Balancing the Books: Becoming My Own Spiritual Bookkeeper
Minute-by-minute deposits, daily reviews, and the slow math of recovery
I keep getting these social media ads about bookkeeping side hustles. “Work from home, manage the books, make real money.”
Funny thing is, I think recovery is already teaching me how to do just that—except the numbers I’m managing aren’t financial. They’re spiritual. Emotional. Relational. And a little messy.
This morning’s 24 Hours a Day reading talked about people who can pull large sums from the bank in times of crisis. The kind of people who seem to have resources on hand when the bottom drops out. At first, my brain went straight to money. But today, I heard something different.
They can make those withdrawals because they’ve made countless small deposits—over and over. Quiet, consistent, often unnoticed.
That’s when it hit me: I’m barely making deposits right now.
Sure, I want to be able to “withdraw” peace in a panic. Patience when someone’s pushing my buttons. Gratitude when I’m surrounded by grief. But if I haven’t been investing in that account—through prayer, surrender, action, humility—then what do I expect to find in there?
Recovery, especially in Steps 10, 11, and 12, is starting to show me this:
Step 10 is the nightly review. A spiritual audit. I don’t always want to look at the books, especially when I know I’ve been sloppy with my self-will, but I’m starting to see that checking the books daily matters. That’s how you catch spiritual embezzlement.
Step 11 is more than just quiet time—it’s all-day communication with the CFO (Chief Forgiveness Officer). Prayer. Meditation. Conscious contact. These are the tiny deposits. Sometimes they’re not even words. Just a pause. A breath. A whispered “help.”
Step 12 is where I offer hope from what’s left in the till. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like much. But I’m learning that even small change counts—if I’m willing to give it away.
I haven’t mastered this. Not even close.
But I am starting to see that this bookkeeping business is no joke. If I want to stay spiritually solvent—if I want to be able to face life without defaulting to food, fear, or control—then I have to track the balance. Make the deposits. Run the numbers. Take the inventory.
I think of managers I’ve known. The ones who close up shop by counting the drawer, logging the deposit, locking up, and dropping the night bag at the bank. They don’t guess or assume. They know what came in, what went out, and what’s left.
That’s what recovery is asking of me now.
No more guessing.
Just a steady hand, honest numbers, and a God I can trust to balance the books when I can’t.
Love ya’ll!
DeeBo