We Do, You Will Recover

Early morning dew covers the windows, a sure sign of high humidity outside. My heart is heavy with mourning the news of devastation from coastal Texas. Rockport and Port A are destroyed, while 85 percent of Houston is underwater.
Hurricane Harvey is one of America’s greatest natural disasters and probably the most horrific to ever hit Texas.

The images are heartbreaking. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn to the news, to friends’ reports, even to the detriment of my heart. There’s no survivor’s guilt; we’re too far away for that. But for the first time since I’ve lived in this Big Red state, I feel a sense of pride as I watch my fellow Texans reach out and down and over to lift a neighbor or a stranger.

One of the photos I saw last week on Facebook was the entrance to River Oaks, one of, if not, THE, most affluent neighborhoods in Houston. Water was at least halfway up the massive stone entry, proving that natural disasters, like addiction, have no respect for how much money, property or prestige a person holds.

That’s why the outstretched hands I see of National Guardsman, rescue workers, regular people, means so much to my aching heart. They are hands of hope, not really so different from the hands of recovery. In each case, we must surrender to a power greater than ourselves, as well as to the helplessness we feel in whatever our current situation.

I suppose the thousands–tens of thousands, in all likelihood–displaced by Massive Storm Harvey will similarly feel all the disaster-related feelings of early sobriety, like anger, grief and intense sadness. I am so very sorry they must go through the gut-wrenching pain that comes with substantial loss.

And yet, they go on. Somehow, they live day-by-day. Thank God for the faith that so many have. They’ll need each other and will no doubt lean on the kindness and generosity of strangers.

As with early recovery, each 24-hour period is made easier when we choose to not go it alone. Talking, sharing our feelings and fears with others who know exactly what is on our hearts and minds builds a healing bridge, a bond that can last for a long time.

I hope and pray that folks in South Texas–Port Lavaca, Port Aransas, Rockport, Lagrange, Corpus Christi, Galveston, and Houston–will feel the love that their fellow Texans are sending their way. I know that my Dallas-area family is stretching it’s collective reach with money and time and heartfelt love.

Brothers and sisters to the south, know that our minds see you as healing from this unfathomable tragedy. We’re here for you, no matter how long it takes. Let us know what you need and it’s yours. Consider us your recovery sponsors, through the ups and downs of this early recovery road.

May God bless you and keep you warm and soothed–and dry.

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