead, the problem has been removed.  It does not exist for us.  We are neither cocky, nor are we afraid.  That is how we react as long as we keep in fit spiritual condition. ... We are not cured... What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition."

I shook my head.  "It really is repulsive to me now, the life I once thought was so righteous, so 'Christian.'  I wasn't real at all; I hid inside my rules and regulations, isolated myself from the very people who (like me) were in desperate need of God's touch on their lives.  And the whole time I deluded myself into believing that being "right" was better than being happy, being free.  Now that I'm free ... I don't need to be right, to win every argument any more. God is opening more doors than I ever thought possible.  My family, my marriage is restored.  I'm way more accepting of people, and I have more of a sense of where they start and I stop, and vice versa.  I'm ... happy, for what feels like the first time in my life."

He nodded - his eyes sparkling with ... were those tears?

"What a difference this last 2 years has made in my life," I continued.  "And you've been a part of that healing, and I am so grateful."

And I am.