“…And if I don’t know what’s good for me, then I don’t know what’s good or bad for you or for anyone.” – page 450, The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous
When it comes to interpersonal communication, there are basically two types of people:
1. Those who listen;
2. Those who wait to talk.
If I manage to keep quiet and listen closely, I’m at my best
(problem is, I don’t always manage to actually do that).
About five years ago, I spent my Christmas holiday with family up on Cape Cod.
It was now time to return home to Fort Myers.
Traveling is a day-long affair involving a bus ride to the airport.
Having grown up on the Cape, I’ve made the brutal two+ hour ride into Boston about a million-and-a-half times.
I boarded the bus and mentally prepared myself to be bored out of my mind, just staring out the window in a vegetative state.
The ride was made longer with the addition of several stops along the way.
At our first stop, a large number of people were waiting to board the bus.
You always find yourself hoping against hope that you’ll be left alone, and no one will opt to sit next to you.
With my luck, I’d probably be stuck with a flatulent 400-pound sumo wrestler.
As the new riders were moving down the aisle, I pointedly stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, hopefully discouraging anyone from sitting next to me.
My hopes were dashed when I felt someone slide into the seat next to me. I didn’t look:
Whoever it was smelled like mothballs.
As the bus pulled onto the highway, my companion turned to me and said, “Are you having problems with your gardener?”
I was game. “No, why? What’s going on with yours?”
My new companion’s name was Karen. She was 78 years old, and from Marin County, “You know, right across the Golden Gate from the city.”
Sure. I knew Marin.
…Mucho dinero
(hence the gardener).
As the bus fell into traffic, it quickly became clear that Karen was in the mood to talk.
Sometimes we just want to be heard.
On that chilly winter morning, I was content just to sit back and listen. I noticed that Karen possessed those affectations common to the very affluent.
I also noticed that she was dry, droll, and very funny in an offhanded kind of way. She killed me.
As the wintry New England landscape rolled by, I learned all about her family, friends, hobbies…and the people that annoyed her.
In spite of myself, I was enjoying my new companion.
Her husband was a diplomat, As a result, she was an experienced world traveler.
She enjoyed wine tasting as a hobby. I was never a wine drinker…unless, of course, there was absolutely nothing else available (think of a diehard Marlboro smoker mooching Virginia Slims Ultra Light menthols because there was absolutely nothing else on hand). I preferred drinking anything that would evoke the gag reflex, and curl your nostril hairs. 
Right around the time we were passing through Hingham, Karen turned to me and asked, “So…what’s your favorite wine?”
Once upon a time I would have come back with something like, “Personally, I prefer one of the finer vintages that come in a box.” …Something smart ass.
I liked her too much for that.
Instead, I just looked at her and casually said, “I don’t drink.”
It took her by surprise, “At all?”
“Nope.”
“How long has this been going on?”
I glanced at my watch, “About thirty-two years, now.”
“Do you go to AA?”
“I do.”
Rather than peppering me with endless questions, or telling me about her hairdresser’s son’s cousin with a drinking problem, or some damn thing like that, she said nothing.
Instead, it was clear that my stock as a going human concern just went way up.
We never mentioned it again.
It wasn’t something I purposely set out to do, but I was now a formal representative of Alcoholics Anonymous…and all alcoholics in general.
It’s pretty simple.
If I’d behaved like a knucklehead, everyone in recovery would have been unfairly prejudged as knuckleheads.
No, it’s not fair, It’s human nature.
Love it or hate it, for better or for worse, we alchys need to protect each other with the constant vigilance of being on our best behavior.
ANYWAY 
Since I work on computers and consumer electronics, people tend to use me as a Help Desk.
I’m used to it.
Karen asked if I knew anything about cell phones.
I admitted I did.
She reached in her pocket and produced an antiquated, battered iPhone that had obviously seen better days.
I turned it over in my hands,
“Has the Smithsonian been after you for this thing?”
She sighed, “Good Lord. Are you going to give me grief about my phone, too?”
I regarded it critically, “Pretty much.”
She wanted to learn how to delete emails, and had accumulated over 1,400 of them.
“1,400 emails?! That’s pretty lame, Karen.”
She thought that was a hoot.
I showed her how to do it, repeated the process a couple more times, and returned her phone, “Here, you do it.”
She seemed comfortable with the process.
I then gave her some valuable advice, “When you’re feeling ambitious, pour yourself a big glass of wine and knock off 100 at a time. Before you know it they’ll be all gone.
You have to keep at them. These things accumulate like wire coat hangers.”
When we finally reached Logan airport, her terminal came before mine.
I was genuinely sorry to see my new friend go.
She walked off the bus and resumed her life.
That was the last we would ever see each other.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
God loves to spot check me by randomly throwing me curves.
I never know when they’ll show up, or what form they may take:
A big inconvenience could be an opportunity in disguise;
A major disappointment might turn out to be a life lesson,
When God speaks, it’s up to me to pay attention.
CALL TO ACTION–
How has God tested you?
WHAT YOU THINK MATTERS.
