I was in a recovery house and decided I was going to leave, even though I knew I would face seventeen years without parole if I left. I made a deal with god (whom I wasn’t real sure about, but was coming to believe in). My deal was to go to the office and see if a van was available to take me to an NA meeting, knowing the chances of that were slim. If there was a van available, I would stay; if not, I was packing my stuff and leaving.

I got to the office and the guy behind the desk was on the phone. He paused and asked what I needed, and I told him I needed to get to an NA meeting and asked if a van was available. He said no, so my first thought was, “Aha! I’m packing!” Then he told me to hold on a minute. He said, “I’m on the phone with someone who’s going to the meeting, and he says he will come by and pick you up.” I said, “No, no; that’s okay.” But he insisted. “You just said you needed a meeting, and he’s on his way.”

I stood outside, pissed off and not sure what to do. My deal was a van. No van, I’m leaving. I decided to be polite and go to the meeting with this guy, and then after the meeting I would leave. I got an uneasy feeling when the guy pulled up, but I was astonished when he introduced himself. He said, “Hi, I’m Van.” I laughed all the way to the meeting.

Jim B, Texas, USA