TRUE STORIES
"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience." Every day presents opportunities to feel the presence of God. It might be in a big way or it might be something very small ... but if you're looking, each moment is significant; and the more you look, the more you see. These stories are just examples of God's everyday presence in our lives. As my dad used to say, "You can't make this stuff up!" We would love to read your stories, so please send them to sandra@soul-in-control.net. You might just see them here!
GRACE
I was having a "day" ... you know, one of those days you wish you could start all over. I woke up late, hit every red light on the way to work, spilled hot coffee all over myself, wrestled with a slow computer, and rushed to meet deadlines. At one point I was so agitated, I just looked up at the sky, threw my arms out, and yelled, "GOD, please give me grace!"
On my way home I decided that a haircut might make me feel better, or at least I'd get to relax for a bit. So I drove to the salon inside our local WalMart. "Can you squeeze in a haircut?" I asked. The girl at the counter said, "Sure. Just give me 5 minutes." She was a pretty young lady, mid twenties, and she was kind and pleasant. We chatted easily, she gave me a great haircut; and before I knew it, I was feeling good again.
Afterwards I met her at the register to settle up. "Thanks so much." I said. "You just made my day a whole lot better. Next time I come, I'll ask for you. What's your name?" With a big smile, she replied, "I'm GRACE!"
"M"
Before I get into this story, I have to tell you that one of the best memories with my dad was sitting on his porch listening to "oldies." He'd always have a list going; and when I showed up, he'd say, "Google this one!" So I'd hook up my little bluetooth speaker and use my phone to play his favorite songs while he commiserated, a Budweiser in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other. Good times ... you'll see why I mentioned this at the end.
Many of us, at some point in our adult life, have had to make the dreaded "Comcast call" ... you know, the one you put off as long as you can because you know how frustrating it's going to be ... the automated voice, the neverending list of options, the lack of a live agent.
Well on this particular day, I was missing my dad and feeling low, but I decided to tackle the Comcast issue while I had time. After sitting in the "queue" on hold for a good twenty minutes, I was assisted by a sweet lady named "M." She was cheerful, to the point, and, believe it or not, spoke good English. I gave her all my information and she said, "Please stand by" as she worked to resolve the issue.
"M" never put me on hold, but she did do something very unexpected. In a quiet little voice, as she clicked away at her keyboard, she began singing:
"There was love all around, but I never heard it singing.
No, I never heard it at all till there was you."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGJxA-Xyiyk
She sang a few of the verses ... I won't write them all here. But that was one of the songs my dad and I listened to on the porch ... coming right to me through the Comcast lady. When do you ever get teary over a Comcast call? "Thank you, Dad ... and thank you, M!"
HOLY MOMENTS
Until his later years, my dad was an avid reader. He collected novels from a variety of authors including John Grisham, Louis L'Amour, Clive Cussler, and his favorite, Nelson Demille. When I wanted something to read, there was no need for a book store ... my dad had a library in the basement!
One day I went down to get something new and came across an old paperback titled "Holy Moments" by Matthew Kelly. "Where'd this book come from?" I asked my dad. "Oh, I don't know, must have been your mom's." he said. I thumbed through it, and it peaked my curiosity because it reminded me of "pay it forward" and "magnificent obsession." So I took it home figuring I'd read it later.
For two years that book sat on my shelf; and every time I walked by, I would think, "I really should read it," I mean it was only a hundred pages or so, but I just didn't make the time ...
... Till one day I did. I wanted something light to sit outside with, so I grabbed it. It was an easy read, and I finished it in a few hours ... but it really made an impression on me. In a nutshell, it's about creating "holy moments" throughout the day. It's about seeing and seizing those opportunities, often during "undesirable" situations, and turning them around by displaying love through positive thoughts and actions. It's a testament to how those actions can create a"butterfly effect" ... and I found that I was looking for my own opportunities every day.
Anyway, at the end of the book, the author requests that the reader give a copy to three people (they even provide free copies). "Oh boy," I thought. "Now I'm on a mission. I've got to find just the right three people." It was important to me. I wanted to believe that the three people I picked would actually read the book and move it forward.
