Turn the Penny Over and It Says In Higher Power We Trust — That’s the Entire Third Step – Tim T.

All right, Tim T's here. He's from Cleveland. Everybody claps. Haven't done anything yet. Right now, I want to thank the people who have done something and ask the committee to push this thing together. It gives us an opportunity to be somewhere tonight to share our experience, strength, and hope with each other. Let's give them a round of applause. Thank you. Now, you know, I'm pretty sure what I'm going to say up here tonight. I'm not pretty sure what you're going to hear. And there's a story I like to tell, and it's a story about a state trooper. And that state trooper is sitting on the side of the road. He's just doing what state troopers do. So he's sitting there, and here comes this boy in a pickup truck, drives by. And the back of that pickup truck is full of penguins. And he knows there's something wrong with that. So he pulled that boy over. He says, son, where are you going with all those penguins? And the back of that pickup truck says, I'm going to the back of that pickup truck. And he says, son, where are you going with all those penguins? And the back of that pickup truck says, I'm going to the back of that pickup truck. He says, well, officer, we're not going anywhere. We're just out for a ride. He says, well, son, you can't take penguins for a ride. You take those penguins to the zoo. And he says, yes, sir. The next day, that trooper, he's in the same spot. Here comes that boy, pickup truck still full of penguins. But on that day, all those penguins are wearing sunglasses. So he pulled them over again. And he says, son, I thought I told you to take those penguins to the zoo. And he said, well, yes, sir, I did. And today we're going to the beach. My name's Tim Towsley. I'm an alcoholic. And I did not want to be an alcoholic. My daddy was an alcoholic. He was a member of this fellowship. He got sober in 1946. He passed away in 1980. And he had 10 years of continuous sobriety put together at that time in his life. And what that did for me early in my life, it gave me an opportunity to see what an alcoholic was all about. To see what alcoholism was all about. And also to see what Alcoholics Anonymous was all about. I came from a family where I had six stepfathers. I had 13 stepmothers. I went to over 20 schools and I never got out of the eighth grade. I've been married three times and divorced twice. I left home when I was 14 years old. I've had an opportunity in my life to spend time in detention homes, in boys homes, in city jails and county jails, workhouses, psych wards, treatment centers, and penitentiaries. I spent 12 years of my life either on parole, probation, or locked behind bars, or locked behind some kind of door somewhere. And do you know now one of those things I just mentioned are the reasons I came through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous. Those were merely the situations that my disease of alcoholism created in my life. But on June 23rd, 1982, I woke up at the bottom. And it's the bottom they talk about in the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's when you know a loneliness, such as few men know. It's when you're at that jumping off place. You're wishing for the end. You can no longer imagine life with, or life without, alcohol. And that's the bottom. And that's not a high bottom, but that's not a low bottom either. You see, that's my bottom. And that's the only bottom I really ever need to concern myself with in this fellowship, is my bottom. I don't ever want to be in a position, in my sobriety, where I can sit in an audience, I can listen to a speaker speak, and I start thinking things like, you know, maybe I wasn't that bad, huh? Or maybe I was worse. Because as soon as I can sit out there, and I can find a reason to make myself believe I'm different than anybody else that's sitting out there, as soon as I can make myself believe I'm unique in any way from anybody else that's sitting in a room of Alcoholics Anonymous, then I have reservations. And there was an old-timer in Cleveland where I got sober. And he used to tell me all the time, Tim, you know, if you got reservations, son, you must be going somewhere, huh? And I don't want to go anywhere today. I like it here. I had my first drink at 13. I got sick. I blacked out. I passed out. And I woke up in the backyard of a lady's house in Rocky River, Ohio. I had my last drink at 30. And I got sick. And I blacked out. And I passed out. And I woke up in home in bed. And you know, 17 years of use and abuse, really the only difference was where I woke up the next morning. Most of the days were pretty much the same. But I know one thing for sure today. I know God wants me in Alcoholics Anonymous. That lady came out of her back door and she found me in her backyard. She took me in her house. She cleaned me up. She laid me down. She found out who I was. She called my mother. She let my mother know I was okay. Seventeen years later, I walked into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was sober maybe two weeks and I went to a meeting. And that night, that lady was speaking at that meeting. My very first drunk, I found myself in the arms of Alcoholics Anonymous. And she did for me that night what they told her to do at her home group. The night she found me, she was three months sober. She was three months sober. She was three months sober. She was three months sober. And all she knew how to do was help a drunk. And that's what she did that night. And they told her just help a drunk. And they didn't tell her only help the old drunks or the young drunks, the white drunks or the black drunks, the male drunks or the female drunks. They told her to help a drunk, period. And that's what she did that night. You know, I still see that woman at meetings today. She's over 80 years old. She's coming up on the phone. She's coming up on the phone. She's coming up on 40 years of sobriety. And do you know what she does today? She helps drunks. And there's two things I ran from most of my life, two things I'm not crazy about today. I've got a lot of them today. I've got more than I want today. And those two things are responsibility and authority. I don't like being responsible. There's a lot of responsibility involved with being responsible. And I certainly don't want people telling me I'm supposed to be responsible. It seemed like when I was 13 and 14 years old, everybody had an idea about Tim's life, what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to wear, how long his hair was supposed to be, and no one asked me what I thought. And