Charlie Kirk – Warrior for All. Truly.

Understanding that those with strong biases and a fixed mindset will not hear my words, I am still compelled to say that celebrating the death of a man who championed free speech for all, regardless of his own values and ideals, is cause for serious self-reflection. To hate a man so much that you’re glad he’s dead when all he wanted was to encourage young people to think for themselves is, again, cause for self-reflection. Charlie Kirk’s desire was to strengthen the ability of young people to think for themselves through calm debate with a smile. If a person with an opposing perspective could beat him in debate, he was good with that. It showed that the person had the ability to not resort to hate speech but to facts and evidence. Logic. Most could not beat him in debate, but even if and when they could, Charlie was pleased.

In the same way, I am pleased when one of my students can take a stance that is opposite to mine and fully support it with facts and figures.

There is no need for name-calling, for hate, for violence when opposing perspectives exist. There is zero logic in hating someone for being different from you. These are heavy, hard days. The status of our country is clearly divided. I came across this video of makeup artist Jeffree Star’s reaction to the assassination of Charlie Kirk, and I leave you with this …

Gynotykolobomassophile

This, and no other, is my favorite word. When we discuss unfamiliar terms in my Composition courses, I inevitably throw this word into the mix, and students must try to figure out the word without looking it up. Hilarious.

I like to look around the room and pick on a student or two by saying, “Maybe you are one?” And then, everyone really wants to know what the word means.

The point of the ‘lesson’ is that you cannot use terms that are unfamiliar to your audience and expect to get your message across. The responsibility is on you to detect words in your writing that might cause a reader to stop, be pulled out of the reading, be confused, be embarrassed, be mortified, or whatever emotion they might feel. Unfamiliar terms are stop signs in an argument for most readers and listeners, though some will pause, look up the word, add it to their own vocabulary, and enjoy feeling just that bit more intelligent. I try to be one of the latter types of readers/listeners.

By the way, for those of you wondering, a Gynotykolobomassophile is …. drumroll … someone who likes to nibble on a woman’s earlobe. Bada-dum.

I found it on a Balderdash game card, and I fell in love with the word; I even used it in my book “For Love of Words,” which I need to get republished. When there’s time …

Rant on Stitt’s Oklahoma Homeless Crisis “Solution”

Yesterday, I asked him how he feels about Governor Stitt’s mobilizing the Highway Patrol and police department in Tulsa to clear out homeless encampments – providing the homeless with two options: treatment facilities or jail. I’ve read articles and comment threads; I’ve watched news clips, and in my mind’s eye, I see a young man who weighs no more than 110 pounds. He’s dirty and hungry. His hair is halfway down his back; he has a scraggly beard. He’s wearing girl’s jeans that he took from a random person’s laundry line; they’re short on him, like capri pants. There are no shoes on his feet. He stands inside an AA room, and people avoid contact with him, moving around him because he smells of body odor and garbage. He’s been living in abandoned buildings and eating out of trash cans – drinking and drugs like a tidal wave took his family, his security, and his dignity, and he is broken, hungry, and desperate for a kind word. I’m bothered – deeply – by what Governor Stitt has done here – and not from a self-righteous anger that’s my fad-related “hill-to-die-on” flavor of the week (I don’t normally have those anyway). I’m bothered because that young man in my mind’s eye, 38 ½ years ago, was my husband, Patrick. He, this man that I’m married to and love with all my heart, was homeless – a “throw-away” person. He was the man that Governor Still is removing with what seems like callousness and utter disregard. He is the man whom no one had taken the time to speak kindly to or find out how he got there in the first place, to ascertain what the catalyst of his homeless state was, where his people were, and what his mental state was. The questions and things to consider about why the homeless are in that position go on and on, but it seems like that’s not happening here. Just move them. Where? Treatment centers (which we do not have enough room in) or Jail (which we also do not have enough room in) – and most of them haven’t done anything wrong to warrant jail. I asked my Patrick how he feels about what the Governor of Oklahoma has done.

He is bothered. Deeply.

