Oriented to Love— Questions and Consequences

Posted February 24, 2014 by Lē Weaver

Philly Ice Storm 2014 - Photo by Marg Herder

The day before the Oriented to Love dialog was rough.

I was overwhelmed with anxiety about the event. I’d just received the questions we would discuss at the dialog, and they were daunting. The ideological distance between me and some of the “sexual majority” participants came clearly into focus. During other aspects of our prep work I’d felt the divide, but never so acutely.

I was stepping way out of my comfort zone; in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, in a very unfamiliar circumstance.

It was Wednesday. I had arrived in Philadelphia Tuesday night, a day earlier than expected, in order to avoid potential weather-related flight delays. My friends Susan and Michael were picking me up from the airport that evening and taking me to dinner. I’d be staying in their home that night.

But at the moment I was driving around Philadelphia in my rental car, trying to find a place to sit down for a few hours and do some work on my computer, trying to find some peace and some place to be. Some place quiet and calm. Some place I could just settle in and work, like I do in my normal life.

But there had been a huge ice storm in Philadelphia the night before, and every coffee shop I tried was jam packed with people seeking electricity and warmth. Roads were blocked by downed limbs and power lines. Streetlights were out. Big heavy chunks of ice were crashing down from trees over the road. My phone was running out of juice from using the navigation constantly.

I felt like I was in some apocalyptic nightmare.

You know what I wanted to do more than anything? I wanted to find a dark church sanctuary where I could just sit for a while. A church sanctuary with a cold slate floor and stone walls, hard pews, silence, and safety.

When I was a kid and something bad happened, I’d go into the chapel at church and just sit there. I guess maybe you could say I prayed. I communicated with God, sure. But it was a conversation without words, not like I thought praying was supposed to be.

Nobody ever bothered me, even when they saw me sitting in there. Because I belonged in the church. It was just me. So people left me alone, and I could go sit with God when I needed to. I could feel the cold of the floor if I wanted to sit against the wall. I could feel the hardness of the pew back if I wanted to sit in one of those.

I found safety there in the chapel, in a shared and comforting conversation. I found peace between where I was and what was coming next. I was with Her, I felt Her, and I knew She would walk out with me when I left.

Driving around that afternoon, frustrated and anxious to the point of tears, I actually stopped at a church. Parked. Walked carefully over the icy lot and sidewalks, tried a couple doors. I was locked out.

I got back in my car and drove away, feeling how it feels to be shut out by people who don’t even know someone like me might need to get in.

Usually when I feel called to go somewhere, I experience little reassuring reminders of Her presence from the moment I leave my house. A nice person seated next to me on the plane. A gracious worker at the hotel. Situations that pop up and delight, letting me know I’m not doing it alone.

But this trip hadn’t been anything like that. Nothing good had happened, no one kind or reassuring had appeared. Instead, I was stuck driving around slick and unfamiliar roads, on some fruitless quest for a place to do something that felt normal, a place to calm down.

I ended up at a CVS a little while later, telling myself I was going in to buy a phone charger for the rental car, but really following the siren song of razor blades and whiskey, two things that were, for a number of years, my preferred tools for obfuscating discomfort.

See, I don’t know how it is for anyone else, but for me the urge to indulge in my addictions hasn’t ever stopped. I’ve just gotten better at saying “no.”

On the day before the Oriented to Love dialog, I found myself profoundly disinterested in saying no.

So there I stood in CVS and, out of nothing more than habit, I thought about the possible costs of surrendering to the cheap and easy tools of temporal salvation. Out of nothing more than habit, I realized that I had become disconnected from objective reality. Out of nothing more than habit, I struggled to make my way back, just for a minute, so I could tell myself I had made a conscious choice.

Where are you? I’m in a store.

Is there danger? No, not right this second.

What is wrong? I’m very freaked out. It’s getting worse. Nothing good is happening. I can’t calm down.

What else could help? Nothing. I’m sure this is the only thing that will help.

What are you supposed to do first? I’m supposed to call someone who loves me. But I don’t want to. They’ll think I’m a freak.

How did this start and how should it end?