I'm at a family gathering. I'm 14 years old. And I'm listening to some people talk. And I heard them say this. They said, my daddy, my real father was sober and he was in New Orleans. And with that information, I left home. I left home the next day. Because I knew my problem wasn't what I was doing or who I was doing it with. It was that I didn't have my real father in my life. And if I could find my real daddy, my life would be okay. I made my way to New Orleans and I contacted Alcoholics Anonymous. They contacted my daddy and they put us together. And all of a sudden, I had a father and he had a son. And we tried to be those two things, but neither one of us had ever been either of those two things before. We did the best we could. We didn't know what we were doing. And after about three months, I learned something else. See, my daddy started drinking again. And I can remember coming into my mother's house drunk and passing out on her living room floor when I was 13 or 14 years old. And the next morning, she'd wake me and she'd scream at me. She'd say, son, please don't drink. Don't drink, you'll get what your daddy has. And I never saw him drunk. So until that day in New Orleans, I didn't know what he was doing. I didn't know what he was doing. I didn't know what he was doing. I didn't know what she was trying to keep me from getting. But I watched him drink. And I watched him get drunk. I watched him go into the DTs. And then I watched the people from Alcoholics Anonymous in New Orleans come into our little apartment, take him away, and put him in Bridge House. And I made a decision on that day that I'm not going to be an alcoholic. I'm not going to end up like my daddy ended up. And I didn't have another drink for the next four years. I didn't do much of anything for the next four years. You see, all of a sudden, there I was. I got no responsibility. I've got no authority. I've got the rest of my life to go wherever I think it is I want to go. Stay as long as I want to stay. I'm 14 years old, and it's 1966. And I guess I was a hippie. At least that's what folks called me. And sometimes if I was maybe in West Texas, I'd be like, I'm not going to drink. I'm not going to drink. I'm not going to drink. I'm not going to get drunk. I'm not going to drive to West Texas or northern Alabama. There was another word in front of hippie they used to use on occasion. But I had four good years. You see, I didn't do anything for those next four years but hitchhike all over this country. If I woke up in Los Angeles and didn't like it there, I went to Denver. If Denver didn't please me, I went to Houston. If Houston didn't please me, I'd go to Miami. And I just went where I wanted to go. And if I had three things, it was a good day. My expectations were met. I had a pack of cigarettes, if I had something to eat in my sleeping bag, it was a good day. As long as my expectations were met. Now, the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous tells me this. That my expectations are inversely proportional to my serenity level. And I don't know about anybody else, but I can tell you this about me. As long as I get exactly, now I mean exactly, what I think I'm supposed to have, exactly when I think I'm supposed to have it, I'm a pretty happy guy. But as soon as I don't, if I don't get what I want, my serenity level goes down. After about four years of that, I'm a little tired. I just don't want to do that anymore. I want to have some of the stuff I see on the other sides of the freeways. The people in their backyards that are mowing the grass, they're painting their garage, they're playing with their kids, they're walking their dog, they're doing it in their own way. They're doing it in their own backyard. The American dream. All of a sudden, I think I want some of the stuff from the billboards. You know the billboards that tell you if you drive this kind of car, you're okay? If you live in that kind of neighborhood, you're okay. And if you wear these kind of clothes, you're okay. All of a sudden, I thought I wanted some of that. And I knew if I could get the stuff from the billboards that told me I was okay, you'd see me with it. You'd have to believe I was okay. You'd tell me I was okay because I never could. I'm outside Salt Lake City. I'm 18 years old, and I just don't want to do that anymore. Me and a buddy were hitchhiking back from San Francisco. We're on Interstate 80, and we got dropped off one night. And they dropped us off in the middle of Utah, in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't anything at this off-ramp. There was no gas station, no convenience store, no houses, no nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I drank three beers. He drank three beers. I looked at him and I told him this. I said, you know, if I ever get back to Cleveland alive, I'm settling down. I'm going to marry the first girl I see. And I got back to Cleveland. I stopped at my parents' home. My stepfather wasn't there, so I was allowed in. I changed my clothes. I took a shower. I borrowed my mother's car. I drove to the corner to buy a pack of cigarettes, picked a young lady up hitchhiking, and we got married. I wouldn't get married that day, but we might have. But in the state of Ohio at that time, the female had to be 18 or have parental consent, and the male had to be 21 or have parental consent. And when I married my first wife, I was 18 and she was 15. And this was not a marriage that was made in heaven. We didn't know anything about being married. We didn't know anything about being in love. We didn't know anything about anything. We didn't know anything about being married. I can't tell you today if I loved her. Excuse me. But I can tell you this. You see, I live in my brother's van in the driveway of my parents' home because I haven't been allowed in their house since I'm 14 years old. She lives wherever she can because there's things going on in her house that she just doesn't want to go back to. And that brought us together and we weren't alone anymore. And that's... That's all we needed was not to be alone and that was good enough for us then. And this was a simple marriage. I got up in the morning and I got drunk. Then she got up in the morning and she got drunk. And then we beat each other up. And we did that one day at a time for about seven years. But out of that seven years, I was going places. I had a lot of places to be. I never... I never quit traveling. I like to travel. I just had different people deciding where I was traveling to. I'd walk into a big room. It was a funny thing. And sitting at the front of that