In our active addiction, we usually did not pray for knowledge of God's will for us and the power to carry it out. On the contrary, most of our prayers were for God to get us out of the mess we had made for ourselves. We expected miracles on demand. That kind of thinking and praying changes when we begin practicing the Eleventh Step. The only way out of the trouble we have made for ourselves is through surrender to a Power greater than ourselves.

In recovery, we learn acceptance. We seek knowledge in our prayers and meditation of how we are to greet the circumstances that come our way. We stop fighting, surrender our own ideas of how things should be, ask for knowledge, and listen for the answers. The answers usually won't come in a flash of white light accompanied by a drum roll. Usually, the answers will come merely with a quiet sense of assurance that our lives are on course, that a Power greater than ourselves is guiding us on our paths.

We have a choice. We can spend all our time fighting to make things come out our way, or we can surrender to God's will. Peace can be found in accepting the ebb and flow of life.

In NA, we often get to know each other from the inside out. "I knew the biggest hopes and fears of some of the members of my home group before I knew their last names or what kind of jobs they had," one member shared. We may never know the inner life of nonaddicts the way we know each other in NA—and it's a big part of why we're able to laugh with and poke fun at our fellow NA members.

Humor often comes in the form of a surprising or unexpected gap between expectation and reality. In society, there are lots of expectations about how people ought to act around one another—expectations that we addicts disregard completely. The nonaddicts in our lives often do not see what's so funny. Sometimes that's the joke: "Normal" people act one way; we addicts act very differently. When we hear members share their bizarre ideas and actions, we relate and are relieved that we're not alone.

Many of us find a deep well of humor in the way denial framed our experience. Sometimes that's the joke. "I thought my life was like something out of a big-shot gangster film— money and drugs and lots of drama. In reality, it was more like a depressing ad for keeping your kids off drugs." The stark contrast between reality and the imagined movie version of our stories might seem pathetic or deranged to outsiders, but we lived to tell—and we can knowingly laugh at ourselves today.

Humor helps us heal as we come to terms with the reality of our lives. We see the outrageous gap between our behaviors and what "polite" society expects. (Of course, there are gaps—we're square pegs in round holes!) Or we notice the laughable distance between our lives and our fantasies. We share our inner selves in a way we can't anywhere else, often giving our fellow members a good chuckle. We stop taking ourselves so seriously, let our flaws show, and start to grow. It can be very funny, but it's no joke!