There must be better solutions. There are better solutions. However, those require actual work, care, resources, volunteers, and financial support. Patrick and I saw a small “village” of tiny homes off the Gilcrease Expressway the other day, and because of his past life, we got to talking about how that could be a solution for a portion of the homeless problem; this was before the Stitt activity began. The property owner could provide housing with stipulations. The homeless who genuinely want help will receive it, and those who don’t will be easily identified and weeded out. Those are the ones who are far gone in addiction and need either treatment or, only if warranted, jail. There are so many reasons why people are homeless. To lump them all into one category is offensive, wrong, damaging, and insane.

What about abandoned hotels? Why are we not using some of the tax dollars that line politicians’ pockets (and other well-meaning individuals’) to refurbish the old hotel eyesores around Tulsa, making them into homeless shelters with stipulations and resources? Tunnel to Towers is doing that with old hotels … turning them into apartments for veterans. Why is this not also an option for our homeless problems across this country, not just in Tulsa? There are reasons people are homeless. They’re not all criminals or scary. They are people whose lives tanked, and this could happen to anyone at any time. To look at my husband now, you might think it impossible that he was ever a homeless, throw-away, alcoholic/addicted man with track marks up and down his arms and his neck. This amazing man I’m married to, who loves me second, God first, has lived through harder things than most people I’ve ever known, and his relationship with God is sincere. His heart for the struggling alcoholic or drug addict is huge because he’s been there. He knows.

He knows that each of those homeless people has a story.

Each one ended up homeless due to a series of unfortunate events – whether of their own making or not; at a certain point, that doesn’t matter so much – how they got there. Help and healing matter. These people are salvageable. I know so… I am happily married to a man who was formerly homeless. Yes, I keep saying it. It is part of his redemption story! It’s an incredible story, and he’d share it with anyone who wanted to hear it. My husband showed up on the doorstep of AA looking for help. After some time, he found it there. Many homeless people are helpless in their circumstances until someone reaches out a kind hand instead of just removing them like trash, dumping them on the doorsteps of treatment centers that are already overwhelmed and understaffed.

I’m bothered. My husband is bothered. And I needed to speak up, even if only to start a conversation. This is not something I do often, as I generally keep my political views to myself. Not my belief in God Almighty, though, that is not to be hidden! But politics, I typically stay on the quiet side, but on this… I had to say something. This course of action will not solve the real problem – the underlying issues of WHY are these people “unhoused.” What a stupid term. This course of action (removing them, throwing their belongings away, putting them in either facilities or jails) is police-state. It has a blatant disregard for those whose lives don’t seem to matter as much as the people who are afraid of the homeless or find the homeless people’s existence to disrupt the beauty and calm of their own comfortable ways of life. They don’t want to see the homeless when they drive to get their manicures and groceries at Reasor’s. It’s discomforting and scary, embarrassing even, and might call on them to become aware that not all is “perfect” in the world around them.

Okay, so I’m bothered. I’ve said that more than once. Now, the question is this: “Okay, Dacia, what else are you going to do about it?” I will continue to follow my husband’s lead. On occasion, he helps a homeless person as he is led to, and I support him and follow suit. We remain open to God’s leading in our daily lives, and as He places someone or something on our hearts, we act, whether that is at a QuikTrip or in an AA meeting, wherever that takes place. And I will say out loud, through my fingers on this keyboard, moving the homeless “out of sight” will not solve the greater issue. We have a homeless crisis in our midst, and it’s not going to go away by throwing out the homeless people’s belongings and sticking the homeless in jail and treatment centers. That is not a solution.

It’s just not. We need real solutions.

Those who profess to be believers in Jesus, we need to consider many of His words in red—the ones we claim to believe and follow, where He says that whatever you do for the least of these, you do it for Him. How comfortable are we with tossing Jesus into a treatment center or jail? Or should churches, perhaps, step up, get uncomfortable, and be difference makers in our communities? Use all that building program money to care for the homeless instead …

The Sheep and the Goats

³¹“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. ³²All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. ³³He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

³⁴“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

³⁷“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

⁴⁰“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

⁴¹“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴²For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

⁴⁴“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

⁴⁵“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Matthew 25:31-45

A Year, A Month, and 25 Days Post Surgery. Some Thoughts.

