Prayers and shares appreciated. . .

From my journal. . . my favorite minister at Plainfield Correctional Facility used to say when God would put something on his heart that it was "hot off the presses."

This entry is hot off the presses.

This is one of the 5 Rules of Recovery that we focus on when helping one another on this journey. It is important to CREATE a NEW life in which it's easier to not use.

People way smarter than me have said it best . . . "Wishing for your old life back is like wishing for a relapse." To that I say, "that will PREACH."

One way to create a new life is for our communities to provide safe, affordable, structured, and supervised sober living environments for those in recovery. We lack that in Grant County. We do a lot well in our community and for those in recovery. But, we fall woefully short in this area.

I want to change that. I can't do it alone. I preach to those I work with to ask for help and so I am going to practice what I preach and do the same. I am praying about this all through the season of lent and I ask you to join in me in that prayer.

After you prayerfully consider this idea during Lent, and after Easter, if you interested in joining with me to start a recovery home or homes here's how you can let me know -

Call or text me 765-667-0150

Email me shaneericbeal1971@gmail.com

Send me a direct message on Facebook

Send me a letter to 1916 West James Drive, Marion, Indiana 46952

Stop me when you see me.

Send a raven like they do in the Game of Thrones.

Just get with me anyway you can and let's stop talking and do something together.

Here's what we will need:

Prayer
Love
Kindness
Collaboration
Volunteer hours
Money
A house or houses
More prayer
Donations
Community support
No judgment
A solidly trained staff of certified peer support specialists
A partnership with a treatment team
Church collaboration

And. . . More prayer than anything

How can you help today? Pray with me until Easter then get with me.

If you're struggling it's okay help is only a prayer away.

#teambealrecovery #hopehouse #bealfrommyjournal #soberliving #askforhelp #prayerchangesthings #practicewhatyouteach #recoverycoach #retiredcrackhead #soberhouse #serenityprayer

Free indeed. . .

Knees to my chest, hands locked behind my neck. Willing the oxygen to switch whatever gears in my brain needed flipped. Out of the corner of my eye I spot something on my wrist. Two tiny words placed to intentionally be sought out. 

My mind starts to wander back to the events that inspired those two words. 

I was in college, lonely and heartbroken. The world was my enemy and bitterness my friend. 

Abandoned. 

Broken. 

Damaged. 

Those were the things I called myself. I didn’t readily invite others to my pity party, but they knew it was an ongoing event. I couldn’t see past my circumstances, blinded by the shiny newness of something that felt tragic. Something to justify those dark parts of me that really never went away. 

For months on end these things persisted. I watered them and they grew in the dark. I said so many things to myself that I could actually hear others reflecting them back to me. No one was saying a word. Until someone did. Until someone had enough of my consistent sorrow. People were sensitive, until they weren’t. 

I can remember the look on the nurses face as I sat on the paper covered cushioned chair. She was irritated with me. She kept referring to my age and telling me she couldn’t understand how I could possibly feel the way I was feeling. What’s wrong with me? I wish I knew. Saturated with the guilt of not being normal, I took my prescription and walked back through the waiting room. 

The stubborn in me gave way to a desire to prove people wrong and fight for myself when it felt like all others had lost hope. I sat with God that night. Not for the first time: I’d spent my life in a church and I was sitting in my dorm at a Christian university. No, it wasn’t the first time ever, but it was the first time in a long time. I sat down, surrounded by all of the things I had been carrying with me. The room was crowded with my emotions, tears, failures, and shortcomings. I was staring down at my excessive need for control and justification. Justification for my feelings: because people had treated me a certain way and life wasn’t fair, so I deserved to be angry at the world. I deserved to be miserable. 

Who’s really losing here? John 8:36 whispered in my ear: if the Son sets you free, then you will be free indeed. I brought my journal to my pen. With agonizing humility, I prayed for the people I blamed. I asked to forgive and love and change. I prayed for their goals and hopes and dreams. I released it without justification. I prayed to be forgiven too. And the room emptied until nothing remained but the new air filling my lungs- air that felt free. 

