A few months ago I began sponsoring a man whose enthusiasm and personality are contagious! His disease landed him in jail for two months plus a few months of “work release,” and a whole lot of years under restrictions and the watchful eye of state officials.

When his wife called and invited me to visit him during his first few weeks in jail, I jumped at the chance. A few years ago another sponsee spent a number of months in prison and I never visited him. Considerable guilt and disappointment about neglecting him motivated my promise to my Higher Power that I would commit to visiting any future sponsees that ended up incarcerated. Last Saturday the opportunity came, but not without considerable challenges.

Two Saturdays previously, a jail official gave me directions to the jail that is about one and a half hours from my home. As she detailed the information, I clarified one point because it seemed inaccurate to me. She assured me the instructions I had were correct. Nevertheless, I ended up many, many miles south of my destination on the first day of my scheduled visit. Strike one.

So, this directionally challenged sexaholic attempted another visit after clarifying the directions through the use of a road map (what a concept—more is being revealed!). I left my home earlier to ensure a timely arrival but ended up getting lost once again. This time I found the town (progress) but the jail officials denied my visit because I arrived a half-hour late (not perfection).

It didn’t help that this emotionally unsober sexaholic announced his visit in an angry, loud, demanding and authoritative manner: “My name is Michael R., and I’m here to see Mr. E.!” In an unimpressed tone of voice the jail official responded, “Step away from the microphone, Mr. R. Just a moment.” After a few minutes, he said through the loudspeaker, “My sergeant has denied your visit because you are half an hour late.” My insentient plea for mercy failed and all I could muster in response was a meek “OK.”

It took me all day to recover from disappointment over unrealized expectations. I expressed rage and angry words towards my Higher Power, and felt shame and disappointment for not being able to see my sponsee and fulfill my promise to my Higher Power. Telephone calls and a meeting nursed my wounds later that day. Strike two.

Finally, remembering a sober friend’s council, “It usually takes me about three times before I succeed in a new undertaking,” I left home two hours before my scheduled visit, drove straight to the parking lot of the county courthouse and walked through the doors emotionally sober and spiritually available with 15 minutes of time to pray before seeing my sponsee. I didn’t strike out because I kept coming back.

In the 45-minute encounter that followed, the presence of the Higher Power between my sponsee and I filled me with joy and peace—it was magical really. I saw through the thick glass that my sponsee was wearing prison garb and that he looked more peaceful and clear-eyed than I could recall. Through a jail telephone, he told me about a short stint in solitary confinement and cocky guards who tormented the inmates with piercing wake-up announcements through a loudspeaker. He spoke of possible new SA recruits he’d carried the message to and of extended periods of time for prayer, reading and writing. He knew his Higher Power would take care of his problems and future. We shared our fears and concerns and never stopped looking at one another. Usually extended eye contact is difficult for me, but the Higher Power smoothed out any discomfort I had about this, as well as what to talk about and do while seeing my sponsee.

The visit seemed more like an hour and a half to me. Maybe it was the combination of seeing my sponsee in person, witnessing first-hand the frightening truth of institutions, overhearing the woman sitting next to me lamenting over her boyfriend’s predicament, “They want to give him the maximum sentence; I might as well shoot myself now,” and finally fulfilling the promise I made to my Higher Power.

I returned to my car and prayed and napped for a short time. I knew my past actions qualified me to be where my sponsee is today. Because of my Higher Power’s constant grace and intervention in my life, and the friendships in and out of Sexaholics Anonymous, I was able to drive away from the courthouse complex and enjoy my lunch on a beautiful, sunny day. As Chuck C. from Alcoholics Anonymous said, “How fortunate can a man be?”