When I wake up in the mornings, I curl my shoulders together, roll to my right side, and push myself up to sitting with my right arm. This is an effort to avoid feeling a tug in my chest. It’s not necessarily a painful tug, but it’s there nonetheless. It is also there when I reach too far, when I sneeze, and when I laugh hard. Describing the feeling has me stumped. It’s a tug, and sometimes I have sore spots in my chest. When I apply pressure to them, the soreness alleviates. From what I read online and in heart surgery support groups, these are normal occurrences even though I am a year, a month, and 25 days post-surgery.

That in itself is wild! A year, a month, and 25 days since my chest was cut open, my rib cage cracked open, and my heart repaired – my severely leaking mitral valve replaced with an On-X mechanical valve. My dad recently watched on YouTube a surgery like I underwent; I cannot bring myself to watch one of those videos yet. But I tell you what, I am grateful. Without that surgery, I would not be alive in this physical form. I do not mind the tugs and the soreness. They remind me that this world might have moved on without me in it much sooner than I was ready for it to, and I’m still here.

When I feel the tug or the soreness, I thank God, and I ask to be of use to Him as I live out the remainder of this addition to my life that He orchestrated. I know that is what it is. In retrospect, I see the events that led to the discovery of my heart failure, and I believe with all that I am that I am still here in this physical form because of Him. Each day is to be lived with purpose, and for that, I am grateful. My word is grateful. Despite the blood thinner, despite the INR testing every week and communicating with nurses every week, despite the lack of spinach on my sandwiches, despite avoiding green onions, which I love, despite the easy bruising, despite the fact that I’m supposed to be eating low sodium (and I’m trying – sort of), despite all of that, which in the big picture is nothing, I am grateful! <3. Grateful to still have time to live as God desires me to, which is laid out in MIcah 6:8.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly^[a] with your God.”

Unity – Foundational to AA and to Marriage.

“Soon, AA was beset by these very problems on every side and in every group. But out of this frightening and at first disrupting experience, the conviction grew that AAs had to hang together or die separately. We had to unify our Fellowship or pass off the scene” (Big Book p. xix).

I love these words in the Foreword to the Fourth Edition of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. The Foreword is a historical section that lays out the story of AA and how it grew (that is the word used in the text) from two men to millions in a matter of years. The early and quick growth of AA overwhelmed the original members, and they knew they needed principles to guide the growth, or they (AA) would implode – not even fully take off with the potential that existed to save many alcoholics from sure misery and death. The 100 initial men and women of AA set out to put their ideas on paper, and the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous was published in 1939. AA needed principles as a foundation – a foundation on three pillars. Recovery. Service. Unity.

Unity is foundational to AA. According to the 12 Traditions, no outside issues, no religion, no politics, and no divisive issues are to be brought to the table. Only that which concerns the common problem of AA members – alcoholism. This is something all AA members have in common, and it is the thread that holds them together. Clinging to that above all is vital for the survival of the whole and, as a result, of individuals. Unity in recovery. Unity in service. Unity in purpose.

Unity is essential, not just for an organization to function, but also in marriage. And this is where my mind goes when I read these words in the first paragraph. I’m grateful for the unity in AA; it astounds me how it works, but it does, and I realize that it works very close to home for me in my marriage. The unity in my marriage is something I never thought I’d have or deserve. Some people say I’m crazy. Some people say Patrick is crazy. But … our crazies work great together, and we have unity of purpose. Unity in recovery. Unity in service. We both know and have experienced that a lack of unity in marriage is a frightening and disruptive experience that leads to the death of marriage and the destruction of individuals. For Patrick and me, unity is vital.

We do not fight. There are no raised voices. There are no raised hands. We talk to each other. We respect each other. We put the needs of one another above our own. Unity in our relationship is more important than prioritizing our own selfish needs or desires. This home is based on principles and shared faith. Unity is how we function because we know that if we do not maintain it as our guiding principle, we will “die separately” or “pass off the scene.”

I see intentional unity work in AA.

I see intentional unity work in my marriage.

I know intentional unity could work in other spaces as well, if the “self” could be set aside, and the whole becomes most important.

Finding God or Something to Believe In, a Higher Power, is Hard for You? I Have a Few Questions.

How do you know right from wrong?

My conscience.