A funny thing happened over the next week. Every single person I had prayed to forgive approached me and apologized for the things I had prayed for. I realized pretty quickly that had I received the apology prior to forgiving them, I wouldn’t have had an ounce of grace to hear them out. But through my obedience, God gave me what I never deserved. 

I went home that summer, continuing to pray over that whisper from John. Eventually, my last day of work as a waitress, I decided to tattoo two small words on m wrist. Free Indeed. Precisely placed, in my sister’s handwriting, so that they are invisible to me unless I seek them out. And I went to work that night to wait on my last table ever. The man sitting there had been a customer for years, and he immediately spotted the newly inked words. When I answered his question about what they meant he said “and now you have to live that out.” 

“I’m trying.” was all I could say. 

He handed me a bill to pay for his dinner and told me to keep the change “for Christ.” As I rang out his meal with the $100 I was holding I realized my tip would be the exact amount I had paid for my tattoo. 

The tattoo I look at now as I struggle to breathe. Here again. Somewhere over the past few months my weight has decreased over twenty pounds- and I had never even noticed. I can feel the bones where I used to have muscle... okay it was probably not muscle. I’ve hit my knees again when I thought I’d be permanently standing tall. Maybe I’d stopped seeking out my tiny words- my freedom. I find my breath. I hear it clearly. I’m here for a reason- knocked down again. My focus shifting, my perspective changing. Resolved to fight, weaker than ever, I lean on shaky knees. I remember the shackles that have been broken and thank God that he will do it again. I’ve seen Him move the mountains. And I believe I’ll see Him do it again. And my crowded room feels a little emptier. 

If you're struggling it's okay help is only a prayer away.

If you struggle with anxiety, depression, self-image, addiction, or whatever - ask for help .

Thank you to our contributor today, Jess Warner - your strength is amazing.  Keep fighting and remember to always tell your mountains about your God .

The big lie meets loving support and in walks recovery...

I recently received this from a concerned family member, “I unconditionally love, and I want to always believe they are being open and honest with me. But it's hard to know if a loved one with addiction is being honest or not. Could you possibly post a topic about that?”

I wonder if anyone else out there feels the same way?  I know my own family would have loved to have someone tell them how to handle me in my addiction and the lies and dishonesty that came with it.

So often as family and friends, we are lied to and manipulated by our addicted loved one – usually someone who was once honest and thoughtful and considerate. It’s devastating to lose that trust that comes with a close relationship between parent and child, partners, spouses, grandparents and grandchildren. 

Even when you are armed with the truth, and the evidence to support it, when addiction is involved, there is a good chance that you’ll still be surrounded by lies. Dishonesty is a symptom of the addiction.

This is because without lies, addiction cannot live; and without the truth – recovery cannot survive. 

The “Feel Good” 

A big part of human nature stems from the desire to feel good. For different people, that “feel good” can evolve from different things: Adventure, purpose, affection, security, and appreciation are all examples of things we strive to meet, in order to live satisfied lives. These basic human needs become our foundation for our lives, our personalities, and our actions. 

For people who are addicted to drugs or alcohol, the “feel good” isn’t typically derived from the normal basic human needs. For people who are addicted to substances, things like a caring family, close friends, vacations, and job promotions aren’t going to bring joy and happiness. Instead, it’s only drugs or alcohol. 

Defending the Addiction 

Mental defense mechanisms, the way we behave or think in order to “defend” ourselves, are a part of the human mind. We think and do things in order to distance ourselves from unpleasant feelings, thoughts, and behaviors.

The most common defense mechanisms include: 

·        Denial

·        Acting out

·        Projection (misattributing a person’s undesired thoughts, feelings or impulses onto another person who doesn’t have those thoughts, feelings or impulses)

·        Displacement (taking out thoughts, feelings and impulses on a person or object that isn’t the cause of those thoughts, feelings or impulses.)