room, there'd be a man sitting up there and he'd have a long black coat on. And every time he did this, I went somewhere. I had a bad attitude. I was always in trouble. It seemed like 12 years of my life, I really only did two things. I got ready to go to jail and I got ready to come home from being in jail. I was just always getting arrested. Now, I wasn't a violent criminal. I was a stupid criminal. I got arrested for stupid stuff. You know, I got... I'm a child of the 60s. I had a bad attitude. I was against everything. I got a report card at home from the third grade. Y'all remember your report cards? You had to take them home and your teacher would snitch on you on the back and you'd have to show it to your mama. Have your mama sign it and prove you showed it to her. The back of my third grade report card says this. It says, bad attitude. It says, Timothy does not play well with others. I'm eight years old. I haven't had a drink yet, but they know I got a problem. I just was always in trouble. I got arrested for some stupid stuff. I got arrested for stuff like verbal abuse of a police officer. It was in a little town called Parma, Ohio. And I got arrested for obscene finger language to a police officer. And that was in Parma, Ohio. And if any of y'all ever get up to Parma, Ohio, I'm going to tell you this about it. They got no sense of humor in Parma, Ohio. I was at a meeting one night. I guess I was about two years sober. I don't know about any of y'all, but two years sober, I was pretty close to the smartest person in Alcoholics Anonymous in the Cleveland area. And there's still a lot of long-timers up there that'll tell you what a pain I was at two years sober. But I was listening to a friend of mine talk. And I just loved this old man. He passed away. He had a past a lot like mine, only it was like 30 years before mine. You know, he was in jail with all those guys you read about. You know, I just used to like go to hear Vic talk. And you know how sometimes you go to meetings and you hear somebody say something, and you know you've heard them say it a hundred times, but that night it makes sense? Vic stood up here that night. And I know I've heard Vic talk 50 times anyway. And he stood up here that night and he said this. He said, I've been arrested 63 times. I wasn't a good criminal. Man, I picked right up on that. I know I've been charged with 63 crimes. I wasn't a good criminal. People who did what I did, got caught as often as I got caught, weren't real good at what they were doing. Unless, of course, what they were doing. I was trying to get caught. I was good at that. I found something else out in that verbal abuse of a police officer case in Parma. You see, I decided to represent myself in that case. It's so funny. I knew I saw enough, Perry Mason, Judd for the defense, stuff like that. So I went to Parma Municipal Court and I called witnesses and I cross-examined their witnesses. I gave my final arguments to the judge. You all know what I found out, didn't you? I'm not a very good attorney either. Off again. That's just the way my life was going. In 1975, I stood in front of a judge in that old lakeside courthouse in downtown Cleveland. And he sentenced me to 20 to 40 years. And I was sentenced to 10 years in the penitentiary. You know, I took a big sigh of relief that day. I felt pretty good that day. Because I knew something that day. And my wife and my mother are in the back of the courtroom and they're crying. They don't think it's a good idea that I go away. And they certainly don't want me to go away for that long. But they don't know what I know. I know that they can't send me to jail. They can't send me anywhere that's going to hurt me as much as I've already hurt me. I knew it on that day. And I know that judge had no idea that he couldn't punish me as much as I've already punished me. And I was ready to go anywhere where I thought I might have a better chance against myself. 1976, the laws in Ohio changed. My sentence changed from a 20 to 40 to a 1 to 10. And three years later they sent me home. But when I got home, nothing was there. All my stuff was gone. The stuff I had to have to fit in your world to make me think I belonged where I was. My wife was gone. My car was gone. My motorcycle was gone. My clothes and my jewelry was gone. Everything... Everything was gone. And that just left me. And I didn't do anything for the next three months but drink. I sat in a chair and I drank. I got as drunk as I could, blacked out as I could, passed out as I could, as many times that day as I needed to. I crawled into a bottle. But I've never once in my life crawled into a bottle of alcohol to hide from you. Not once in my life have I ever crawled into a bottle of alcohol to hide from them. I got as drunk as I could, blacked out as I could, passed out as I could, as many times that day as I needed to. I crawled in that bottle to hide from me. You see, I knew what I was. I was an ex-con. I was an ex-husband. I was an ex-brother. And I was an ex-son. I failed at everything I ever tried to do. And if I was drunk enough, I didn't have to look. finally a friend of mine came over and he just wasn't going to let me stay there anymore he almost physically took me out of my house he says I'm tired of you sitting in this chair and trying to drink yourself to death you're out of prison and it's time to start living again and he took me down to the flats in Cleveland it's a little area of Cleveland we have kind of like kindergarten bourbon street down there you know it was just a nice place to get drunk you went down there you got drunk you didn't go down there for any other reason you went there to get drunk there's a lot of motorcycles and a lot of bands and all the bar room floors were flooded and I'm not quite sure with what I got an idea and we walked into a little bar called the Pirate's Cove my cousin's band was playing that night they were playing a Marshall Tucker song and I'm drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and I'm about half in the bag and this pretty little girl walked past me and she smiled at me you know I smiled right back that was her that was my future ex-wife who shall heretofore be known as the plaintiff that's who she was that's who she was then I don't know who that was let me tell you about my second wife my second wife came into my house and she had some stuff with her she had some stuff I'm probably pretty sure I must have had at one time in my life I just didn't know what happened to it she brought things with her like purity she brought love she brought honesty and she brought unselfishness these