Did you make it?

No.

Can you take it out and show it to me?

No.

Has it ever told you to do something wrong?

No.

Does it ever leave you?

No.

How long have you had it?

Always.

So, you have something inside you that you didn’t make, something you can’t take out and show to me, something that tells you right from wrong, something that has never told you to do a single thing wrong, something that never leaves you and has always been with you.

Hmmmm.

Is it possible that could be ‘God’?

Speaking directly to you.

Always there.

Always inside you.

Always telling you right from wrong.

Waiting for you to acknowledge Him.

Inside you. Waiting.

Start there with faith.

When a Message is Watered Down, Its Power Disintegrates.

Watering down a message dilutes its impact and reduces its chance to make a difference. This is true in many arenas where speeches, sermons, and ideas are shared. Classrooms. Churches. AA meetings….

The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous was first published in 1939. In 1955, a second edition was published. The stories of the original members of AA were removed, and newer stories replaced those in the back portion of the text. The first 164 pages saw little change; however, according to the AA website, “In the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), the phrase ‘an honest desire to stop drinking’ was originally in the Preamble, but was later changed to ‘a desire to stop drinking’. The word ‘honest’ was removed in 1958 at the General Service Conference due to concerns about determining what constitutes an honest desire and potential confusion for newcomers.” In 1976, the third edition of the Big Book was published, and with it came the addition of more stories and forewords to the first 164 pages, which saw little change again. In 2001, the fourth edition was published, and it contained new stories, with most of the original 164 pages remaining unchanged. However, upon comparing the text of the original edition and the fourth edition side by side, changes can be observed. There are subtle alterations, like the one mentioned above, that, although slight, change the message. No longer does a person need an HONEST desire; just a desire will do. The word HONEST apparently is confusing. Here, I roll my eyes – the text as it was originally written is not hard to understand if a person is honestly desiring a change of life and sits down with another AA member who has thoroughly and fearlessly followed the steps laid out in the first 164 pages of the Big Book of AA. At meetings, whenever the opportunity to read the preamble presents itself, my husband and I will read the word ‘HONEST,’ even though it’s no longer in the text. This past fall, the fifth edition was published (2024), and it is “The Plain Language” edition – it is much like “The Message” Bible. Someone, somewhere, decided to water down the wording so that more people can access the message (please hear my sarcasm in the italics). Except, what occurs is, if the message, as originally written, is watered down, it is changed, and it is NO longer the message that SAVES people from a life of Alcoholism as it was initially prescribed.

In AA’s first years, the success rate was 75%. 75% of people who entered the program became recovered alcoholics. Today, in 2025, the success rate is less than 10%. Hmmm. Wonder why? Because the message gets watered down. Because people create workbooks that are NOT based on or derived from the original text of the message, which has been proven to be effective. There is something about us people… we can have a message in front of us that is pretty simple and easy to grasp, but we have to elaborate on it…. We have to add our own spin to it. We have to be able to ‘claim’ our part in the sharing of the message. This started bothering me in Bible College after one of my professors, Terry Chaney, memorized the entire book of James. He stood at the podium during chapel and simply recited the Book of James. The most powerful sermon I have ever heard. That was over 30 years ago, and I’ll never forget the POWER of the ORIGINAL TEXT. But so many preachers and teachers want to put their own spin on the message. Read a paragraph or a verse, and then pontificate for hours … People just have to write their own, change it, make it “easier” – thinking their way of explaining it will make more sense than the ORIGINAL MESSAGE – and the irony of that is that the Big Book says, “We thought we could find an easier, softer way. But we could not. With all the earnestness at our command, we beg of you to be fearless and thorough from the very start.” The writers request that newcomers aim to be fearless and thorough with the steps outlined in the BIG BOOK, rather than relying on workbooks, apps, or lists to turn into sponsors, or making required phone calls to sponsors, etc. None of those items are spoken of in the text of the Big Book.

The Big Book is not “PC.” It is blunt and direct because it is written to SAVE LIVES. There is no pussy-footing around in the Original Text of the Big Book of AA.