My first pick was my daughter-in-law. That was a "no-brainer" because she is full of faith and an avid reader. I believed that she would "get it." My second choice, though uncertain, was my own daughter. She doesn't outwardly express too much in the way of faith-based thinking, but she is innately soulful; and I figured that she might read it out of respect for me, and in turn, get a lot out of it. My third pick was undetermined, but I trusted that it would come.
I kept the three copies in my car for a while waiting for the right opportunities to hand them out. At the next visit to my daughter-in-law's, I gave her a copy with a lighthearted request that she read it. But I still hadn't decided about my own daughter, so I "shot a thought" to God and waited for an answer. A few days later, I took the book to her, and here's what happened.
My daughter has a best friend named Sarah. When I handed a copy of the book to my daughter, she exclaimed, "Oh, my God, mom! Sarah is always saying "that's a holy moment." She would absolutely love this. Can we give her a copy too?"
Now how's that for a "holy moment" ... while giving out copies of "Holy Moments!" It's like a double dose of Godness. Not only was my daughter the right "second," but she also found me the right "third." To this day I don't know if these three ladies have actually read the book and paid it forward. I won't ask. I have faith that, for each of them, it will happen at the right time, in God's time. Look at me ... it took two years!
BIRDS ON A WIRE
In New Hampshire I was in the habit of walking my dog every day, no matter what time of year; and we had a routine "short walk" which went from my house, north up Elm Street, to Fontaine's Tree Farm, and back. About six houses down from mine, on the right side of the street, was a hedge maybe four feet high and thirty feet long. I'd guess about a hundred small birds lived inside that hedge, and it was a hub of activity. You could see them flying in and out all day long, twittering away, and doing whatever birds do. I remember wondering how many nests might be inside that hedge; and just as I was thinking how safe it must be for them in there, down came a big blue jay, full speed, a regular dive-bomber, and charged right into the hedge. "Yikes, I thought, even a hedge isn't foolproof."
Towards the end of the hedge is a telephone pole with a diagonal wire, a brace wire, from midway up the pole to the ground. Well, on this particular day, we were walking down the street as usual and approached the hedge. When we were a couple of feet away, a solo bird came flying out of the hedge, looked at me, I swear it looked at me, flew and perched high up on the wire. Then it started singing. Just as I thought, "How cool is that?", another bird came out of the hedge, looked at me, flew and perched on the wire just next to and below the first bird, and started singing. Then a third bird, and a fourth, and more, one right after another, like an assembly line, until the wire was full. I can't tell you what kind of birds they were, but I can tell you that they were all singing ... so beautifully. I looked all around me and thought, "Is anyone else seeing this?" I mean I wanted to yell, "Is anyone else seeing this?"
FIREFLIES
I lived in a little A-Frame in Acworth, New Hampshire, for a time during my Dark Night. It was an old hunting cabin, very secluded, on 15 acres of heavily wooded land. It came complete with a cozy loft and an old outhouse, and I hooked up running water and a shower. The outhouse was about 50 feet away, which wasn't much fun on a cold morning. And cell service was terrible. To make a call I had to go outside, stand in the middle of the driveway, put my flip-phone above my head, and remain in one spot, perfectly still, till the call was over. Also, not much fun on rainy nights.
But even during that time, things had a way of happening. One of those rainy nights turned into a real "doozie" of a New England thunderstorm. And I love a good thunderstorm! So I stepped outside to have a smoke and watch the lightning ... what happened next, I will never forget.
We call them "lightning bugs" for a reason, as I learned that night. Every time the lightning flashed, a thousand fireflies sparked in the yard all around me. It was like a symphony of light, each streak of lightning in tandem with the flash of fireflies. And after each flash, the black of night seemed even darker. This went on for about a half hour as I stood in awe ... and I thought, "Is anyone else seeing this?" I mean I wanted to yell, "Is anyone else seeing this?"
KATYDIDS
Another night at the cabin, as I sat watching television, I could hear a very faint noise, like scratching or something, and it seemed to be coming from inside the walls or from the outside of the house, I couldn't tell which. It kind of creeped me out, but I finished my dinner, did the dishes, and turned off the light to finish my movie. Just then a shadow moved the length of the living room, and something flew right by me, barely missing my nose. "What the heck was that?" I said as I stood up and turned the light back on.
