📖 Sacred Testimony XXII

“The Sparkle in Their Eyes”
offered in honor of the first yes, the circle of light, and the choice to stay

The CareUnit was just across from Wolfe Street—
a sacred meeting place,
a doorway into something I didn’t yet understand,
but could already feel.

When I walked in,
I saw something in their eyes.
A sparkle.

Not the sparkle of perfection.
Not the fake glow of trying hard to seem fine.

But something true.
Alive.
Like they had found something I hadn’t yet—but could.

They welcomed me.
No questions.
No sideways glances.

They wanted me there.

The meetings felt like home.
For the first time, I could say it:
“I’m an alcoholic. I’m a drug addict.”

But even then, it was just words.
At first.

It wasn’t until it reached my heart
that everything began to change.

The words weren’t just a label.
They were an opening.

While others played spades,
joked, or passed the time—
I sat in meetings.

Not because I had to.
Because something in me needed it.

Something in me had begun to listen.

🌿 And now I see:

There’s a difference between knowing something in your mind,
and accepting it in your heart.

When it reached my heart—
healing began.

Not because I was fixed.
But because I stopped pretending I wasn’t broken.

And the sparkle in their eyes?
It was hope.

Now I know what it looks like.

✨ A Blessing for When the Truth Reaches the Heart

May the building that stood beside Wolfe Street
be remembered as holy ground—
a place where wounded souls were not fixed,
but finally felt.

May the eyes that sparkled with hope
be honored as quiet lanterns,
guiding others home.

May the name “alcoholic” and “addict”
no longer carry shame,
but the beauty of a soul brave enough to tell the truth.

May the one who sat through the meetings,
while others played cards,
know that those hours were not small.

They were sacred.
They were stitches in a soul that was learning to hold itself.

And may all who wait for healing to reach their heart
trust that it will—
in time, in stillness,
and in the presence of others
who remember what it feels like to want to run—
and instead,
to stay.