Andy Jensen was the rector of an Episcopal
church in South Dakota when a young parishioner
came to him pleading for help because he drank
too much. Even though his own father had been an
alcoholic, Jensen was not sure how to respond,
so he turned to Lutheran Social Services for
immediate guidance and later on to a
professional training program at the Hazelden
Foundation to learn more about alcoholism and
what he could do about it as a leader in his
community.
What he discovered was that alcoholism had
hit even closer to home.
"I came for the education and ended up
staying for the treatment — my treatment,"
Jensen said. "I was the alcoholic, too."
That was in 1972, and Jensen has been sober
ever since. Sobriety changed his life, and
treatment became his vocation. He was a member
of Hazelden's pastoral care staff for 19 years,
retiring in 1995.
The other day, Andy, now 81, and several
dozen of his retired colleagues met for lunch at
Hazelden's main campus, in Minnesota. They
swapped war stories about their backbreaking
endeavors with patients on the treatment units.
They poked fun at one another over the disputes
in the executive office. Most of all, they
marveled at being part of the vanguard of
Hazelden's innovative approach to treat
addiction as a disease of the mind, body and
spirit while transforming the lives of men and
women with compassion, dignity and respect.
It was appropriate that Andy spoke near the
end of the gathering, because his words
resonated with the group's common chord.
"This brings to mind the living community,
the dynamic living community of recovery, a
community of sober people and, equally vital, a
community of the folks here — chaplains and
counselors, medical staff and housekeepers,
volunteers, the staff in the dining room — the
community that not only depends on each other
but thrives because each of us draws strength
from the others.
"We are all a 'cloud of witnesses' to this
community, and it is ours to nurture to make
sure it never dissipates."
A cloud of witnesses, indeed. As Andy talked,
I gazed out the window. Fair-weather cumulous
clouds drifted overhead on a picture-perfect
August afternoon in Minnesota, each cloud
composed of millions, if not billions, of water
droplets, which give shape, substance and
sustainability. By themselves, those droplets
quickly would evaporate. Together they are
something more.
Andy and people like him who work in
treatment centers are that way, too. As
individuals, they may have impacts on some
people. But together, their passion, commitment,
professional expertise and personal experiences
make them so much more. They become a cloud of
witnesses to the possibility of life-sustaining
change.
No wonder people who experience that change
and embrace recovery tend to stick together.
Addiction is an illness of isolation. The
antidote is togetherness. That's why the first
word of recovery for many people like me is
"we."
As Andy spoke, a teardrop or two faintly
slipped down the faces of many of his colleagues
and my face, too. But I couldn't see Andy's
eyes; he was wearing dark glasses. Macular
degeneration is causing him to go blind. Yet I
know his vision of a cloud is stronger than
ever. And he is helping me to see it, too.
William Moyers is the vice president of
foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation
and the author of "Broken," his best-selling
memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please
send your questions to William Moyers at
wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about
William Moyers and read his past columns, visit
the Creators Syndicate Web page at
www.creators.com.
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