Step Two

[Maura Blake]

Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity...

The Catholic faith had always been a focal point in my upbringing. We did not eat meat on Fridays -- ever, not just during Lent, and we went to Mass each Sunday morning at ten o'clock. Got palms on the Sunday before Easter and sat through the vigil for hours on end. My mom still has my baptism gown and my Communion dress, probably because she hopes for one or the other, or both, to be used by her grandchildren. Catholicism was a habit for me, really. Yes, I believed in God, Father the Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth -- it's amazing how much a child could memorize. It pains me that the Church changed its responses -- do they realize how ingrained these words are to us? Seriously, keep with 'Peace be with you... and also with you.' I detest the reply, 'and with your spirit.'

But I digress...

As I got older, Catholicism did not have a place in my life. First, the whole pre-marital sex thing put a damper on it. I lost my virginity when I was seventeen -- yes, I regretted it. If I knew then what I know now, I'd have waited. Waited til marriage? Absolutely not, but I'd have waited for the right guy. Right around that time I was heavily into drinking and gambling. My god became Johnny Walker and my church was Paddy's Pub. My communion was Sundays during football season, and my penance was the pay out I usually had to make Monday night. When I realized that I needed -- and wanted -- help, I joined AA. The first step was the hardest, as cliche as that might sound. It was. It was physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausting admitting that I had a drinking problem. But it was more than just the booze. I lacked focus. I lacked a sense of not only myself, but the world around me.

I was a little antsy about the second step because, at that time in my life, I considered myself an atheist. My sponsor, C, explained it to me -- it didn't have to mean God. Or Yahweh. Or Allah. Or Buddha. It could be nature and the expanse of the universe... anything that is greater than us. All we had to do was believe that this greater entity could restore our sanity. It took some convincing, but I went to church on a complete and utter whim. I'd been visiting my Aunt Patricia at a hospital in the Bronx and decided to walk around because it was such a beautiful day. I ended up passing by a small church called St. Clare's. I thought it was a sign -- though I can't really admit why... not here. The doors were open, letting in the spring air that was perfumed with a touch of lilac and peonies growing in the fenced-in front courtyard. The congregation was singing "Here I am, Lord." That had been my grandmother's favorite hymn, and I can still remember her singing it when she tended to some menial task. Yet another sign.

The ushers were readying the collection baskets, and as I walked in, two of the gentlemen bid me welcome. Another priest was standing at the threshold as well, armed with a pen to sign the weekly bulletins for the kids preparing to make their Confirmation in the coming month. He eyed me curiously, as if he could sense that I half-expected the roof to cave in or the holy statues to turn to dust at my mere presence. Someone once said in a book or a tv show, that there are two professionals who can always tell when their customers or clients stay away -- priests and dentists. I got the distinct impression that he knew how long I'd been astray. They welcomed me in, though, and I selected an empty spot in a back pew. I sat there through the end of the mass and for an hour after it. Prayers did not come easily, and I don't remember if I actually said anything more than a 'Hail Mary, full of grace...' Yet, I thought about everything, everyone. My life, my goals. My drinking. My second chance. It all became clear to me then -- that there is hope. I'd been sober for sixty-one days when I completed the second step. The insanity of my life had lessened, at least where my drinking was concerned.

The next day, that Monday, I started working on a news report. It began with a trend in missing persons... and it led me to covering and tracking a possible serial killer. Three years of my life had been spent on that story. It brought me into the hands of a homicidal maniac who, at his trial, spat at me and told me he dreamed of cutting off my face. I think God knew what I was going to be up against when I happened upon that little church in the Bronx. He knew that I have only enough room in my life for one insanity at a time.

I think another one has started.