And there right next to the television was, I thought, a grasshopper. I didn't want to kill it, so I opened the door and began to shoo it out with a notebook. As I was doing that, there appeared, out of nowhere, many more, dozens more, of those big green bugs, all around my living room, some flying, some crawling, all of them making that shrill, chirping noise. I didn't know what to do! They were climbing up the outside of the house and coming through cracks around the window screen and maybe even from under the house. I was so grossed out!
So, visibly shaken, I did what any tired and bewildered lady, who didn't want to kill anything, would do. It was late and it was dark, and I would deal with it in the morning. I turned the television off, went upstairs to the loft, got into bed, and put my head under the covers, As i listened to the continuous sound of wings in flight and scratching downstairs, I thought, "Oh, God, please keep them out of my bedroom!" ... and fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I thought, "God, give me strength to deal with these visitors!" I listened for any sounds, but there was only silence. I slowly crept down the stairs and scanned the living room, expecting to see a wave of green ... but there was nothing. Not a one. They had gone as fast as they had come. And, thankfully, they never came back. I later learned that they were katydids, indigenous to New England, especially in heavily wooded areas with dense vegetation; and that there had been an explosion in their population that summer. Their chirping sounded just like they were saying "katydid .... katydid." Going into the Fall they were looking for warmer environments, and I guess my little cabin looked pretty inviting. It was a one-night phenomenon, who knows why ... maybe they just wanted to introduce themselves ... but I got to experience a night with the Katydids!
DISTURBED
My daughter and I lived 3000 miles apart and we communicated via text and phone calls often. Since music was such a big part of our lives together, we decided to create a playlist and send songs back and forth, just to bring back a memory or to share something new we had heard and liked. We called it the "Mother-Daughter Anthology" and the playlist grew quite rapidly. It was a wonderful way to stay in touch with thoughts of each other.
One day my best friend, Debbie, and I were running some errands. We always enjoyed music in the car, and I had the radio on a local FM station. The song "Sounds of Silence" by Disturbed (a recreation of the original by Simon & Garfunkel) came on, and both Debbie and I exclaimed, "Ooh, I like this song ... turn it up!"
Just then my phone dinged with a text from my daughter. She had sent me a song to add to our playlist. You guessed it ... It was "Sounds of Silence" by Disturbed. Both Debbie and I sat there looking at each other in amazement. What's the chances of that? ... Us listening to it in the car, and my daughter sending it from way across the country at the same time. You gotta recognize these things when they happen. Mothers and daughters are connected!
THE "SHUGAH"
Have you ever wondered how many times you've "skirted" death? Do you have any idea how many times God has saved you from a tragic outcome? Well, I can only guess that I came pretty close on a few occasions, but I can say with all certainty that the hand of God was involved in this one.
It was mid April, and my ex-husband and I decided it would be fun to get his dad's canoe and take a leisurely "tool" down the Sugar River in New Hampshire. What we knew of the Sugar River was only what we saw every day from the main roads that ran alongside it. It looked pretty "doable" and I assumed my ex was skilled in navigating a canoe. As for me, I had no experience at all, but I was game.
We brought a couple of jackets, towels, a blanket, and packed a lunch, planning to stop and picnic somewhere along the water. His dad dropped us off in North Newport a little ways past the high school and planned to pick us up later that afternoon down river. We put the canoe in and got situated, me in the front, him in the rear, and the cooler between us. We wore the standard life vests, but no helmets. Looking back, safety wasn't even a concern at the time. We were BULLETPROOF, and we were going down that river!
We got into a gentle rhythm paddling along fairly calm water for a while; and we were both pretty relaxed, just taking in the scenery and enjoying a day away from work. This wonderful state of serenity didn't last long though, only about a half mile, and then we began to hear the sound of rapids up ahead. "Okay, let's be ready" he said as the noise grew louder; and I held my oars tightly in preparation. Shallow rapids appeared and we navigated them with ease, but the sound up ahead grew increasingly "ominous." We were picking up speed very quickly, and I could feel the "butterflies" in my stomach. Faster we moved, faster and faster, barely keeping control ...
