I heard this saying in my early years of Alcoholics Anonymous, and it still holds true today: One of us isn’t as strong as all of us.
The other night, I took on a new sponsee. He told me he was ready to take direction and accept help. I explained something he might not have expected: I needed him as much as he needed me.
Helping him reminds me of where I’ve been, what I’ve been given, and why I must keep showing up. We need each other. Recovery grows when we stop trying to carry everything alone.
Galatians 6:2 puts it plainly: “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” To me, that looks like answering the phone, pulling up a chair, listening without judgment, and walking beside someone through a day they don’t know how to face.
I love the spirit of this program. In its compassion, honesty, and willingness to serve, I recognize the Holy Spirit at work. People who once struggled to keep themselves alive become willing to help someone else live.
Jesus says in Matthew 18:20, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” Those words remind me to look for His presence in the love we offer one another.
Over the years, I’ve met men in early recovery who struggle with the idea of God. After everything they’ve endured, some cannot imagine a loving God exists. Others are angry, uncertain, or simply too overwhelmed to know what they believe.
I don’t ask them to pretend.
I tell them, “For now, believe that I’m trying to help you. Believe in the people in this room who are pulling for you. Look at these people who have known brokenness and are reaching out to lift you up.”
They don’t need to explain the source of that love before accepting it.
Sometimes I say it in the language that comes naturally to me: “You may not know whether that’s God at work, but I’d say that’s some God-like shit.”
And I mean it with reverence. There is something sacred about people who know suffering choosing to ease someone else’s.
I’ve watched people walk into these rooms ravaged by addiction—straight off the streets, out of jail, exhausted, ashamed, and convinced their lives were beyond repair. Then this imperfect fellowship, this island of misfit toys, makes room for them.
Someone remembers their name. Someone gives them a phone number and actually answers. Someone says, “I’ve been there,” and means it.
Little by little, they begin to believe they might have a future.
The phoenix rising from the ashes has nothing on some of the lives I’ve seen rebuilt. I’ve watched people become present parents, dependable friends, and men who reach back for the next person stumbling through the door. The very experiences they once wished they could erase become a way to connect with someone who thinks nobody could understand.
For some, trusting the fellowship becomes the first small step toward trusting a power greater than themselves. That willingness can become a mustard seed of faith. Jesus uses that image in Matthew 17:20 to describe the possibility within even the smallest beginning.
That has been part of my own journey: learning to accept help, recognizing God’s love through others, and growing in my faith in Jesus, my Savior. I cannot choose another person’s path, but I can offer the love that helped me find mine.
We don’t have to arrive with perfect faith. Sometimes we arrive with shaking hands and just enough willingness to stay.
So if you are struggling, let someone sit beside you. If you are ashamed, tell the truth to someone who can receive it with compassion. If you have found your footing, reach back and offer your hand.
Your hand may be the one someone needs today. Tomorrow, you may need theirs. By God’s grace, we can keep helping one another rise.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, thank You for meeting us in our brokenness and placing people beside us who help us rise. Give us the humility to accept help and the willingness to offer it. Let Your Holy Spirit work through our listening, our patience, and our actions. For those who cannot yet believe, let them encounter Your love through us. Grow our small seeds of faith, and remind us that no one is beyond Your grace. Help us use the life we have been given to bring hope to someone else. In Jesus’ name, amen.