·        Rationalization

When a person is addicted to alcohol or drugs, they physically, mentally and emotionally depend on their drug of choice. Addiction causes real chemical changes in the brain to directly affect the user’s conscious and unconscious behavior. When the thing that makes them feel good (or keeps them from going through painful withdrawal) is threatened, the addicted person’s mental defense mechanisms will kick in. 

Defending the addiction to himself or others, your loved one will deny and justify his behavior – and fully believe the lies. He will lie to anyone who may threaten his heroin use – and she will lie to anyone who may question her alcohol use. That includes him or herself. 

The Common Lies 

“I need to use cocaine in order to continue to be successful.”

“I need to drink in order to be social.”

“Everyone drinks and uses drugs – so I should, too.”

“If you knew my childhood, you would take pills, too.”

“I had a hard day, I deserve to drink.”

“I had a great day, I should celebrate with a drink.”

“I don’t really use or drink as much as other people.”

“I’ve never gotten a DUI.”

“I have a job, alcoholics don’t have jobs.”

“I take my kids to school every day, addicts don’t do that.”

“I could stop if I wanted to.”

“I’m not hurting anyone but me.” 

The list could go on and on. 

Ending the Lies 

It’s important to recognize that your loved one isn’t being dishonest because he or she is a bad person or has moral failures. Lies are a symptom of addiction – as well as one of the biggest contributors to our anger and frustrations we feel with them. 

There isn’t a light switch to flip on honesty in addiction – but there are things that loved one can do to bring truth to the table: 

·        Realize that lies aren’t a personal attack on you.
Any time I find out I was lied to – I’m furious. I feel like it’s a personal attack on my intelligence: that the person who lied to me thinks I’m dumb enough to believe it. However, with addiction, your loved one isn’t lying to you because he or she thinks your dumb – they’re lying because they are sick with a disease that lies to them.

·        Don’t accept the lies.
Your loved one’s dishonesty is keeping him or her trapped in addiction – and it’s keeping you sick, too. Don’t look the other way when you’re lied to – letting them know the truth can help them face the consequences of their actions. Refusing to accept the lies means refusing to enable or “rescue”. Refusing to accept the lies means getting help for yourself through a therapist or meetings for friends and family. Refusing to accept the lies can take your loved one another step closer to accepting the help he or she needs.

·        Drop the excuses.
If you’re covering for an addicted loved one, you’re also caught up in the disease of addiction. Lies on top of lies won’t help anyone.

·        Encourage a supportive environment.
Threats and power struggles are commonplace in homes dealing with addiction. Instead of resorting to arguments, create a supportive environment that promotes honesty. 

The truth is, with addiction comes lies. These lies are only a distraction from the real problem – the addiction, and the underlying issues of the addiction. Don’t let dishonesty get in the way of helping your loved one find his or her path to addiction recovery. After all, with truth comes healing.

If you are struggling it’s okay, help is only a prayer away.

Cake and Ice Cream. . .

From my journal. . . I am not sure what happened this morning but God was telling me to share this story because someone out there needs to take a look around and see if they can see God standing right there with them.  I admit that this is one of the longer of my blogs, but it moved me in experiencing it again and writing it down this morning.  

Birthday Cake and Ice Cream . . . . . I've seen God in a lot of places: the waves of Lake Michigan, in the eyes of my children, and in my talks with Amy, and many more.  But, sometimes God is in the simplest things.  Maybe it's a perspective thing.  Maybe God knows when I need to see Him and it just happens.  Or maybe God is always there and I just don't always recognize it, let alone appreciate it.  And, maybe I have a role in seeing God?

That's a novel idea.  Like I have to do something to make myself aware of His presence, His power, His love, and His grace.  Oftentimes my perspective dictates when and how I see God.

I say all of this because I saw God on the coldest night of my prison sentence - - I mean it was frigid.  My Bible study was on a Monday and on this day I knew that we had a guest speaker and wouldn't be studying the Bible.  Admittedly, I was less than thrilled to go.  In fact, I was telling myself I didn't need to go - - I mean it was COLD.  No one would know. . . Hello, I am in prison.  But, God............