are the things she had with her when she came and four years later she left she ran for her life and the only thing she had left to take was the disease of alcoholism it stripped every decent thing that woman had I'm not the only one I hurt when I pick up a drink I touch a lot of lives and I know that today I tried for a couple years I had a pretty decent job I had a parole officer that didn't bother me and I was doing the right thing I was doing the right thing I was doing the right thing two years I did the right thing I never called in sick I was never late I worked any overtime they gave me I went to their little schools to learn how to do things better two years I worked you listening to me? I worked for two years after doing that for two years I'm sitting in my living room one night drunk and I'm sitting there and I'm sitting there and I'm sitting there surveying my dynasty and you know after two years I don't have a house on the lake I don't have two Lincolns in the driveway I'm not wearing the right kind of clothes don't belong to the right kind of clubs and I'm certainly not running around with the right kind of people and I came to a conclusion that night drunk on my couch that those things were for other people and no matter what I did I was never supposed to have them so the next morning I woke up I called my boss and I quit my job I saw no reason to work that hard for something I was never going to have anyway the last two years of my drinking aren't too exciting I got up I got drunk if I woke up again I got drunk again and that's just what I did my wife lasted two years and then she had to leave and this is my life at 30 years old now no one is as well computer- downtime so we got Juliana the news we're going to show you starting this spring but she was planting that we thought it was bad she was a engaged person and she was just trying to listen to the world not to date or to even show it until in June or was it April you want to make a mistake and it got changed to that simple she always equals and I'm here on April that I guess wash the jours can I brother I can't I am here and work for research I pull into my mother's driveway and I blow the horn. And when they hear the horn inside, my little brother comes out of the back door. He's holding a paper plate wrapped in tinfoil. And he walks over to my car and he hands me my holiday meal. And I'm allowed to eat my meal in my car off a paper plate with a plastic knife and a plastic fork. I can't sit at their table. I can't hold their hands and say grace. I can't have a real napkin. And they certainly don't want me to share anything with them that's going on in my life at that time. But I don't want you to think, not even for one minute, that they quit loving me. You see, they simply realize that every time they reach down and stopped me from hitting my bottom, every time they allowed me not to be responsible for my own actions, they were killing me. You see, my parents loved me so much, they let me go. I don't have any children, so I can only imagine how much love that must take. I got a Doberman at this time in my life. I got a dumb Doberman at this time in my life. I said that at a meeting one night. And a guy came up to me after the meeting. He said, dumb Doberman is redundant. So I went right home and looked up redundant. He was right. I'd come home and I'd take that dog out in the yard, tie it to a tree, go back out in a half hour, bring the dog in the house. As soon as he walked in the house, he peed on the floor. I don't know what he thought he was doing out on that tree. Probably stood there the whole time wondering the same thing. I wonder why he does this to me all the time. Right before my wife left, I got up one morning, I made a phone call. I always called my wife first thing in the morning when I woke up, just to see if she left me any wine money or cigarette money laying around the house. And she was all excited that morning. She said, where is the dog? I said, the dog's laying at the foot of the bed. She said, please be careful of the dog. I said, be careful of the dog? What are you talking about? She goes, the dog, I was afraid last night. The dog was growling and showing his teeth. I was afraid he was going to hurt you. I said, no, that dog wouldn't hurt me. I'm its master. I'm its best friend. That dog wouldn't hurt me. I said, what was going on? Well, see, apparently this is what she says anyway. I came home that night. I was in that night in a blackout. And I walked into the bedroom. And I peed on the bedroom floor. You know, that poor dog, he's just sitting there thinking, that dirty SOB's kicked my ass a hundred times for doing that, you know? Even my dog's got a resentment at this time in my life. What should I do? June 23rd, 1982, I woke up at that bottom I told you about and I didn't know what to do. And when I didn't know what to do, I always did the same thing in my life I made a phone call. It was always the same phone call. It was always the same person. I don't know if made it 100 times in my life, It was, Mom, help. My mom came. She'd come to me. I couldn't go to her, but she'd always come to me. She walked into my house, and I'm kneeling on the living room floor. I'm crying uncontrollably. I'm shaking apart. I have hepatitis, and I weigh 112 pounds. And the first words out of my mother's mouth when she saw me like that were this. She said, I'll kill her for doing this to you. Alcoholism. This is a family disease. Blaming others is a big part of this disease, and my mother has it too. We made some phone calls, and I found myself in an emergency room. I got a doctor playing with my liver. He says, son. Son, you've got an alcohol problem. I said, no, sir, not me. I told you all before, I just wasn't going to be no alcoholic. He says, son, you've got an alcohol problem. I'm vibrating on the table. No, not me. I don't want to be no alcoholic, I told him. He gives me a shot of thiamine. And we're arguing for a little while, and I said this to him. I said, look, I just can't be no alcoholic, but if you want me to, I'll be a drug addict. He said, I don't know, like drug addict, I've got some kind of status or something. You know, I don't know. He said, I don't care what you want to call yourself, what you want to be, or what you don't want to be, son. If you don't quit drinking, you're going to die. And I heard him say that. And they sent me to a psych ward on the east side of Cleveland, and I spent ten days in that psych ward. I'm powerless over alcohol. My life had become unmanageable. That kind of sounded like. That was step one, didn't it? Kind of. I spent