Once again her thoughts strayed to Paul and why he would leave her. Why she didn't have a partner to
help with stuff like this. She remembered what her counselor advised: don’t ask why. Ask how. How can I live
my life happily or at least serenely? God please help me. She remembered to ask for help with these aching,
annoying continuous thoughts. Thoughts of something, outside of her, that owned her- Paul rented space in
her head and seemed permanently lodged in her heart. It was impossible to evict him.
“Joyce!”
“Marie, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Hi Bren, hi Bob, how’re you doing, kids?”
“Good,” they chimed. Small grins appeared. Marie’s teenagers were here. Sometimes they swore, and while
Mom denigrated this behavior, Bobby, especially, commended it.
“Come, guys, you can make it though you do look a little overburdened. Let me take something.”
Try as she might to relax after they settled in, Joyce could not. Bobby and Brenda monotonously echoed
“Crackpot, crackpot,” as they cannonballed into the pool. They barely noticed as Joyce left to go to a
workshop.
"Thanks a bunch, June,” she called to Marie’s sixteen year old daughter who joined in with the antics of
Bobby and Brenda as Joyce left the pool area.
“Crackpot. What is this crackpot crap?“ Joyce heard June ask as she left. She felt mildly free and told
herself to be grateful for the small blessing of having an hour to herself.
The title of the workshop listed on the program was Joy Despite the Loss of Our Dreams. The topic
resonated with Joyce. Becoming absorbed in the sharing as she sat in the room Joyce was prompted by
something the speaker said to remember her brother who died in his early twenties. After a few minutes of
sadness, she realized she may not have had these feelings when he died ten years ago because she had
been drinking and drugging.
She thought of that eight ball they had as kids. The one they'd ask questions of and wait impatiently as the
answer slowly slid into focus. It was just like that. Her brother Ed slid into view. She was nineteen and he
was fifteen. They'd hopped into the VW and traveled up to Vermont. After smoking the joint she brought,
they lay in sleeping bags beside a country road. Side by side they watched shooting stars cascade into the
deep, wide indigo sky.
The speaker was saying, “despite the loss of my dream of staying with my wife, I am grateful to have my kids
in my life, to be sober, and to be a productive member of society. Every day I ask God for help. The losses
in my life are scars. Today I plan to turn my scars into stars.”
Everyone clapped to hear the positive spin. It was Serendipitous that she'd been thinking about stars (and
scars) at the same time as the speaker. Synchronicity or coincidence nurtured her faith and hope. It helped
her trust that being a single mom and working full time must be God's will. Marie always suggested that God’
s will was wanting what one had and appreciating it. Joyce had been journaling and recording all the
synchronistic events that had occurred, proof if she needed it that life played on key. She would read a
character’s name in a book and then someone with that name would appear in her life. She marveled at
these happenings and wondered what message the universe was trying to convey to her.
People in twelve step programs call this type of coincidence God-incidence. For Joyce it helped to show that
a Power Greater than Herself was working in her life. One day she took a walk while on vacation, not really
knowing where she was going. At the end of the walk she came across a dingy with her initials painted on it.
Another time she took her teenage nephew to see Ozzie Osbourne. Wondering, even as she was there, if
this had been the right thing to do, Joyce opened the Anita Shreve book she hoped to read during the
chaos and found it dedicated to Ozzie. At these moments, Joyce felt in the right place, sure of God’s
blessing.
Leaving the workshop, Joyce mulled over all she wanted to tell Marie. Briefly she thought of Paul but
remembered to stay present with herself, here and now. Marie was walking to the pool.
“Marie, Marie!” Joyce called.
The two hugged.
“You look a little better,” Marie observed. . Marie knew how badly Joyce had been taking it since Paul broke
up with her.
“I am. That meeting was really good. I thought of my brother; I felt the pain- deep original pain, so to speak,
and then I remembered a wonderful day with him and by feeling it and grieving and then having the good
memory, I think I released some of the pain.”
"That’s right, girl. Its okay, it’s going to be okay,” Marie encouraged.
The pair hurried into the pool area. Suddenly happy to be with her family Joyce grandly greeted her
children, “My stars, my stars!” she called as she saw them.