So, I walk to Chapel under the brightest stars on the coldest night of my prison sentence.  I walked alone and talked to God about how cold it was, how bright the stars were and how I wanted to turn back and go to my cell - I don't think I have ever been that cold (We don't exactly have warm clothing in prison . . no Under Armor or North Face in here). 

I get to Chapel and the normal crowd of 10-15 is down to 5, including the speaker.  You guessed it, it was that COLD.  We do our normal routine and the speaker puts on a rob of sorts and begins to recite from memory the Book of James. . . word for word. . . action by action.  That was powerful and I knew that this was the reason I needed to be here.  The Book of James is a powerful book for a man in my predicament and from my perspective. 

The speaker finished up about the same time I hear some commotion behind me and I looked back (prison habit of always watching your back) and I saw the CO (guard) bringing in cake and ice cream.  I thought I was dreaming hallucinating or both.  I haven't had either of those in like two years. Sometimes God shows up and sometimes God shows off. 

So, I ate 6 pieces of cake and a pint of ice cream (it's all perspective here and not one of us said "cut me a small piece, I'm dieting".)  I found one of my biggest God experiences in prison on the coldest night of my sentence. . . WHY?

Because that's what God does.  That's right up his alley.  That's in his line of work:  Making the impossible . . . possible.  It is against prison policy (and the law) to bring ANYTHING from outside the fences to us on the inside.  Apparently God didn't get that message. 😊

So, I saw God in cake and ice cream that cold, starry night.  Where have you seen God lately or are you really looking?

Tell us where you have seen him in the comments . . . 👇👇👇👇

If you are struggling it's okay help is only a prayer away.

there is always HOPE . . . real HOPE. . .

I have spoken of hope, or the lack thereof, for years now; as if I were well acquainted with and versed on the subject.  It has only been in the last week, after nearly a decade of recovery, I believe that I may know what hope really is.  Or more importantly, what it is not. 

Hope is not a wish. In current vernacular, the words are often interchanged.   For example, I believe the following two statements illustrate well this idea:

"I hope I win the lottery."

"I Wish I would win the lottery."

In my understanding of hope today, this is improper usage of the term.  Stay with me, I will soon explain.

Hope is not faith either, although the two are closely related.  Once again, an explanation is forthcoming. 

Hope is the moment when I realize something that to this point seemed impossible, unachievable, or insurmountable truly is possible, achievable, and attainable.  But beware if I stop listening in that moment, I miss the rest of the message.  HOPE says yes you can, but you must first do something… simply put, HOPE requires action.  All the hope in the world will make no physical or noticeable difference until it is followed with action.

"But it sounds like hope and faith ARE the same!" I hear someone mentally noting.  In my experience, and I stress those words, hope had to be present before faith was possible.  I had to see the impossible done, the unachievable reached and the insurmountable conquered.  Then hope awakened in me.

I was very fortunate, and still am, to have a group of "old timers" who showed me the action my hope required to reach a new place in life.  As I did the action, and witnessed the results, faith sprouted, green and new.  Fragile though it was, with continued action based upon my newfound hope, faith grew.

What do you hope for today? Are you just idly wishing?  Are you hopeless?  I have been all these things and more…  

I promise you, if you look around, there is always hope...real hope.

If you are struggling, it’s okay… help is only a prayer away.

Editorial Note:  The writer of this Blog is my sponsor, Jon N. and I am grateful for his guidance, strength, courage, and support.  He has shown me what love is, what faith is, and what hope is.  I am forever grateful for his friendship.  He is a good man who holds me accountable to my journey and reminds me to stay humble.  A perfect example of this is what he said to me when I was struggling with helping those in recovery and thinking I could save people from themselves and on that day he simply stated “Shane, you are not that important.”  That is humility. 

I am a better man for having Jon in my life.

I love you, Jon.

I remember the first time. .

From my journal. . . When I started writing this journal while in prison, I never thought about sharing it or my life with anyone other than the pages where my words, my thoughts, my pain, my heartache, and sometimes my laughter lived. Like most people, my journal was for me and my healing.