My husband has been sober for 38 years. The first 4 years and 8 months of his sobriety were spent in the “easier, softer way” fashion, and he nearly killed himself because of the misery of his not-recovered life. After he underwent a reckoning within himself regarding whether he wanted to live, he approached a man named Chuck at a meeting. Chuck was the kind of guy that most members would avoid because he didn’t care about your feelings; he cared about your sobriety and your life. He spoke the truth, and he hurt feelings, though it was no skin off his back. Patrick went to Chuck for help, and Chuck took him through the first 164 pages of the Big Book in a vigorous way, just as the text says to do. Patrick has never been the same. His life changed. He has a fiery passion for AA … not only because it saved his life but also because it led him to a solid and authentic relationship with God the Father and Christ the Son. That may not be true for every AA member, but for my husband, it was and it is. Coming to understand that 1) We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives have become unmanageable, 2) Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity, and 3) Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him are the first three steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, and they are vital to recovery.

Patrick was asked to speak at the 81st birthday party of The Original Group, which was founded in 1944, just five years after the publication of the Big Book of AA. The founders of AA were still alive when The Original Group began; that’s pretty cool. Patrick was honored to speak; he knew it was his task to talk about the vital necessity of keeping to the original message of AA. And that is precisely what he did. Below is Patrick’s message. Watch it. Share it. It is vitally essential for the survival of AA that we stick to the original text. We need to be about saving lives. One alcoholic to another. No shortcuts. No easier, softer way. It is work.

11 Months Post-Open-Heart Surgery

Today, I am 11 months post-open-heart surgery to replace my Mitral Valve with a mechanical valve, and I am grateful. That has been my word through this entire journey – Grateful. I claim it for the rest of my time here this side of Heaven. I am grateful for the opportunity to still love on folks, share my story, and tell about God’s goodness to me and the peace I knew in the operating room just before surgery. That moment was a “moment” for me. One I’ll never forget. In a room full of people – nurses, doctors, techs, and who knows who else, I was alone with Jesus and at complete peace. I looked outside the window (yes, there were windows just at street level where I could see traffic going by), and I knew all was well, whatever the outcome. No fear. Just peace. Inside, I said to Jesus, “Either I wake up with you, or I wake up with work to do.” And, I woke up, still here, with work to do. I am grateful for the continued opportunity to be a positive light – at least that is what I strive to be!

My scar is healing nicely. Hair is still thin, and I’m okay with it. I still get sore in my chest, but the doctor said that’s normal. It’s “only been” 11 months. I need to walk more than I do – and I will. I have every intention to -our days are full – that’s my excuse. I said to my doctor, “Isn’t it enough that I rarely sit down? I’m always up and moving. My step-counter on my watch and my phone frequently hit my step goals.” He said, “No, that doesn’t count.” You apparently need 30 minutes of cardiac activity … like walking. Insert a big, giant smile here. I know. I know. And I will. Right now, I’m focused on preparing my summer classes – again, I’m teaching three. This summer, I’m taking a course, too. It will be busy, and that’s just how I like it. Busy. Busy. Busy.

I check my blood pressure frequently and my INR weekly. Those are routine now for me, and I’m good with it. I’m grateful to be here, grateful for each day, grateful for each moment. This morning, I have a friend coming over to chat for a while, and I’m happy. Life is full, and God is good. Each day, my prayer is full of gratitude and a request … that I may be of use to HIM today.

Here’s to 11 months!

Spalazza Recipe – a bit of spaghetti, lasagna, and pizza in one dish.

Spalazza – Dacia Cunningham 5/15/25

6 packages Ramen Noodles

1 container Ricotta Cheese

2 Jars/Cans Spaghetti Sauce

1 Cup Heavy Cream

1 lb. Sausage

2 Cups (or more) Mozzarella Cheese

1 lb. Hamburger

Pepperoni

Garlic, Onion, Italian Seasonings to taste.

Parmesan Cheese (shredded)

Set oven to 400. Grease the bottom of a 13×9 casserole dish.

Open Ramen packages and discard the packages and seasonings. Lay the Ramen noodles side by side in the bottom of the casserole dish, covering the dish. If needed, break them up. Do or don’t – that’s preference. For fit, sometimes breaking is necessary.

