November 3, 1988 – November 3, 2026. The anniversary date of my sobriety fell on election day this year! There has to be some significance to that. What? I'm not sure. Except that, like the rest of the nation, I have a choice today. The choices I make today will affect the rest of my life and the lives of others.
I opened up social media and was bombarded with people suffering from cancer. This has been going on for some time now. I think it's God putting these people in front of me so that I pray for them. And I do. Immediately. On the spot. Praying for someone is such an easy thing to do, but hard.
I, too, am suffering from the side effects of cancer treatment. A big part of my healing is praying for others who are in the same shape or worse than me. I am cancer free, but the fight is far from over.
And it is a fight. A bloody, messy, painful fight. Let no one tell you it's not. I don't know what your social media looks like, but mine is full of people suffering and crying out for prayer.
I pray and keep praying. I have no problem with dying. I know where I'm going. It's the possible pain and suffering of dying that I fear. When it happens I will play the cards I'm dealt. If I hadn't sobered up, I would have died a long time ago. I came mighty close on my last drunk. I need to be thankful for the life I've been given. I'll keep on praying.
I am so thankful to have Ginnie in my life. She does a great job looking after me and my needs. Of course, I take advantage of it. I haven't completely given up all my selfishness. That's what cancer is: a disease that focuses you on self, the narcissistic self.
Stormy, our overweight tom cat, is my greatest sympathizer and healer. Sensing my pain, he jumps up on my lap. He first sniffs my breath to see where I need kneading, and rubs his chin against mine. He then moves to the spot that needs attention, my chest, stomach or legs, and kneads until he's satisfied he's brought comfort. His needle claws are like Cupid's arrows. They hurt but bring relief. He curls up on my lap, like the comfort cat he is, and we nap together. Stormy is so soft and warm and his purring brings healing, I've been told.
One of my sobriety buddies pointed out that I have now been sober for longer than I drank. It seems to be a badge of courage among us recovering drunks, but means nothing unless your life has changed for the better. And mine has. Today, I typically ride my stationary bike or row on my rowing machine for an hour daily, help others when I can, and am so close to God it feels like I can breathe Him in.
Back in 2020 I invited friends to the Empty Nest Farm on my sobriety birthday to accompany me while I ran a half-marathon here on the farm. It was election day then also. Round and around the driveway loop we jogged. I tripped and fell once, but got back up and kept on going. Some of my fellow runners could walk faster than I was “running” and did. But, hey, 13.1 miles is 13.1 miles. We gave away t-shirts that said, “Vote for Health!”
Today when I opened up social media, there was, of course, a skin-and-bones cancer patient. I prayed for him. The next post was from a person who also sobered up in 1988. Hallelujah! Another 38 years sober person. Coincidental? I don't think so.
Ginnie and I celebrated 38 years of sobriety and election day by eating homemade chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes (oh, man), and watching the returns. My meditation reading for the day said that, “Happiness cannot be sought. It is a byproduct of love and service.” I have a feeling my health issues are going to tick back and forth like a pendulum, like politics. Keep praying. Life is a prayer.
Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com. Curt is available for public speaking.
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