the first three days in restraints. Not four-point restraints, they just had these big things across me. I could have got out if I wanted to, but I tried to hurt myself the night before, and they were just trying to keep me a little quieter than normal, I think. And I got a psychiatrist in my psych ward. I got the happiest psychiatrist on earth in my psych ward. And he comes and he visits me every day, early in the morning. And he says, Tim, good to see you. How you doing? Isn't it a wonderful day? Now, I don't know about the rest of y'all. Six o'clock in the morning, tied to a bed, in a psych ward, on the east side of Cleveland. You see, I'm not real spiritual. And I told him what I thought. And then he just did what's right. He's a psychiatrist. He's a psychiatrist. He's a psychiatrist. He's a psychiatrist. Y'all know what they do, right? They write in their charts. They nod their heads. That's what they do. Then they go away. And then they make you take that test. You ever take that test? That MMPI test? Got 600 and some questions on it? Well, I'd like to have a nickel every time they made me take that test. Every time they sent me somewhere, I had to take that test. You know, there's only one question on that. There's only one question on that test I can't answer. My favorite question on the whole MMPI test. Do you urinate more than most people? I don't know. You got to remember that I'm the one supposed to be crazy now, right? Now, in the third day, my psychiatrist came into my room. And he undid the straps. And I never want to forget this day. He put his chart on the windowsill. And he sat on the edge of my bed. He said, Tim, I got to tell you this. I can't make your wife come home. I don't have a job to give you. I can't make a house payment for you. I can't make a house payment for you. But if you never want to take another drink, as long as you live, I can tell you how to do that one day at a time. You see, this psychiatrist was a recovering member of the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. I know God wants me here. And he sat on the edge of my bed. And he shared a little bit of his story with me. And then I shared a little bit of my story with him. And all of a sudden, I was in a room. I was in a room. I was in a room. I was in a room. I was in a room. I was in a room. It was no longer, I'm powerless over alcohol, that my life had become unmanageable. All of a sudden, it became we. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable. And that's step one. And I know today, that without the we, I don't have a chance, man. Seven days later, he sent me home and he gave me something. And I think it's the most valuable thing anybody has ever given me in my life. He gave me a meeting scheduled, Alcoholics Anonymous, in the Cleveland area. He said, when you get home, I want you to do two things. You go to a meeting, and when you get to that meeting, you get a sponsor. And I got home, and I didn't know what to do. I told you what I do when I don't know what to do. I called my mama. I said, Ma, I got to go to an AA meeting. She said, well, that's good. I'll take you. My mom knows all about Alcoholics Anonymous. She went to meetings with my daddy in the 40s and the 50s. There's been a big book in my house as long as I can remember. And she took me to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was July 4th, and it was 1982. She dropped me on your doorstep, and she left me with some advice, and I'm going to share that with you. She said, I'm not coming back to get you. You're going to go to the people up front, and you're going to tell them you're new. You don't have a car. You don't have a driver's license. You need a ride home. And stay away from the women in Alcoholics Anonymous. And I paid attention to just about half of my mama's advice. But I got a sponsor that night. He gave me stuff to do that night. His wife was the chairperson of the meeting that month. She walked up to me, and she handed me traditions and asked me if I'd read the traditions, and I backed up. I said, no, I don't think so, honey. You know, they just took the straps off me. Maybe you better find somebody else to do that. And he just looked at me. You know how they are. He said, here's your first lesson in Alcoholics Anonymous, Tim. You never say no to AA. Nobody ever says no to AA. No matter what your request is, the answer is yes. That's all you're ever going to need to know about that. He gave me simple things to do. He said, if you sit in a chair, you put it away. If you dirty an ashtray, you empty it. If you had a cup, you throw it away. I want you to read one page of the big book every day, he told me. I don't want you to turn that page until tomorrow. You read that page as many times that day as you want to or think you need to, but do not. Turn that page until tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, in 164 days, you'll know something about the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. He said, if you're not praying, this is the way you're going to start. You're going to take three words that your mama taught you when you were a little boy. You're going to get up in the morning, you're going to kneel down, and you're going to say, please. You're going to get up and go about your day. And at the end of that day, you're going to kneel back down and you're going to say, thank you. Please and thank you. You know, my mother did teach me those words when I was a little boy. Do you know what she called them? The magic words. What's the magic word, Timmy? That's what she used to say. I had no idea how much magic those three words held until I came to you and you showed me how to use them. My sponsor asked me that question. I'm a firm believer that we say stuff to newcomers we got no business saying. He asked me that question. You probably heard it. It's a great question. We ask everybody it. I don't know why we do. He said, do you want what I have? What do you got? Do I want what you have? My sponsor had a brand new Tornado. He wore a Rolex presidential model. He had a stewardess, for a wife, had the prettiest blue eyes I ever saw in my life. Do I want what you have? Yeah, you bet I do. What page is that on? I had no idea what he was trying to give me. You see, I don't think it's the newcomer's responsibility to want anything to walk through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous. I believe once they walk through, it becomes my responsibility as a member, of Alcoholics Anonymous, to have something for them that's so attractive, they have to ask me, where'd you get that? And the only way I ever found