Used to their mother’s whims and grandiosity and what they called ‘recovery crap’ such as the Easy Does It
but Do It bumper sticker their car sported, they grimaced good naturedly but answered, “Hey, Mom.”
“You’re coming to the big meeting tonight,” she reminded them. “How’s the water?
“Great. Real warm,“ Brenda spluttered. “Can I go in the Jacuzzi?”
Joyce and Marie exchanged glances. Kids always pushing limits.
“How about we check out the paddle boats?”
“Okay,” everyone agreed.
The paddle boat experience bonded the two single parented families together. Only an occasional joking
affront of "crackpot" was uttered by the younger members of the group. By now even June was throwing the
term around. Joyce explained how the word had come over the air and how the kids had become obsessive
about it.
“Crackpot is a funny word, I have to agree,” Marie told the kids. Then, to Joyce, commiserating, she added,
“And gratitude, patience and acceptance are funny words, too.”
That night, refreshed from the outdoor entertainment and a nice meal of Asian food, the group went to the
ballroom to hear the main speaker of the convention. Usually the keynote speaker was clever and engaging,
able to make the audience identify and laugh.
“Let me tell you a Zen story," Loretta began, “that has to do with character defects and not being fully
present for our realities. There were two pots that were being used to carry water. One pot was broken and
dripped along the path; the pot was not perfect. The cracked pot went to the Zen master and complained
about its condition. But, look behind you, the Zen master said. I put seeds in your path and every day the
crack in your side allowed the water to seep out and nourish the plants. Look at the beautiful flowers you
have grown!” Loretta laughed. “And you know I am just an old cracked pot! But that’s okay, because God
has been with me every step of the way.”
Joyce became mindful that she had not thought of Paul for five hours and that she was enjoying life exactly
as it was right now. Tears filled her eyes as she felt the grace of another serendipitous moment. Cracked
pot. Crackpot. She put an arm around each child and gave a warm squeeze. A full, wide smile emerged on
Joyce’s face as she turned to see if Marie had caught the coincidental gift. Marie nodded.
“I really, really want what I have,” Joyce whispered.
Brenda and Bobby rolled their eyes. Silently they mouthed a word to each other.
help with stuff like this. She remembered what her counselor advised: don’t ask why. Ask how. How can I live
my life happily or at least serenely? God please help me. She remembered to ask for help with these aching,
annoying continuous thoughts. Thoughts of something, outside of her, that owned her- Paul rented space in
her head and seemed permanently lodged in her heart. It was impossible to evict him.
“Joyce!”
“Marie, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Hi Bren, hi Bob, how’re you doing, kids?”
“Good,” they chimed. Small grins appeared. Marie’s teenagers were here. Sometimes they swore, and while
Mom denigrated this behavior, Bobby, especially, commended it.
“Come, guys, you can make it though you do look a little overburdened. Let me take something.”
Try as she might to relax after they settled in, Joyce could not. Bobby and Brenda monotonously echoed
“Crackpot, crackpot,” as they cannonballed into the pool. They barely noticed as Joyce left to go to a
workshop.
"Thanks a bunch, June,” she called to Marie’s sixteen year old daughter who joined in with the antics of
Bobby and Brenda as Joyce left the pool area.
“Crackpot. What is this crackpot crap?“ Joyce heard June ask as she left. She felt mildly free and told
herself to be grateful for the small blessing of having an hour to herself.
The title of the workshop listed on the program was Joy Despite the Loss of Our Dreams. The topic
resonated with Joyce. Becoming absorbed in the sharing as she sat in the room Joyce was prompted by
something the speaker said to remember her brother who died in his early twenties. After a few minutes of
sadness, she realized she may not have had these feelings when he died ten years ago because she had
been drinking and drugging.
She thought of that eight ball they had as kids. The one they'd ask questions of and wait impatiently as the
answer slowly slid into focus. It was just like that. Her brother Ed slid into view. She was nineteen and he
was fifteen. They'd hopped into the VW and traveled up to Vermont. After smoking the joint she brought,
they lay in sleeping bags beside a country road. Side by side they watched shooting stars cascade into the
deep, wide indigo sky.