What happened next happened so quickly, it was all a blur. Right when he yelled, "Tell me if you see any rocks," there appeared a huge boulder right in front of me, just under the surface of the rushing water. "ROCK!" I yelled ... But too late ... "WHACK!" We hit so hard that the canoe capsized, throwing us, the cooler, the jackets, the blankets and towels right into the river. And the water was COLD, I mean FRIGID, and it sucked the breath right out of us. We both grabbed the canoe; and between gasps, he yelled, "DON'T ... LET ... GO ... OF ... THE ... BOAT!" The current was so strong that, if not for the canoe as ballast, we would have been tossed around like ragdolls. Standing up was impossible because the rocks beneath our feet were covered with moss, which kept us slipping and sliding, waves crashing over our faces. I don't know what the normal depth is at that location; but that day, at that time of year, it was at least five feet high, and POWERFUL. The river bank was a good thirty to forty feet away and getting there seemed hopeless. We could barely move, it was so cold, and we thought we were done for!
How we got to shore is truly a miracle. As cold as we were, somehow we found the strength to swim against that current and push the canoe, little by little, till we got to the bank. We stepped up onto the shore and collapsed to the ground, soaking wet, unable to speak; but I knew what we were thinking ... Mother Nature just "spanked" us, HARD. We had no dry clothes, no jackets, no blanket, no cooler. But we were alive, and that was good enough. After gathering our wits, we each picked up an end of the canoe and hiked about two miles along the river, through thick brush and overgrowth, in silence, shivering all the way, till we made it to his dad. When we got home, we stood inside the shower under hot water, as hot as we could stand it, for a very long time. I don't think a shower ever felt that good!
Meanwhile, further down the river, a guy I used to go to school with was partying with some friends when a jacket and cooler washed up onto the shore right in front of them. When they picked up the jacket, they noticed a tag on the inside with my ex's name on it. The guy got right on the phone and called to see if we were okay. "Tell me you two clowns did not actually try navigating the Sugar River, in a canoe no less, in April." he said. I'm a whitewater guide, and I wouldn't even attempt that! There's still snow melt coming down! What the heck were you thinking? Do you know how lucky you are to be alive?" He was horrified, and then he was amused; but we were nothing but embarrassed. "Yeah," we said. "We were stupid, and we own it ... Lesson learned."
My ex and I are extremely good friends. We have shared many memorable experiences, and over the years we have both developed a very profound faith in God. When we think back on that day, we both know that it was His grace that saved us. We will never look at that river the same way 'cuz we know that what you don't see from the road, the parts that go through the wilderness, are treacherous. We now call it "The Mighty Shugah!"
CREATOR
Ocean Beach in San Francisco holds some happy memories for me, as well as for my children. Before they were born, when I first moved to California, I lived in San Francisco and would walk to the beach every night, sit along the Great Wall, and watch the sun go down. Back then it was quite a party.
With my kids, on several occasions I took them down, usually at night, to go over the Bay Bridge, all lit up, and walk along the beach after dark. We would listen to the surf and visit the other "all-nighters" sitting around campfires. We'd sleep in the car, watch the sun come up in the morning, and then visit the San Francisco Zoo. Good memories.
On one particular occasion, I had all three kids. We were traveling from Arizona up to California and decided to see Ocean Beach again before going home. My daughter was what we nowadays call "hangry." She didn't do well when she wanted something to eat, and she was in a rather foul mood. It was the middle of the day and I planned to get them something to eat as soon as we got out of traffic. As we were crossing the Bay Bridge, I noticed that the man in the car in front of us was combing his greasy black hair, using both hands, one combing and one slicking, all the while looking at himself in his rear view mirror. It just struck me as nonsensical, and I laughingly said, "Geez, look at that guy ... combing his hair in the middle of all this traffic. What an idiot!" My daughter angrily replied something like, "Oh, mom, you're so mean! Why you always gotta criticize?" To which I said, "Oh, come on, it's funny! Honestly, sometimes you can be such a little B____!" She came right back with, "Well, YOU'RE the CREATOR!" Out of the mouth of babes ... Touche', my dear! We laugh about that moment to this day.
What really is significant about her statement, "You're the CREATOR," is that even though she meant it sarcastically, like she was taking after her mother, it has come to mean so much more. All of my studies in life point to the importance of being the CREATOR of your own universe ... how you live, your career, your beliefs, your feelings and attitudes, how you treat others. Little did she know that her statement would mean so much more to me in days to come!