out what my sponsor wanted me to have, you know when the first time was? When I gave it to somebody else. Then I understood what he was trying to give me. I knelt down with my sponsor and I said a third step prayer. I'm not crazy about the third step prayer. I wasn't crazy about the third step. Not then. You know, like what if it works? You know what I mean? What is God's will? I don't understand. And he gave me something. He said, this is going to explain the third step to you. He gave me a penny. If you've got a penny, you can understand the third step. I have special pennies in my pocket now. I have one penny from 1952. The year I was born. I got one penny from 1918. The year my mama was born. And I got a penny with a heart in it that my wife gave me. And if you've got a penny, you can understand the third step. Because if you look at the back of the penny, it says on the back of the penny, one cent. But do you know what happens as soon as you turn it over? On the front of the penny, it says this. In God, we trust. And that's the third step. In God, we trust. That step's not about God's will. It's about my will. And what am I willing to do with it? Am I willing to trust God with it? I can tell you that today I am. And once I can do that, there's another word on the front of that penny a little farther down. And that word's liberty. And that's the freedom you can have if you're willing to trust God a day at a time. And I started on that fourth step, but y'all know this, right? Y'all know that's not one you want to rush right into, huh? You've got to take your time with the fourth step. You've got to read all them books. We ain't got nothing in Alcoholics Anonymous. We've got books, huh? We've got blue books. We've got blue and blue books. We've got little blue books. We've got little red books. We've got little black books. We've got books in Alcoholics Anonymous. And you've got to read all them books. Talk to every old-timer in the world or you're going to mess the fourth step up, right? There's only one way to do the fourth step wrong. Don't do it. I'm sitting at the house one day and my phone rang. It's my sponsor. He said, Hey, how's that fourth step coming, Tim? I said, Oh, it's coming right along. And then he gave me some information. Shouldn't give your new guy too much of this. You know what he told me? He said, It'll get done in God's time. You know, that's exactly what I was thinking too when that fourth step was going to get done. I said, Yeah, it'll get done in God's time. And I hung the phone up. About five minutes later my phone rang. It's my sponsor. He said, How's that fourth step coming, Tim? And I gave it right back to him, my new information. I said, It's going to get done in God's time. He said, That's a good thing because God's time is tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. I made an appointment for you to do your fifth. That's just the kind of guy he was. He's always helping me. He'd sit behind you at a meeting. They'd say, We need coffee help. He'd raise my hand. I did a fourth step and I did a fifth step. Don't put it off. It's not that hard. I can tell you today I read all those books. I talked to every old timer in Cleveland. I'm sober twenty-two years today. And I still don't know what Mr. Jones' problem is. Don't try to complicate yourself out of something that's not that complicated. And then I stopped. Big Book doesn't say stop. Big Book says take a while. Make sure you were thorough. It never says stop. I stopped. Big Book hold the directions to an end. It's a new way of life. If you want that new way of life, you have to read the directions. You know, I got a pair of pink socks at home. I never wanted any pink socks. I never bought any pink socks. No one else ever bought me any pink socks either. But I have a pair. I used to have a pair of white socks. Some of y'all done this, huh? And a brand new red t-shirt. I came home with that red t-shirt, wanted to wash it all up. Thought, yeah, I don't want to wash that all by itself. That wouldn't be, that wouldn't be right. So I got the rest of the laundry, threw the rest of the laundry in there, washed everything all up. Dried everything all up. You know what I got? Pink socks. So I'm folding my t-shirt with a mild resentment. And I noticed something on the back. On the back of your t-shirt, there's a little tag. I don't know if y'all ever noticed it. It's got writing on it. Simple writing. You don't have to have a college degree to understand it. You know what it says? It says, washing instructions. Wash separately. Now that's simple stuff. But I never took time to read the directions. If you never take time to read the directions laid down in the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous, you can never hope to have what that book promises you. Doesn't say maybe, might get it, it promises you. It says, you know, there's a lot of stuff you can do, but you can never get it. You can never get it. You can never get it. You just don't know how to do it. You don't know how to do it. You don't know how to do it. You don't know how to do it. It doesn't say maybe, might get it, it promises you. This is what you will have if you follow the directions. But you know what happens even if you read the directions? And you don't follow them? You get pink socks. I became entirely ready for God to remove that. And I humbly asked Him for help because I couldn't do it by myself. I just couldn't do it by myself. I had to have His help. And He showed me my list in the eighth step. And I went through it with my sponsor, who I was supposed to make amends to. My sponsor said, you got to forgive everybody. And I went down that list and I said, well, this guy did this to me and I did this to him. That's a push. We don't even have to mess with that no more. So I'm going down the list and I'm just etching people out. You know? No, we're even. That ain't, don't worry about that one. My sponsor stopped me. He said, He said, there aren't no pushes in Alcoholics Anonymous, Tim. No ties. You have to learn to forgive everybody that ever wronged you. Because until you can forgive everybody that ever wronged you, you don't have any right in the world to go out and ask anybody else for forgiveness. And once I could forgive everybody, I went out and I made direct amends to the people I've wronged. And you know before I was halfway through, those promises started coming true in my life, just like the book says. I got that Lincoln parked in the driveway today. I keep it disguised as a Ford, though. You know, that's just so no one will steal it. Maybe you'll see it someday. You