Walking on Vodka

“Miracles were all fine and good way back when,” said the man just holding on, “but as for my life it’s all pretty ordinary, at best.” I understood, but disagreed. Remembering when he first came into the rooms of AA - the glossy eyes and puffy face, vivid stories of excessive drinking and heartbreaking dishonesty, and his fingernail-scratching climb out of the depths – I have often looked across the room and marveled at how, with God’s help, this man is becoming a new creation. On this particular morning, he couldn’t see it.

Fog is like that. When it drifts in, it blinds us to the grace-full landscapes of our lives and we begin to doubt the wonder that surrounds us. When pressure at work squeezes tight, a child stumbles, or the world's ills overwhelm, it’s easy to get lost in the fog and, like my friend, see only the ordinary.

Thanksgiving is a time to push the fog aside. It’s been said we can live as if there are no miracles, or as if everything is a miracle. Perhaps the reality lies somewhere between the two, but as my friend bemoaned the fact he was incapable of walking on water, I celebrated his walking on vodka.