“Okay, God… I’m available.”

Sometimes somebody says something so simple that it just stops you.

That happened to me yesterday.

I had the opportunity to do some service work with another spiritual organization I’m involved with. More than twenty volunteers took a Dinner and Game Night to a local assisted living community. There was food, laughter, fellowship, and tables filled with people playing everything from board games to card games.

While the residents were playing, I wandered around the room. I’d sit down at one table for a while, watch the game, listen to the conversation, laugh a little, and then move on to another.

Eventually, I found myself sitting with four ladies who were playing some card game I had never heard of. I had absolutely no idea what was happening. But they did. And they were all up into it.

There were cards flying, rules being quoted, accusations being made, victories being celebrated. I didn’t understand the game well enough to know who was winning, but I knew enough to stay out of their way.

As we talked, I mentioned how grateful and blessed we volunteers were to have the opportunity to spend the afternoon/evening with them. Somehow the conversation drifted toward God and our relationship with God.

Then one of the women said something I’ll probably remember for a very long time. She said, essentially:

“Well, my relationship with God is simple. I just start each day by waking up and saying, ‘Okay, God… I’m available.’”

BAM.

That hit me right between the eyes. How simple is that? And yet, how profound.

• Not: God, here’s what I need You to do today.
• Not: God, here are the things I’m worried about.
• Not: God, here’s my plan. Please make everything work out accordingly.
• Just: “Okay, God… I’m available.”

I thought, Now THAT is a morning prayer.

Before I Start Running the Universe

I’ve prayed a lot of prayers over the years. Some have been eloquent. Some desperate. And if I’m being truthful, some probably sounded considerably more like negotiations than prayers.

• God, if You could just fix this…
• God, please make them understand…
• God, could You open this door…
• God, could You close THAT door…
• God, please show me Your will—and if possible, could You make it look a whole lot like mine?

But what if, before any of that, my prayer simply became: “Good morning, God. Okay. I’m available.” No agenda. No PowerPoint presentation. No list of suggested outcomes. No explanation of how I think the universe could be managed more efficiently. Just: I’m available.

Because there are going to be a hundred things today that I think I need to do. Emails need answering. Phone calls need returning. Appointments need keeping. Groceries need buying. Bills need paying. Somebody needs something. Something needs fixing. Something else needs finding. And there are approximately seventeen things that absolutely must happen today because I have determined civilization itself may collapse if they don’t. Meanwhile, perhaps the most important question isn’t: “What do I need to accomplish today?” Maybe it’s: “Am I available today?”

The Alcoholic Mind Has a Morning Meeting Too

One of the fascinating things about alcoholism is that alcohol doesn’t have to be anywhere in the room for alcoholic thinking to show up. My alcoholic mind is perfectly capable of holding a full staff meeting before I’ve even gotten out of bed.

7:02 a.m. — Emergency Executive Session

Today’s agenda:

1. Something that happened yesterday.
2. Something that might happen today.
3. Something somebody said three weeks ago.
4. Something somebody might be thinking about me.
5. Something that has never happened but theoretically could.
6. Something I should have said during an argument in 1997.

Motion to obsess? Passed unanimously.

And away we go.

Before I’ve even said good morning to God, I’ve mentally rewritten yesterday, rehearsed today, and attempted to control tomorrow. That’s the friction. The problem isn’t that I have things to do. The problem is how quickly what I need to do becomes what I need to control. And control doesn’t leave much room for availability.

“God, I’m Available… With Certain Restrictions”

I can say I’m available while quietly attaching terms and conditions. “I’m available, God.” Wonderful. Except…

• Not if it involves that person.
• Not if it’s inconvenient.
• Not if nobody notices.
• Not if someone else gets the credit.
• Not if I have to apologize.
• Not if You want me to listen instead of talk.
• Not if You want me to change my mind.
• Not if You want me to give away something I was planning to keep.
• Not if You want me to call somebody I’ve been avoiding.
• And definitely not if You interrupt the very important day I have carefully curated for myself.

In other words: “I’m completely available, God, provided You don’t need anything.” That sounds ridiculous when I write it. It sounds considerably less ridiculous when I recognize how often I live it.

Our Big Book Already Gives Us the Morning Instructions

The Big Book doesn’t suggest that we wake up and immediately begin managing the universe. In Into Action, we’re told that when we awaken, we think about the twenty-four hours ahead and consider our plans for the day. But then comes the important part: before we begin, we ask God to direct our thinking. That’s a radically different way of starting the day.

Not: God, here are my plans. Please approve.

But: God, direct me.

And throughout our program, we’re continually moved away from the question: “What am I going to get out of today?” toward: “How can I be useful today?” That’s a completely different orientation to life. For this alcoholic, it may be the difference between a day driven by self and a day directed by a God of my own understanding.

Most of God’s Work Doesn’t Look Very Impressive

Here’s where I think we can miss it. When we say, “God, I’m available,” we may imagine some grand spiritual assignment. Maybe we’re supposed to change someone’s life. Deliver some brilliant message. Lead something important. Perform some heroic act of service. But God’s answer may simply be: Call him. That’s it? Yep. Listen to her. Anything else? Nope. Pick up those chairs. Seriously? Yep. Let that car merge. Okay, now You’re just meddling.

