In 1942, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote an essay entitled “After Ten Years,” and it opens with these words:
“Ten years is a long time in the life of every human being. Because time is the most precious gift at our disposal, being of all gifts the most irretrievable, the thought of time possibly lost disturbs us whenever we look back. Time is lost when we have not lived, experienced things, learned, worked, enjoyed, and suffered as human beings. Lost time is unfulfilled, empty time. Certainly that is not what the past years have been. We have lost much, things far beyond measure, but time was not lost. Indeed, the insights and experiences we have gained and of which we have subsequently become aware are only abstractions from reality, from life itself. Yet just as the ability to forget is a gift of grace, so similarly is memory, the repetition of received teachings, part of responsible life.”[1]
Early in my sobriety I worried about the time I lost. The 6 years of drinking and the poor decisions that I made. I wished that if I had just figured it out sooner, maybe I could have enjoyed high school and college more fully. Maybe I could have found my space, the space of belonging. Maybe I could have actually enjoyed myself and not just worn mask after mask. Early in sobriety, I worried about this lost time, this void that I could never get back. Or maybe worse, maybe that’s who I really was, and I was doomed to return to that person eventually.
But, after ten years, I’ve come to see that time not as empty but as integral to my story. Ten years ago, I couldn’t yet understand that each struggle would become a well of wisdom and resilience that I could one day draw upon. Now, even those difficult years are part of what has brought me here.
Today marks ten years since I began my life in sobriety. Looking back on this journey and situated in this current political and national climate, I’m struck by how much Bonhoeffer’s words are needed for me today. In this profound essay that I’ve been coming back to this week, Bonhoeffer reflected on endurance and hope amidst turmoil, asking,
“Have there ever been people in history who in their time, like us, had so little ground under their feet, people to whom every possible alternative open to them at the time appeared equally unbearable, senseless, and contrary to life? Have there been those who like us looked for the source of their strength beyond all those available alternatives? Were they looking entirely in what has passed away and in what is yet to come? And nevertheless, without being dreamers, did they await with calm and confidence the successful outcome of their endeavor? Or rather, facing a great historical turning point, did the responsible thinkers of another generation ever feel differently than we do today—precisely because something genuinely new was forming that was not yet apparent in the existing alternatives?” [2]
Bonhoeffer’s words are of course coming at a time when he has seen atrocities and unfathomable decisions committed by his leaders and country. And yet these words strike me as words that those in recovery know so well. The voice of addiction only offers solutions that baffle the mind of anyone looking at us from the outside. Why would we continue to drink or use? Why would we put ourselves through such pain or misery over and over again? Why can’t we just choose a different way? Many days we ask(ed) ourselves the same question. And it just seems that there isn’t any other solution. Certainly not from our own minds. No ground under foot.
Ten years ago, I, too, felt that uncertainty. Struggling to find solid footing. Recovery has taught me that sometimes, finding that “ground” requires building it ourselves, piece by piece, through faith, hope, promise, working the steps, and (most importantly) community.Bonhoeffer writes, “It is infinitely easier to suffer in community with others than in solitude.”[3] I have come to understand that recovery is not a solitary road; it’s paved with the support of friends, mentors, and fellow travelers. Together, we create a space where we can stand firm, even when the ground feels shaky.
I would not be here today without the supports of my whole community in my life. Especially in this season of transition between my church communities. Especially in this season of political transition and change. Especially as the seasons change and night grows longer. I am fully aware of the need of my community around me. My spouse who is always by my side. My parents who were by my bed in the hospital ten years ago when my body was shutting down from drinking and have continued to be there for me each day after. My family who has met me with curiosity and love through it all. My Bishop who selected me to serve in the Delaware-Maryland Synod because of my recovery story when others passed me over in fear of it. My sponsors and mentors who walked me through the steps and slowed me down to truly understand the full life shift necessary for this journey. To every person who has heard my story and reached out in support. To every person that has chosen curiosity over fear. To every person that has loved me and pushed me to be better. To be more patient. To be more gracious. I would not be here without you.
It is in and through community that we have a chance as a people. Because even when we are sober ten years, the ground may still shake. Even when we thought our foot was firmly planted, the voice of deception, lies, power, and isolation still call.
If you’re out there struggling, know that there is life beyond what you’re facing. There is grace in the daily steps forward and strength in letting others support you along the way. I’m not just talking about those facing addiction. For anyone who is struggling today, there is life to be found. And I promise the best place to find it is in community. Those who will be your people. Whether it’s in a 12-step meeting or a church. Whether it’s a book club or around a DnD table. Whether it’s in an axe throwing league or at a community theater. There is hope, life, love, and support that is found in community and it may sound perfunctory or cliché but I promise that it is the only thing that has worked for me and so many others like me. We will only do this together.
Today, I’m grateful for everyone who’s been part of this journey, and I’m hopeful for whatever lies ahead. Thank you to my friends, family, and mentors who have held space for me. Here’s to community, to recovery, and to ten more years of choosing life.
Quote from Victoria J. Barnett[4]
[1] After Ten Years, 17.
[2] After Ten Years, 18.
[3] Ibid, 28.
[4] There will be those who (because of this post) will ask if I am going to see the Bonhoeffer movie. I will not. And that is because that movie is attempting to make Bonhoeffer someone that he is not. This quote from Victoria Barnett expresses Bonhoeffer’s demeaner at the time of this essay. This is the Bonhoeffer that inspires me. “Dietrich Bonhoeffer was thirty-five years old when he wrote this essay. Only four months later, on April 5, 1943, he and Dohnanyi would be arrested. The voice we hear in “After Ten Years” is not that of someone who was certain, hopeful, who believed that good would ultimately triumph, much less was it the voice of someone who saw himself as a hero. Looking at the wreckage that surrounded him in late 1942 Bonhoeffer was reflecting on what happens to good people, what happens to the soul, the human sense of morality and responsibility, when evil has become so embedded in a political culture that it is part of the very fabric of daily life, and it becomes impossible even for good people to remain untouched by it.”
If you’d like to read “After Ten Years,” I encourage you to look at Victoria Barnett’s version with her introduction giving the historical context: https://www.augsburgfortress.org/store/product/9781506433387/After-Ten-Years
Micah Krey 
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