Art and miracles

Today a (male) friend and I walked around a huge art exhibit that is in our town for a couple weeks. It was an exhibit I was going to take my lover to. I saw a lot of fascinating sculptures and paintings, but I had to keep fighting this insistent voice that was whispering to me, "She could have been here, she could have been here, she could have been here." I went to a 12-step meeting this morning and I'll probably do a phone meeting tonight, but I just feel overwhelmed with guilt, shame and loneliness.

We went looking for one particular sculpture because the Romanian sculptor is a friend of the guy I was with. The sculpture is 10 huge gold-colored obelisks in a circle, sort of a Stonehenge feel. I'll try to get a picture of it to add here. From the outside, the obelisks have a very sharp edge facing out. But when you step inside the circle, the inside of the obelisks is rounded, with a bump at the bottom that you actually can sit on. And from the inside you notice that the obelisks curl inward at the top, and that each obelisk has several sections. I realized that they are fingers! The 10 fingers of God! It felt very safe in there, like we were being held in God's hands. And a lot of other people felt that, too; I could hear them talking and see it on their faces.

Then my friend went to introduce himself to the artist, Liviu Mocan, and they spoke about their mutual friend. The sculptor then asked if we wanted an explanation of the work, which is titled Invitation/Decalogue and has been on tour around the world.

Sure enough, he said, it is the 10 fingers of God, holding us in his love. But the obelisks also are the Ten Commandments, and the sharp edges are the swords of God's judgment. The spaces between the obelisks represent our choices: We can walk inside God's love, but we also can walk away from it into judgment.

"God doesn't just love us," Mocan said. "He punishes us when we don't follow his laws."

The sculptor was making eye contact with me as he said this. I felt so convicted. I have broken God's laws repeatedly, and I certainly feel like I am being punished.

But truthfully, I don't really believe in a vengeful God. Instead, I believe I am suffering the consequences of my actions. It's not punishment, it's the result of my acting out. And in a way it is exactly what I deserve. But in another way I don't deserve it, because I have a disease. One thing I know for sure: My lover doesn't deserve the pain she is feeling now. And that pain is because of me.

I felt sick to my stomach. I thought maybe I was going to throw up, from guilt and grief.

The last two days I have felt worse, rather than better. I think it's because the reality is sinking in. Yesterday through my tears I realized that this is the worst I have felt since a foster daughter who had lived with us for a year and a half was basically ripped out of the arms of me and my ex-wife and adopted by someone else. I loved my foster daughter so much, and I thought I'd never see her again. I wanted to die. I actually considered it. But I hung on. I started going to church, and eventually "got saved." Whether you believe in that or not, I guarantee you that the experience is powerful and healing. And lo and behold, a miracle happened. The adoption failed, and we got her back! And adopted her! Praise God.

So there is something to hang onto. I've been blessed with one miracle, maybe I can be blessed with another. Maybe I'll establish long-term sobriety -- no, lifelong sobriety, like Bill W of AA was able to do. Maybe my lover will see her way to forgive me, and we'll get back together. Is it too selfish of me to want a second miracle? Probably. But I am in control of half of that miracle: lifelong sobriety. With God's help, I can make that miracle happen. Her forgiveness? That's totally out of my control. Her forgiveness is up to her and her higher power as she has come to understand it.

So I have to do my part. "Keep your own side of the street clean," they say in 12-step, "and good things will happen." Part of what I have to do is work the program as hard as I can. Another thing I have to do is be patient. Wait. Waiting worked before -- I got my daughter back. What a tragedy it would have been if I had committed suicide and then the adoption had failed and she wouldn't have had me to come back to! I would have ruined the miracle.

So as bad as I feel right now, I have to work and wait. Work the program, and wait to see how the future turns out with my lover. (Or without her.). Get sober, be sober, stay sober. That's my half of the miracle.

Hope