come to Ohio, you might see it and you'll think, you know, that's no Lincoln. That's a Ford. Maybe that's what you'll see. But remember this. There's no Lincoln. There's only one person sitting here tonight that's looking out of your eyes. And that's the only person that's ever going to be responsible for what you see. You can see good or you can see bad. But remember that you're the one that's looking. Because when I go home, I'm going to get inside my car. Alcoholics Anonymous is an inside job. I spent most of my life believing if I could make the outside look good enough, the inside would feel better. But when I came here, you told me I had to start working from the inside out. And when I get inside my car, I get inside... I don't get inside no Ford. I get inside a Lincoln. Town car. It's triple black. It's 2005. Got a moonroof and a Bose CD system in it. And I hit that power window. And I drive it to the job I didn't used to have when I was drinking. Where I see my friends that I didn't used to have when I was drinking. I have a great life today and I don't know who has your message. Are you listening? Are you waiting for somebody with 50 years? Because the person that God sends to you that day might be the person that's getting ready to get sober in 50 minutes. I know this, that if somebody's talking and I can hear them, God wants me to listen. Because I don't know who the messenger is that day. I got a message on the first step about 12 years ago. I was invited to speak in Indiana. My wife couldn't go with me that weekend. So I took a new guy with me. I took my wife's car because I didn't think my car would make it. My wife was driving a Honda Civic then. You know, in a Honda Civic. What do you get in a Honda Civic? Three, four hundred miles to a gallon in a Honda Civic? You drive a Honda from now on, I'm pretty sure, hardly never ever had to put gas in them. So I threw my new guy in a Honda and we headed for Valparaiso, Indiana. And I was driving a Honda. I was driving a Honda. We went underneath the sign that said my exit was about five exits away. When we went underneath that sign, I looked at the gas gauge and the gas gauge said empty. And I thought, well yeah, empty in a real car maybe. You know, but Honda Civic, empty, you gotta have a hundred miles. There's only 50 left in Indiana. I never give it another thought. Until I went underneath the sign that said my exit was two miles. And as soon as I went underneath that sign, I ran out of gas. If you got a Honda Civic and it says empty, they're dead serious about that. That's exactly what they mean. So I coasted for another mile and pulled over to the side of the road. There I am, sitting in Indiana. Side of the road, out of gas. Got a new guy sitting next to me. You know, I don't even want to turn and look at him. I just spent the better part of about four hours telling him all about responsibility and stuff like that, you know. But I had to do something. I couldn't sit in Indiana the rest of my life. So I turned and I looked at him. And he just kind of grinned. Y'all know that grin, right? They'll stay sober a long time, waiting for you to do something wrong just so they can tell you about it. And I looked over at him and he looked at me with that grin and he said, We're powerless, ain't we? I said, yeah, you bet we are. I said, what do you think we ought to do about that? He said, I think we better admit it. I said, yeah, because I could sit here the rest of my life going, Vroom, vroom, vroom, vroom. If I don't admit a problem, I'm never going to get anywhere with it. I lived my life by taking one word out of the last three steps. Continued, improve, and practice. Now each one of those words is an action word. You gotta do something if you want something. My big book tells me half measures avail me nothing. Doesn't say half measures avail me half. It says nothing. And I don't know about anybody else. I've had more nothing in my life than I want. I don't want any more nothing. I want everything my God wants me to have. And do you know I don't even know what that is? But I want it. There's a difference in my life today. And I'm going to share that with you. I go to the prisons and I talk to the guys. I haven't been in a little while. And I never was real crazy about doing it. I'd been in prisons. Didn't like them when I was there. And now in Ohio, I don't know how it is in Louisiana, in Ohio we gotta fill an application out to get into prison. I never had to do that before. But I was at a prison years ago. And a guy came up to me and he asked me a question. He said, is it okay if I call you? Can I have your phone number? I said, sure. And then I remembered that when you're in a penitentiary, you want to call somebody, you gotta call Collect. Now I'll accept a Collect phone call. And I'm gonna tell you why. You see, on April 10th, 1989, I went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. There was a young lady speaking that night. And I don't know what they told you in Louisiana, but my sponsor used to tell me this all the time. He said, if you go to a meeting, and you hear something you like, take it home. He let me leave forается. They should put them on the bill. And then I Except for the first case, too Why did they give you a call?iques He was a gentleman. He was back they stopped talking, when she said she'd marry me. But my wife is very intelligent. My wife's been in school just about as long. She's still in school. My wife got more letters after her name. She got a B.A. She got an M.A. She got a M.A.C.T. She was A.B.D. Now she's got a Ph.D. And then she got something I always wanted her to have, too. And that's a J.O.B. One of my new guys asked me this once. He said, doesn't that intimidate you? That your wife is so intelligent, that your wife is so educated, doesn't that intimidate you? You know, I had to stop and think about that for a minute because I never thought about it before. I said, intimidate me? No, it doesn't intimidate me. Not even a little bit. It makes me proud as hell. I'm proud as hell of my wife's accomplishments. Because 16 years ago, when she walked through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous, she didn't have any letters after her name. She was a bartender. But because of a book called Alcoholics Anonymous, the women in the fellowship at her home group and a god of her understanding that told her, once you come through that door, you can be anything you want to be if you're willing to work for it. She believed them, she trusted them, and she did it. I can only be proud. I can't be intimidated by God in Alcoholics Anonymous, only