When released, something or someone nudged me. . . Pushed me. . . Told me to share my journal and my life with y'all. Okay....okay - - I heard God tell me to do it. In doing so I have healed so much more by sharing my whole life -- holding nothing back.

Something else happened too. People began sharing their journals, their lives, and their pain with me. It's like my sharing helped them share...that's powerful.

The following is one such share inspired by this amazing song. I hope you read this, listen to the song, and share this post. By sharing our lives, by being vulnerable, and by loving others we can begin to heal.

Here you go. . . .

I can remember the first time I gave up. The first time I knew there was a “stop fighting” option. The first time that it seemed like a better choice. I had no idea the significance of that day when I rolled out of bed in the morning. That it would be the day I learned how broken feels. I don’t think I realized how heavy tears really are. That gravity could pull the tears out of you so fiercely that your knees buckle under the weight of it all, until you inevitably hit the floor.

The way a body shakes when something pierces so deeply that it misses every organ and aims straight for the soul. I cried soul shifting tears that day. Tears that turn to acid and corrode the protection and safety of a heart. Until all that is left is broken pieces that can’t seem to work together or function at full capacity. I laid down in vines that day. Long and heavy vines that twisted their way around my limbs and tangled my thoughts. Vines that kept me stuck in a forest of agony next to a stream babbling steady uncertainty into my brain.

There were endless nights when the sun wouldn’t rise and the easiest option seemed to be sinking further into the vines until becoming one with the thorny mess and chaos. The wind would howl the deepest hurts, beating the branches until every last leaf of hope disappeared.

The vines became the safest place in the forest, even as they stole my breath. The darkness overwhelming as my eyes shut out the world. I miss the sun. I miss the comfort of being wrapped in the light that used to keep the vines away. One last look at the sun before it ends. That’s all I want. The numbness inside of me subsided for a second, long enough for my eyes to open in surprise at an emotion I hadn’t felt in forever- a glimmer of hope. I looked to the sky and through the darkness a million lights sparkled. They spoke of miracles and shimmered with more power than I ever thought possible. They were better than the sun, because they lit up my darkness. “God must still be here,” I thought “God is the only One I know who can use darkness as the perfect guide.” I lay perfectly still and slowly slipped through the vines that had grown weak from my small persistence in not giving up completely.

I stood up determined to see the forest as I had never known it. From a vantage point above rock bottom. Flowers swayed steadily and the stream reflected majesty. It was quieter up here. The leaves that had fallen had been replaced with new blooms more radiant than ever. And the vines decomposed to nurture new growth. For the first time my tears felt light as they brought relief to my dry eyes. Soul shifting tears that watered the flowers of change and reminded me of beauty again.

And my broken pieces were put together like a puzzle by the One who could see the bigger picture-even in the dark.

If you're struggling it's okay help is only a prayer away.     LISTEN TO THIS SONG

Goodbye. . . not see you later

Dear Coco:

          I bet you are surprised to hear from me.  Don’t get excited… I’m just writing to say goodbye.  Some people say, “see you later”, because they don’t want to close the door on a future relationship.  Don’t flatter yourself that I even consider f*#king with you again.

          When we met, I could not hardly wait to get to know you.  I had heard so much about how fun / exciting you are, how sensual you could be, how you were full of energy and never seem to tire.  I had seen you in action several times… you were the life of the party.  You were sexy as hell (so powerful, so enticing) with your cool, subtle style.  Your confidence seemed to be contagious with everyone you touched.  You motivated the entire group of your followers to do everything bigger, faster, longer.  I would wonder what it would be like to know you.  But for a long time, I was both afraid to introduce myself and intimidated by your mere presence in a room.

          As I got older and met a couple of your friends, I started to feel more comfortable and confident with myself.  I began to believe that maybe I was giving you too much power in my fear of at least a proper introduction.  I started to wonder what kind of relationship we could have.  I wanted to prove to everyone AND myself that I could live with you and have a relationship with you.  I wanted to be like you - - or so I thought.  So, I finally got up the nerve to say “hi.”