PYRAMID LAKE
Pyramid Lake is located on the Paiute Indian Reservation about 40 miles northeast of Reno, Nevada. The first time I went there, I walked around in a state of awe. It was MAJESTIC, almost prehistoric, and unlike anything I had ever seen before. The color of the water was a stunning aqua blue, the sky was huge, and the surroundings were desert-like. There were pyramid-shaped boulders at various locations in the lake; and on the land, there were large rock formations that resembled "bubbles" as if lava had hardened many many years ago. You could climb inside them and up to the top for a breathtaking view. Over the years, it became my "sacred place" and I went there many times to commune with God.
In October of 2002, I took a friend, who worked for me, to Pyramid Lake for her birthday. I knew it would be windy, so we packed firewood and kindling, camping gear, layers of clothing, and plenty of food and drink. We made the 3-hour trip and headed for my favorite spot at Red Bay on the west shore.
We got situated, set up the tent, and went exploring. We climbed one of the large rock formations and enjoyed the view. We walked in the water along the shore and watched a man in chest-high waders catch a beautiful red/orange Lahontan trout. Then, as the sun went down and the temperature dropped, we built a campfire and made something to eat. We sat around the fire as the sky grew dark, content with the peace, the serenity, and the crackling of the campfire.
All of a sudden, a single shooting star made its way across the sky. We both saw it at the same time and exclaimed, "Wow, look at that ... that was awesome!" We were still soaking it in when another star shot across our vision. "Holy cow, another one! What's the chances of that? One for you and one for me!" We were feeling pretty lucky to see two in one night ... but it didn't stop there. One right after another, they continued to streak across the sky or fall towards the earth, some muted and some brilliant. We sat by the fire all night just watching them. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen, way better than fireworks! By the time it started getting light, we had counted 69 shooting stars.
Little did we know that God had blessed us with the Orionid meter shower, which I later learned was particularly beautiful and bright that year. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time! Thank you, GOD!
LYNX
I was taking a last-minute trip to California a couple of years ago, and my oldest son purchased my ticket ... I think it was for the Christmas holiday. Usually I fly out of Manchester, NH, but he found a better deal out of Hartford, CT; and since he bought the ticket, I planned on making it work. It's about a 2-hour drive, and normally that wouldn't be any problem; but this particular flight left at 6 am. That meant I would have to leave my house around 2:30 am to get to the airport, get parked, and get through security in time for boarding.
Getting to Hartford from Claremont is a straight shot down Interstate 91, which is notorious for deer and moose sitings along the highway; and I was more than a little nervous about coming upon one during the "witching hours" that I'd be driving. "I'll just have to take it slow and stay behind other vehicles whenever possible," I thought.
Well, as luck would have it, it was snowing on the morning that I left for the airport. So I made a good, strong cup of coffee and headed out a little earlier to give myself more driving time. As soon as I got onto Interstate 91, I began scanning both sides of the highway for "creatures of the night." Traffic was light; and more often than not, I was alone on the road for pretty long stretches. There weren't a lot of streetlights either. In many places it was pitch black, you couldn't see the roadsides, and you could only see what was right in front of you. I found myself "white-knuckling" the steering wheel, my eyes straining for any signs of movement.
As time went by, I began to relax a little and started fishing around for a decent radio station. "So far, so good," I thought. Famous last words, right? Somewhere between Brattleboro, VT and Springfield, MA, when I was least thinking about it, OUT OF NOWHERE came ... not a deer, not a moose, and not a bobcat ... but a LYNX. It jumped right over the guardrail, hind legs tucked in a cannonball position, looked at my car while it was in midair, and landed on the other side of the highway. It was MAGNIFICENT! The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion; my high beams served as a spotlight; and I watched with an open-mouthed "WOOOOOW."
GOD has such a sense of humor. I think it was His way of saying, "You're safe, my dear. Don't worry about the deer or the moose. I'll give you something even more beautiful to see!"
PENNIES
These stories wouldn't be complete without telling you about the pennies I often find from my mother. There are songs, stories, and movies written about "Pennies From Heaven," but I never believed in any of that until it happened to me.
It all started after mom passed away in 1995. I was a bit traumatized and a little mad at God for mom's "unfair" illness and suffering ... she had ovarian cancer; and I was trying to come to terms with the fact that my mother was no longer around. "Geez, God, she was the only one in the family who didn't smoke ... what the heck!"