Because God’s work is frequently disguised as ordinary life.

• The cashier who looks exhausted.
• The newcomer standing alone after the meeting while everybody else is talking to their friends.
• The sponsee who calls at the exact moment you finally sit down to eat.
• The elderly neighbor struggling with something in the driveway.
• The person who needs you to listen when you desperately want to explain.
• The meeting nobody wants to clean up after.
• The shopping cart sitting six feet from the cart return. Yes. The shopping cart.

Sometimes spiritual growth looks remarkably like just putting the cart back. And maybe yesterday, God’s work looked like sitting down at a table with four women playing a card game I didn’t understand. Funny how that works. I thought I was there to serve them. One of them ended up giving something to me.

And Then There’s the Phone

Nothing tests my morning surrender quite like technology. “Good morning, God. I’m available.” Beautiful. Then I pick up my phone. Email. Facebook. Text messages. News. Weather. Calendar. Another email. A notification about something I don’t care about from an app I don’t remember installing.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve made myself available to virtually everybody except God.

I’m not suggesting phones are evil. I’m suggesting my attention is valuable. Whatever gets my attention first often gets to establish the emotional temperature of my morning. If the first voice I hear every morning belongs to the world, I probably shouldn’t be surprised when I spend the rest of the day reacting to the world. Maybe God deserves first crack at me. Before the inbox. Before Facebook. Before the news. Before I find out what everybody else thinks I should be upset about today.

Good morning, God. Okay. I’m available.

Availability Is Different From Ability

This may be the part I love most. I don’t have to begin the day saying: I’m qualified. Or: I’m prepared. Or: I know exactly what I’m doing. I certainly don’t have to say: I understand God’s plan.

I just have to be available.

That’s something Alcoholics Anonymous taught me. When I first came into AA, I didn’t need someone who had a doctorate in alcoholism. I needed someone who had been where I had been and had found a way out. One alcoholic talking to another. The language of the heart. Someone had been available for me. Eventually, the responsibility shifts.

Now I need to be available for someone else. That doesn’t require brilliance. It requires presence. I don’t have to know exactly what to say. I don’t have to solve someone’s problem. I don’t have to fix anybody. I just have to show up. Maybe that’s why “I’m available” is such a powerful prayer.

• I’m not saying: I’m qualified.
• I’m not saying: I’m certain.
• I’m not saying: I’ve got this.

I’m saying: I’m here. Use what I’ve got.

The Tension: Self-Will Can Wear a Service Badge

There is, however, another side to this. Because alcoholics can turn almost anything into self-will. Even service. I can become so busy helping everybody else that I don’t have time to examine myself. I can decide what God wants other people to do. I can confuse being needed with being useful. I can call control “service.” I can call people-pleasing “love.” I can call overcommitment “sacrifice.” I can even become resentful because nobody appreciates how incredibly available I am.

That’s alcoholic thinking sneaking in through the spiritual back door. So availability also requires discernment.

• Sometimes being available means saying yes.
• Sometimes it means saying no.
• Sometimes it means speaking.
• Sometimes it means shutting up.
• Sometimes it means stepping forward.
• Sometimes it means getting out of somebody else’s way.

And occasionally the most spiritual sentence I can say all day is: “That’s none of my business.”

My Plans Still Matter

None of this means I throw away my calendar. Responsibilities matter. Appointments matter. Work matters. Paying the electric bill is generally preferable to sitting in the dark explaining that God had other plans. The Big Book itself tells us to consider our plans for the day. The issue isn’t whether I have a plan. The issue is whether my plan has me.

Can I move through my responsibilities while remaining interruptible? Can I hold today’s agenda loosely enough that God can put somebody in my path? Can I recognize that the unexpected phone call may not be interrupting God’s plan for my day? It may be God’s plan for my day. That’s harder.

Because my alcoholic mind loves efficiency. My spiritual life asks for availability.

“Okay, God… I’m Available.”

I don’t know everything God wants me to do today. That’s probably good. If God handed me the entire list at 7:00 a.m., I’d probably reorganize it, color-code it, prioritize it, create a spreadsheet, and send it back with recommendations. Maybe I only need the next thing. The next person. The next opportunity to be kind. The next chance to listen. The next moment when I can choose patience instead of irritation. The next alcoholic who needs to hear that recovery is possible. The next place where I can be useful without needing to be important.

Yesterday, I walked into an assisted living community thinking I was going there to be of service. I ate some food. I laughed. I visited. I watched four ladies play a card game I still don’t understand. And one of those women casually handed me a spiritual principle I hope I don’t soon forget.

That’s how this thing works sometimes. We show up believing we’re carrying something in. Then somebody gives us exactly what we needed.

So tomorrow morning, if God gives me another day, before the phone, before the calendar, and preferably before my alcoholic brain convenes its emergency meeting to discuss matters over which I have absolutely no control, maybe I can remember that woman’s prayer. 

Nothing fancy.

Nothing complicated.

Just: “Good morning, God. Okay. I’m available.”

And then get up and pay attention.

Because if I’m truly available, I have a feeling God will find something for me to do.

In love & service,