This particular addiction is what might be called approval addiction. It involves people living in bondage to what other people think about us. When you become an addict to approval, no matter how much of this drug of choice you get, you can never have enough. You’ve got to have more and more and more fixes and, like other junkies, you can go crazy when your drug of choice is withheld.

My personal experience with approval addiction began early. When I was in elementary school I used to talk a lot (for folks that know me that will be a real shocker!). There were all these rules about being quiet and studying, and listening that I had a difficult time with. I found the little folks around me fascinating and so I would talk to them all the time. My second grade teacher was not impressed by my social skills. Over time it became obvious that she had her favorites and I wasn’t one of them. I tried to make her like me but it was useless.

One day I was particularly fascinated by the folks around me—and so she pulled me out of class and spanked me. The next day I was determined to do better. By the end of the day she asked me to come forward and she pinned a note on my shirt and told me to make sure it got to my mother. I just knew that it was going to be a glowing report of how much progress I had made in that eight-hour period. I was sure that the note was going to enumerate how in all the years of teaching she had never seen a turn around so inspirational or dramatic. That is not what happened. When I got home I stuck my chest out and told my mom that I got a note from my teacher—I was confident, I was proud, I knew I was loved.

As my mom read the note and as her continence fell, so did mine. The note said that I was a very bad boy and it went on to inventory all my 7 year old character defects. Which, from the length of time it took my mom to read the note, was pretty long.

That is the first time I remember feeling significantly criticized and it crushed me. It took the air out of my sails. This sense of shame bubbled up from the bottom and it made me feel small and insignificant. Criticism still does that to me. I think that there was a part of me that day that determined never to feel that way again—to distance myself, to people please, to manipulate and lie—but to never feel that way again. In a lot of ways the structure and life of my addiction served to numb me from the shame of letting people down. Today I can see the insanity of this logic (doing shameful things to numb my shame)—but it made all the sense in the world to me at the time.

Those of us who struggle with this often have no capacity to hear criticism. We hide from it, balk at it, internalize it, and strike back at the originators of it. When other people’s opinion of me becomes the organizing principle of my life my entire identity is on the line. What happens is that I end up giving people access to my identity that should not have that access. I become what other people think of me. Whether I am a student, a businessman, a stay at home mom, a professional, or unemployed, whether I’m a recovering addict, a Christian, a Democrat or Republican, successful —it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is how I am perceived by my world. If being busy is important, then I must be busy. If having money is a sign of real freedom, then I must claim my money. If knowing people proves my importance, I will have to work my contacts and climb the ladders. What matters is how I am perceived by my world.

I have seen a spiritual principle at work in my sobriety in relationship to this: Living in the gracious acceptance and approval of God will liberate me from the approval addiction. The converse is true too. Living as an approval addict will keep me from living in the love of God.

One of the blessings of the 5th step is the profound experience of grace that is embedded within it. When you and I learn to live honestly before each other and God, when we are able to trust each other with our secrets and shame the grace of God begins to radically liberate us. We can take the criticism of others and instead of reacting to it or allowing it to define us we can place it before God and those that know and love us and see if it “fits”. If it “fits” we can take concrete steps in love to deal with our character defects, if it does not we can set it aside. In this whole process we can stay connected to the gracious acceptance and approval of God.

May you live in the overwhelming, saturating love and acceptance of God.

Like most people, I like speed. I tend to think that fast is better. A faster computer is a better computer. A faster internet connection is a better internet connection. Fast is better in lots of ways. I’d much rather go to a two week intensive to work on a personal problem than to slug it out for a year in therapy. Much rather.

But clearly fast is not always better. The example I often use is surgery for cancer. After surgery you don’t ask the doctor “Was it quick?”. No. You ask “Did you get it all?”. And that’s a whole different matter. Speed doesn’t matter that much in this context. What matters far more than speed is thoroughness. That means that speed is, at best, a conditional virtue. . it depends on the circumstances.

Just about everybody I know who is in recovery and who is a Christian struggles at one point or another in the process with the feeling that “this should be going faster.” Or “I should be better by now.” Sometimes people — even well-intentioned folks — will say this to us. Or will imply that if only we prayed more, were more sincere, were more something. . . that this would already be solved. It is, of course, only very, very rarely helpful to receive this kind of help with our inventory. . .and it can be very hurtful.

I admit speed is not a traditional theological category. Look at any of your standard three-volume-systematics and you won’t find a chapter entitled “Speed” in any of them. Speed seems, however, to be pretty important theologically for people in recovery. The point at which speed becomes interesting theologically seems to me to be the moment when (and the way in which) we connect speed with power. Isn’t speed a reflection of power? Forget cars and computers now — think about personal change. Isn’t the speed of personal change determined by the power we have available to us? And isn’t God all-powerful? So shouldn’t God be able to empower us to change quickly? For many people, this series of questions seems to lead to an unavoidable conclusion — if you have God’s power available to you, whatever change is needed should be taken care of quickly. Even instantly. Miraculously. Just. . . pray a little prayer, leave it at the foot of the cross, whatever. . it should be done by the time you have finished reading this sentence.

But is this biblical?

Well, that’s what I suggest talking about in this blog for a while. Of course, things sometimes do happen quickly. And we are usually grateful for those parts of the journey. But what about the slow parts? What about the stuff that takes longer than any of us want? What about those times? Here are a few questions:

1) Are miracles the only sure sign of the presence of God’s power?

2) Are some miracles slow ones?

3) What biblical resources might be useful in thinking about fast/slow? (e.g. How long did Moses tend goats? What, if anything, might that mean for us?)

4) What forms can God’s power take during times when the process is slow?

5) There may be theological issues other than ‘power’ that should inform how we think about speed. What are they?

6) Which biblical characters experienced ’slow’? How did they deal with it? What can we learn from their experiences?

Your two bits worth are welcome. All comments are moderated. Not all will be posted. Some that are posted will be edited. That’s just the deal here.