Cook the hamburger and sausage together. Add onions and garlic if desired. While the meat combination is cooking, pour one jar/can of spaghetti sauce evenly over the ramen noodles in the casserole dish, covering the noodles completely.

Stir the Ricotta cheese container. Once it is smooth and pliable, spread it on top of the spaghetti sauce in the casserole dish. Pour the cup of heavy cream over the mixture in the casserole dish, evenly dispersing it over the Ricotta cheese and spaghetti sauce.

Once the hamburger/sausage combination is cooked, drain. Then, scoop meat onto the top of the items in the casserole dish, covering evenly. The meat should be thick. Over the meat, pour the second jar/can of spaghetti sauce evenly to cover the entire casserole’s contents. Top the casserole’s layers with mozzarella cheese, as thick as desired, 2 cups or more.

Cover the top of the casserole like an ultimate pepperoni pizza with the pepperonis. Sprinkle the entire casserole with Italian seasoning and perhaps some shredded Parmesan cheese.

Bake for 40 minutes at 400.

The Man I’m Married To Loves Me Second

It’s not his birthday. It’s not Father’s Day. It’s not any holiday. It’s just a day. It’s Saturday, May 10, 2025, and my husband is on my mind as he sleeps in the other room. I smile as I think about him and our life together, and I want to honor him today in written words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.

There is a slight cowlick where his hairline meets his forehead, which is a complete swirl. As I cut his hair the other day, I remarked on the cowlick, and he, very seriously and with tears in his eyes, said, “That is where I was touched by God.” I believe him.

See, my husband, Patrick, is a rough-around-the-edges recovered alcoholic who has a deep spiritual and personal connection with God after years of recovery work; alcoholics have a deep spiritual hole in their souls, which with all of their might, in their addictions, they will try to fill with anything and anyone but God. The problem alcoholics have is mental, physical, and spiritual. It is a tri-fold whammy. Patrick walked that road of addiction for ten years of his life – hard living, drugs, alcohol, and plenty of things no “normal” person would dream of doing. It wasn’t until he encountered God that he sobered up and has never been the same. For him, it was a spirit encounter, which is not my story to tell, though I hear him tell it to the men and women desiring to get sober who sit at our dining room table. In the privacy of our home, he shares his encounter with the God of his understanding, whom he sought in desperation to stop the drink problem.

There is no one like this man I’m married to – not for me. He’s cut from a cloth that is unique – made in Brooklyn and cured in Washington State on a ranch, milking cows and rodeoing in his early teens. At 14, he left home and dove headlong into those ten years of drugs, alcohol, homelessness, biker gangs, marriages, and the military that landed him in treatment centers and prison before he hit his bottom and found God waiting for him there. Patrick came face-to-face with his Maker, and he surrendered, knowing himself powerless over alcohol without the mighty hand of God in his life. This man I am married to is stitched together with years of experience walking both in darkness and in light, strength born of adversity and miracles, and hope that there is life full of serenity, peace, and non-material abundance.

He has been walking a sober path for 38 years, and I know his sobriety is authentic because I’m with him every day and that he is not just sober from alcohol; he is sober in thought and sober in emotion – even as he walked the dark path of losing three of his four sons, one of them to alcoholism in a vehicle accident, one born premature and unable to live beyond 24 hours, and one who was lost to him, though still alive, due to the ugly things people can do to each other. Above it all, Patrick is most sober in his relationship with God. Frequently, when talking to people about his experience, strength, and hope, he will say, “If you want to know about my sobriety, ask my wife.” He’s not wrong. As his wife, what I know to be true of this man I’m married to is this …