          From that first date, you were true to form.  You were charming as hell.  You made me feel like a queen.  You shared your power, your confidence, your control over emotions.  You made me feel so focused. You made me feel like I was walking on air - - riding a freight train.  I was never tired, never hungry, never confused.

          After a while, as we got closer, you started to hint that there was a side of you that I hadn’t seen.  I asked your close friends if they knew you like that.  I should have seen the fear in their eyes when I asked.  They told me you didn’t need to show me.  That I shouldn’t want to know you like that.  That our friendship would change forever if I kept asking you to show me.

          But that made me want to know even more.  Why could they know your true power, but I couldn’t?  Why wouldn’t they share that part of you with me?  Were they that selfish?  Were they better than me?  Did they think that I was too weak to handle it?

          I coveted that knowledge.  I decided I would NOT stop asking until they gave in and let me be part of this group.  I was so convincing they finally gave in - - warning me, begging me really, to reconsider.

          Why I didn’t pay attention to the fervent warnings / protests, I do not know, except I thought I could prove them all wrong.

          When I let you into my mind that night by opening a door after lighting a fire to let you know I was inviting you - - you hit me so hard I was shocked.  It turned me on as I fell to the floor, begging you to leave as I cried and sweat and felt my heart beat throughout my body.  It was electrifying and terrifying all at the same time.  I asked you to be gentler so I could experience the ectasy more without the fear.  You accommodated me and lulled me into a sense of submission.

          All I could think about was your touch.  But it came at a hefty price very quickly.  You became jealous of everything else in my mind.  So, you sent thieves in to begin systematically robbing me of my confidence, self-control, my pride.  You pushed my family away first.  Then my career.  All I had left was my children and my desire to keep you away from them.  So, you attacked my sanity.  First only when I knew you were around.  Lying to me about what I saw, heard, felt.  Then, your attacks came all day.  I couldn’t understand how you would find me, where you would hide to play your sick tricks on me.  You wanted me to believe I had it all wrong.  That you wanted to share and teach me your ways.  When I couldn’t hide my fear or anger, you responded by sending in the evil, the darkness that you had found your birth in.  A desire to take over.  To own my mind, my body, and now my soul.

          I tried to fight you.  At every turn.  I used anything I could find to push you away.  Then you would call me a coward, weak-minded, pathetic.  You said, “get a grip” and quit giving you so much power.  You were just testing me. Testing my mind, my will.  You said, “I had it too easy all this time.”  That challenge is why I wanted to meet you, so why was I afraid of the challenge now?  To keep pushing my limits would make me stronger.  That I didn’t want people to think I failed in this after I asked for it - - insisted on it.

          You are a cunning liar.  A thief.  A manipulator.  A leach.  You were waiting for me to believe you, follow you, to turn my life over to you, so you could slowly kill me.  Your plan was to tell everyone I killed myself.  Your plan was to let them all believe you were so loving, so powerful, so in control of me that I couldn’t handle our relationship.  You did that so you could find your next thrill.  So, you could feed your own claims of power.  So, you could continue to draw others in and rob them, ruin them, and kill them too.

          Your plan failed when I met a group of people who had met you before.  Some of them got away quickly before you hooked them too deep.  Some of them fought you long and hard until they were mere shells of bodies and souls.  Most of them, regardless of their fight with you, or the injuries they suffered during the battle and things they lost to you - - all had others to help them fight and eventually get away.

          Those people, because they know you so well, have warned me, begged me not to believe I am free forever.  They have shared their stories of how you stalk them, send your minions to taunt their happiness, their careers, their health at times.  All to again convince us we need to / want to meet you again - - at least to tell you to leave us alone forever.  Those people suggested that I avoid meeting you again at all costs.  To ignore your charm at times.  To block out your threats and promises that it will be different this time.  They suggested I write you a letter to tell you goodbye and so I am. 

          Goodbye.

          Not see you later.

A note from Shane . . . if you want to submit something for me to consider posting on this blog, you can contact me at shaneericbeal1971@gmail.com 

Thank you to this courageous person who decided to share a piece of their life with all of us.

If you are struggling it's okay, help is only a prayer away.