Then I see it. For just a moment. Objectively. What I was thinking of doing. I see the profanity of how this “yes” would change things.

She called me to move toward the place I stood. She brought me there. She wanted me to sit with twelve other people, starting the next day, being open and vulnerable. She called them as well. They were going to show up whole. It was my job to show up whole as well.

Sometimes, a moment is all you need.

I grabbed a phone charger, paid, and went back out to the car and called Lisa.

Lisa helped me make a plan. Drive back to the airport, turn in the rental car, find a quiet corner where I could sit with my back against a cool stone wall, listen to music on my headphones, forget about the whole stupid day, and write until my friends picked me up. Which I did.


A very wonderful man named Ralph participated in the dialog. At one point he shared a poem he had written about addiction, unaware of my close call the day before we met. With his permission, I share the closing stanza with you.

What of this struggle is ethical or moral
When one course of action seems wrong and one right?
Does that settle it or is there more to be learned?
As we live this constant battle of consequences.

It is my prayer that She grant those of us who “live this constant battle of consequences” with an endless supply of the nearly impossible “no” and someone who loves us enough to help us figure out what to do instead.

Posts inspired by the Oriented to Love dialog by Lē Weaver:
Introduction to the Series
Of the Mystery and Miracles

Questions and Consequences
All these Words 
What Am I Really Afraid Of?
The Huge Knot of Misunderstanding
The Unbelievable Bottom Line (on the Christians for Social Action website)

Lē Isaac Weaver
Lē Weaver identifies as a non-binary writer, musician, and feminist spiritual seeker. Their work draws attention to: the ongoing trauma experienced by women and LGBTQIA people in this “Christian” society; Christ/Sophia’s desire that each of us move deeper into our own practice of non-violence; and the desperate need to move away from an androcentric conception of God.


  1. Thanks, Marg. We have a wonderful son three years sober after many many years. Your words added some more precious nuggets to my ongoing education re addiction. I can be pretty dense about ‘getting it’ sometime, but something clicked afresh with your account about calling somebody who loves you.

    Newly sober, he told us we’d be one he’d call when struggling – and he did. But he calls anyway, and didn’t mention any problem, so we didn’t necessarily think of them as unusual.

    Reading your piece and thinking back to some of those calls where he wasn’t eager to hang up, blew me away. He was calling someone who loved him! So you have added insight to our ongoing role of encouragement and loving listening. Thanks for sharing!


  2. Oh JoMae…
    Thanks for sharing this with me. I asked a dear friend if she thought I should put this post up. I was scared about it. She replied that I should post it because it might help someone better understand something about addiction. And now here you are. Thank you so much.

    “Loving listening.” How beautiful.

    Your words mean so much to me. And I know how much your words mean to your son…

  3. Powerful and touching post. Thank you for your transparency. Many of us are long time 12 steppers and totally understand what you are saying.

  4. Oh, Marg, what a courageous person you are! Thanks for being so open and vulnerable. You are an amazing jewel! I am sending you love.

  5. Marg, thank you for being so vulnerable…for us here through your notes, and for participating in the Oriented to Love dialogue. It helps me better understand your anxiousness prior to the meetings. I think because you were open to participating so honestly in the dialogues God did watch over you in that moment. Sharing our stories can ALWAYS help others. Thank you for posting yours!

  6. Here’s the lovely thing about this story — there was a friend, available and waiting to give you the encouragement and atta-girl you needed. Because sometimes, it’s hearing that “you can do it — just for today” gets you over that hump. Peace and blessings

  7. I was stunned by this post. When I am driving in a strange place, I am perpetually terrified that I will get lost . When I do get lost, I immediately panic and cannot even follow directions that a kind person (often more than one) gives me. I just get lost all over again. And this is on a clear summer day. I cannot imagine dealing with the chaos of that Wednesday driving around Philly. You describe exactly what that escalating panic feels like. And then you describe going into the CVS and what you were facing. I am so glad that you walked out of that store with just the phone charger, and I am so glad for She and Lisa being with you. Thank you for your clarity, honesty, courage, and vulnerability, Marg. I will never forget this.


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