He loves God.
He puts God first and me second.
He has convictions and stands on them no matter how people react.
He is not concerned with people liking him.
He says, “Never by force.”
He says, “Be a bystander in your life.”
He says, “Do the next right thing.”
He says, “If nothing changes, nothing changes.”
He says, “Let people do what they want to do, because you’ll see what they’d rather do.”
He says, “Don’t get mad at me down the road if I make more use of this information than you do.”
He cusses, he smokes, he does not attend church, and he loves Jesus.
He is deeply bothered by what he sees as the commercialization of religion and the church.
He rages against the softening and twisting of the Word of God to suit the ‘modern’ world.
He says what he thinks without concern for consequence when he knows he stands on truth.
He says what he thinks, which means I always know where I stand.
He provides safety for my emotions and my fears.
He listens to my heart and pays attention to details.
He knows all about my past and loves me despite it.
He never raises his voice at me.
He has never called me an ugly name or made fun of me.
He has never and will never lay an unkind hand on me.
He has patience with me when triggers from my past arise.
He reads me like a book.
He challenges me and others.
He calls me out when needed and expects me to do the same for him.
He works with, guides, and loves suffering alcoholics who have an honest desire to stop drinking.
He’s unapologetic in his pursuit of truth.
He’s a fighter. He has no stop. He’s determined and stubborn.
He suffers no fools … to a point. Compassion for actual suffering and the lost hits him hard.
He seeks wisdom from God in his reactions and understanding, sometimes in retrospect.
He is willing to admit when he is wrong.
He spends long hours at night reading and learning about life, the universe, and God.
He knows the Bible intimately.
He has memorized the Big Book.
He teaches me and guides me toward a stronger relationship with God.
He can formulate a three-point “sermon” in 45 seconds in his mind—it’s incredible to experience it roll out of him, even if I’m the only audience member.
He loves his family with loyalty and desperation.
He feels deeply yet does not get his feelings hurt easily.
He knows some people think he’s ‘crazy,’ and he is not concerned about that.
He knows some people find him abrasive, but he has to be true to God and to himself.
He knows that life is more about Heaven than it is about Earth.
He has strong, calloused hands because he thrives in manual work.
He has piercing, clear, sparkling blue eyes.
His arms are the perfect length to wrap around me and hold me tight.
He’s covered in tattoos and scars that tell his spiritual journey.
He plays the guitar without sheet music; he sings.
He loves country music, rock, jazz … anything with a profound message.
He loves to take long drives, stare at water, and be among pine trees.
He wants to live in the country, but settles for bringing the country to our home.
He has built an amazing cabin-in-the-city for me.
He opens every door for me.
He’s never embarrassed by me.
He thinks the silly and naïve things I do are cute.
He loves my cooking.
He tolerates my seasonal decorations and my boot obsession.
He is the biggest cheerleader and supporter of my work.
He is my best friend.
We have not had one fight in our four years and five months together. We both lived in relationships where fighting and ugliness abounded before, and we refuse to live that way now. We understand it is a choice both parties make to fight or not to fight. We choose peace.
We respect each other.
We listen to each other.
We laugh with each other.
We share each other’s pain.
We provide a safe space for each other.
We hold no secrets.
Our path is about willingness, honesty, and humility.

It may seem that I’ve painted a picture of the perfect man, but that is not the case. The man I’m married to is not everyone’s ideal, but he is for me. Absolutely, 100%, perfect for me with his rough-around-the-edges self and his abiding and outside-of-the-lines love of God. He’ll ask me from time to time why I chose him and choose him, and my response every time is, “There’s no one like you, not for me.”

His sobriety is authentic. I am the blessed direct recipient of the lifetime of lessons he has learned, and I could not be more grateful for, or love more, this man I’m married to, who loves me second.

Perhaps it is because we are older and have lived life that we can have such a deep appreciation for one another. Maybe this is something that others experience from the get-go with their partners. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am grateful to God for Patrick and for this life we have. Every day is a gift, and we choose not to waste a single one. Today’s plan, once he gets up and around, is to tackle a project outside together with Luke Combs and Morgan Wallen singing in the background. We will definitely listen to “Wish Upon a Whiskey” by Luke Combs and “Somebody’s Problem” by Morgan Wallen. I’m even wearing my “Somebody’s Problem” t-shirt. Patrick will grab me up while the music plays, dance me around, and sing in my ear …

She’s somebody’s problem, somebody’s goodbye.
Somebody’s last called number that they can’t find
Somebody’s best day, somebody’s worst night
Somebody’s reason for leavin’ on the porch light
Thinkin’ ’bout them tan lines, and I’m thinkin’ damn, I’d
Love to drown in them heartbreaker blue eyes.
Shе’s somebody’s problem and somebody’s problem’s
About to be mine
About to be mine

Heck yeah.

I love being second to this man.