Stories of Bill's House
The Wilson House became this man's safe haven, and a home for a new sober life.
My first meeting was at the Tuesday men's meeting at The Wilson House. The only way I can explain it is that I ended up exactly where I needed to be. Decades earlier, I had been sitting across the street partying at my then-girlfriend's house, the white house that The Wilson House now owns as a guest house. At the time, I had no idea that the place where I once laughed at The Wilson House would one day become the safe haven where my sober life would begin.
The Wilson House holds a special place in my heart because it is where love and healing began for me. It embodies so much of my story. As a kid, drinking became my co-pilot in a life with no rules and endless adventure. Eventually, that carefree lifestyle gave way to reckless behavior and crippling anxiety attacks leaving a hole in my soul that made life feel empty and bleak.
Years later, with about a year and a half of sobriety, I found myself working at The Wilson House, the very place I had laughed at years before.
One quiet, cold winter evening, after the house had closed for the season, a few of us were tending to the usual chores and I experienced something I can only describe as a truly serene, out-of-body moment. We came across the God Box, familiar to so many people in recovery. It was overflowing with handwritten notes, which we did not read of course but which were no doubt filled with prayers, fears, hopes, gratitude and heartfelt petitions left behind by the countless travelers and visitors who had passed through the doors of The Wilson House. Where else could we place those burdens but in a little box marked "God"?
In that moment, those of us present felt a deep sense of unity and made a collective decision. On that beautifully quiet, snowy Vermont evening, in the house where my sobriety had begun, each of us took a handful of those precious notes and, with great respect, placed them into the roaring fire in the Meeting House followed by a moment of silence. As the flames consumed those heartfelt messages, the smoke carried them up the chimney and into the universe. For me, it became a powerful image of what recovery is all about. We do not have to carry the weight of our journey alone.
Together we can share our burdens, let go of what no longer serves us, and trust God, as we understand Him.
This story is part of a series about people's connection to Bill's House. If you'd like to tell your story, we'd love to hear from you! Contact Carolynn Chesney by texting (609) 217-1204 or email carolynn57@comcast.net