proud. And I proved that. I got new license plates for my car. I got some of those vanity plates. Don't you hate me? Hate those? God, they're stupid. But I got some. You know what my license plates say? They say, Ph.D. G.E.D. G.E.D. I got letters after my name, too. What a company! You did what you had to do! Who sent you that letter? Oh, we had a big wedding. We had a big wedding. And I can remember when, in 1975, they walked me into the bullpen at that penitentiary and they told me I could make a phone call. They said I could call anywhere in the world I wanted to, I could talk this long, but I had to call collects. And I stood at that phone and I died, and all my friends could talk. It made no sense, you know. And like I said, it's a beautiful story, you could grow old lives. And this is why we call new with paintbrush and ink. and I dialed some more. Then I dialed some more. You know I couldn't find one person on this earth would accept a collect phone call from me at that time in my life, not one. But on October 16th, we had a wedding. We had an AA wedding. It started with the serenity prayer. It ended with the Lord's Prayer. There was a reading from the 12 and 12 in between. We had a clam bake with an Elvis impersonator. We invited 320 people to that wedding. Do you know how many came? About 350. You see, that's the difference. That's the difference from then to now. That's the difference in my life. But there's a difference in me also. About six years ago, my stepfather got sick. He got Alzheimer's disease. And he got real sick and my mother just couldn't take care of him anymore and I had to become his caregiver. And if you're out there and you're new and maybe things aren't working fast enough for you in Alcoholics Anonymous, let me share this with you. I was sober nine and a half years in this program. I was sober nine and a half years in this program. I was sober nine and a half years in this program before I was allowed to drive in the state of Ohio. I was sober 16 years before I was allowed back into my mother's home. These things will happen. Please don't leave before they do. They will happen if you stay. Now there's probably two people on this earth never hated each other more than me and my stepfather. But he got Alzheimer's. So I guess that's why I was allowed back in the house. But I had to take care of him and I did. After a couple years, he just couldn't be taken care of at home anymore. We had to find someplace to put him and we found they have an Alzheimer's unit at the VA hospital in Sandusky, Ohio. It's just one of the most wonderful places I've ever been. They took really good care of him. And we took him out there. And Sandusky is about 65 miles from Cleveland. It's about an hour drive. So that left me with an 82-year-old mother at home that I had to start taking care of. And I'd take her out to the nursing home every weekend. We'd go out and we'd visit my stepfather. Now mom's 86. She's going to be 86 next month. And she's had a rough month. On July 30th, she broke her hip. She had surgery. They have a surgery. Rehabilitating now in a nursing home, getting physical therapy. And while she was at the nursing home, she got pneumonia. A urinary tract infection, had an impacted bowel and a stroke. But I think she's coming around. But I take care of my mom. That's what I do. Before this happened, this is my life. There's a woman that takes care of her during the day. She's at home and still got around her house okay. And after work, I go and I make my mom dinner. Every night. And on the weekends, I go early in the morning and I do some laundry. And I make my mom breakfast and I make her two other meals that I put together for her. So all she has to do is microwave them and I get her pills together. And make sure everything needs done. The dog and the checks and all of that. I take care of my mom. That's part of what I do with my life. And I don't know what's going to happen, if she's going to get to come home or not. It's going to be a tough day for me. So remember me when you pray. Because if I have to put my mom somewhere, it's going to hurt. My mom spent most of her life trying to keep me out of places. And it's going to hurt me to put her somewhere. But that's what I do. On Sundays and Saturday mornings, you know what I like to do in the summertime? I like to play golf. But I'm not able to play golf. Not anymore. Last year was a little hard on me. I had Hepatitis C. And I went through interferon treatment for it. And it's a lot like chemotherapy. It was a pretty hard deal. But we got through it. It didn't work but we might have to go through it again. But that we'll deal with one day at a time when it does come. So I wasn't really able to play a lot of golf. But I still have friends that play golf on Saturday and Sunday mornings when I'm at my mom's house. So I'm not going to play golf with them. I'm just going to do what I can. I'll be there for them. I'm not going to be there for them. I'm not going to be there for them. I'm going to be there for them. And then I'll be there to see what happens. I'll be with them at my mom's. And they call me and ask me if I can go. And I say, no I won't be able to go today. I'll be with my mom. One of them asked me this once. He said, do you have to be with your mom? I said, no. I don't have to be with her. I get to be with her. I get to be with my mom. I get to be with my mom. That's the difference. I get to be there. And I don't go over there because I'm a doctor. I've written some prescriptions in my day, but... Or that I'm a great cook or a good housekeeper or a good accountant. I don't go there for those reasons. You might think I go because I was in prison three years and she never missed a visit. That's not why I go. No. The biggest reason I go and spend time with my mom is because I've known a loneliness such as few men know. And loneliness is a disease of the elderly. If there's somebody in your life, and every once in a while the thought passes through your head, you know, maybe I should go see them. Quit thinking and do something. Because it's really hard to make amends at the funeral home. I'm going to close with something my friend Walter told me. And he tells me it every time he sees me. He's had a few strokes and he doesn't talk real well anymore, but he always told me this. He said, Tim, you remember that what you do between a serenity prayer and a Lord prayer will never be as important. As what you do between the Lord's prayer and a serenity prayer. Thank you so very much for having me. Thank you. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. © BF-WATCH TV 2021