James T. is the Coffee Maker. Sober more than half his life-30 years in a twelve-step program, and he is at odds with his belief. He knows that without his recovery he would surely be dead, but he questions the process and the voices in the rooms that say, "if you do this, you will surely get that." He's seen the failures, the spiritual pride, and the long-time members who have made themselves gods. How can you keep an open heart when it is constantly being torn from your chest? Is there a limit to the number of deaths you can witness before you become calloused or cold? How can you listen, day after day, to the lost telling the rooms, and themselves, that this time it will be different?
James T. is the Coffee Maker. Sober more than half his life-30 years in a twelve-step program, and he is at odds with his belief. He knows that without his recovery he would surely be dead, but he questions the process and the voices in the rooms that say, "if you do this, you will surely get that." He's seen the failures, the spiritual pride, and the long-time members who have made themselves gods. How can you keep an open heart when it is constantly being torn from your chest? Is there a limit to the number of deaths you can witness before you become calloused or cold? How can you listen, day after day, to the lost telling the rooms, and themselves, that this time it will be different?