The speaker was saying, “despite the loss of my dream of staying with my wife, I am grateful to have my kids
in my life, to be sober, and to be a productive member of society. Every day I ask God for help. The losses
in my life are scars. Today I plan to turn my scars into stars.”
Everyone clapped to hear the positive spin. It was Serendipitous that she'd been thinking about stars (and
scars) at the same time as the speaker. Synchronicity or coincidence nurtured her faith and hope. It helped
her trust that being a single mom and working full time must be God's will. Marie always suggested that God’
s will was wanting what one had and appreciating it. Joyce had been journaling and recording all the
synchronistic events that had occurred, proof if she needed it that life played on key. She would read a
character’s name in a book and then someone with that name would appear in her life. She marveled at
these happenings and wondered what message the universe was trying to convey to her.
People in twelve step programs call this type of coincidence God-incidence. For Joyce it helped to show that
a Power Greater than Herself was working in her life. One day she took a walk while on vacation, not really
knowing where she was going. At the end of the walk she came across a dingy with her initials painted on it.
Another time she took her teenage nephew to see Ozzie Osbourne. Wondering, even as she was there, if
this had been the right thing to do, Joyce opened the Anita Shreve book she hoped to read during the
chaos and found it dedicated to Ozzie. At these moments, Joyce felt in the right place, sure of God’s
blessing.
Leaving the workshop, Joyce mulled over all she wanted to tell Marie. Briefly she thought of Paul but
remembered to stay present with herself, here and now. Marie was walking to the pool.
“Marie, Marie!” Joyce called.
The two hugged.
“You look a little better,” Marie observed. . Marie knew how badly Joyce had been taking it since Paul broke
up with her.
“I am. That meeting was really good. I thought of my brother; I felt the pain- deep original pain, so to speak,
and then I remembered a wonderful day with him and by feeling it and grieving and then having the good
memory, I think I released some of the pain.”
"That’s right, girl. Its okay, it’s going to be okay,” Marie encouraged.
The pair hurried into the pool area. Suddenly happy to be with her family Joyce grandly greeted her
children, “My stars, my stars!” she called as she saw them.
Used to their mother’s whims and grandiosity and what they called ‘recovery crap’ such as the Easy Does It
but Do It bumper sticker their car sported, they grimaced good naturedly but answered, “Hey, Mom.”
“You’re coming to the big meeting tonight,” she reminded them. “How’s the water?
“Great. Real warm,“ Brenda spluttered. “Can I go in the Jacuzzi?”
Joyce and Marie exchanged glances. Kids always pushing limits.
“How about we check out the paddle boats?”
“Okay,” everyone agreed.
The paddle boat experience bonded the two single parented families together. Only an occasional joking
affront of "crackpot" was uttered by the younger members of the group. By now even June was throwing the
term around. Joyce explained how the word had come over the air and how the kids had become obsessive
about it.
“Crackpot is a funny word, I have to agree,” Marie told the kids. Then, to Joyce, commiserating, she added,
“And gratitude, patience and acceptance are funny words, too.”
That night, refreshed from the outdoor entertainment and a nice meal of Asian food, the group went to the
ballroom to hear the main speaker of the convention. Usually the keynote speaker was clever and engaging,
able to make the audience identify and laugh.
“Let me tell you a Zen story," Loretta began, “that has to do with character defects and not being fully
present for our realities. There were two pots that were being used to carry water. One pot was broken and
dripped along the path; the pot was not perfect. The cracked pot went to the Zen master and complained
about its condition. But, look behind you, the Zen master said. I put seeds in your path and every day the
crack in your side allowed the water to seep out and nourish the plants. Look at the beautiful flowers you
have grown!” Loretta laughed. “And you know I am just an old cracked pot! But that’s okay, because God
has been with me every step of the way.”
Joyce became mindful that she had not thought of Paul for five hours and that she was enjoying life exactly
as it was right now. Tears filled her eyes as she felt the grace of another serendipitous moment. Cracked
pot. Crackpot. She put an arm around each child and gave a warm squeeze. A full, wide smile emerged on
Joyce’s face as she turned to see if Marie had caught the coincidental gift. Marie nodded.
“I really, really want what I have,” Joyce whispered.
Brenda and Bobby rolled their eyes. Silently they mouthed a word to each other.
Joy Despite the Cracks Page Two