Shortly after her death, I took a trip to California with my youngest son. The journey would be a tribute and a time to reflect on memories of my mom. We put most of our belongings in storage, packed the SUV, and went south to pick up Route 40, which begins in Wilmington, North Carolina, and ends in Barstow, California. At a campground in Virginia, after setting up the tent, we noticed a penny on the wooded ground just in front of the entrance to the tent. We thought it was a peculiar place to find a penny, and we laughingly said, "It must be Grammy! She's letting us know that she's okay." We sent loving thoughts up to mom and went sight-seeing.
The pennies continued to show up in the weirdest places during the whole trip. We'd get out of the car and there would be a penny on the ground right next to the car door. We'd walk along a beach and there would be a penny in the sand. We'd walk through a playground and there would be a penny right in the middle of the path. And you might say, "Ah, that's no big deal. Pennies are everywhere." But I can tell you that before that time in my life, I never noticed them.
And over the years, it's really been a "thing." I can be walking with three other people through a parking lot, and a penny will show up on the ground right in front of my feet, not in front of theirs. I've found pennies in places where pennies have no business being, and I've collected hundreds ... some shiny and new, and some so old and worn that you could barely see them stuck in the ground. It's no coincidence! My little sister has even remarked that she is amazed at the amount of pennies I find because she never sees any in her daily life (she does, however, see "other things" ... she is very intuitive).
To finish my story and prove my point ... I walk my dog every day at Dry Creek Community Park in Roseville, CA. It's a wonderful facility with open fields and numerous trails all along the creek where I can walk her off-leash. Yesterday on our way back from a long trail walk, I decided to find a different spot (we always went to the same place) along the creek for us to rest and JoneZ to get a drink before heading home. We got off-trail and walked down to the water and I looked for a place to sit. As I set my backpack down on the rocky, sandy ground, I couldn't believe my eyes ... there was a penny right next to my backpack. Can you see it in the picture?
What's the chances of that penny being right there at the exact spot where I set my backpack down? I wasn't even thinking about pennies, that's how it happens; and, with a grin on my face, I looked upward and said, "Ah, there you are ... hello, mom!"
You've gotta be open to finding such things because they are definitely communications from our loved ones. I will never stop having wonderful thoughts of my mother. As long as I continue finding pennies, she will make sure of that! I love you, Mom!
SUNSET
For the first year of my most recent return to California, I lived with my friend, Susan, at her house in Cameron Park, CA. She worked from home and I had a job about twenty minutes away. We each had a dog, and we often took them for walks together. When we had limited time and just wanted to get the dogs out of the house, we would head up through the neighborhood and over to a small meadow right around the corner. Susan had a neighbor named Jesse who lived just up the street, and we would sometimes see him on our walks when he was outside in his yard. He always had treats in his pockets, and the dogs loved to see him coming.
I never knew Jesse very well, but we always exchanged pleasantries. He seemed like a very nice guy and I could tell that he was a bit of a "free spirit." I began noticing that when we walked our dogs at dusk, Jesse was always up at the meadow just hanging around. I asked Susan why he was always there at that time of day, and she informed me that Jesse went up there every night to watch the sunset.
How cool is that? No matter what was going on in his life, he always made time to walk up to the meadow and watch the sun go down. And there's no gorgeous view up there either. Beyond the overgrown meadow is a shopping center and an apartment complex. But that's not what Jesse saw. What he saw was the beautiful sunset beyond ... and maybe he was just thanking God for another day. In my eyes, that's pretty holy!
BUFFALO
Every once in a while someone tells me a story from their life, and I just have to write about it. This is one of those stories.
Susan is a long-time friend of mine and was my roommate for the past year. She is a tall drink of water, athletic build, long silver/blonde hair; and she's a little "rough around the edges." What I mean is she doesn't "sugarcoat" anything. With her, "what you see is what you get." She can be your truest friend or your worst enemy. There is nothing in between. She has a very low tolerance for triviality or lack of common sense. "People are stupid" is her favorite saying, and we've had a few laughs over that. Needless to say, she is a loner. But she tolerates me and respects my faith in God, and that's all I care about. And what I've always admired about her is that she can do the work of most men. I've seen her build complex structures, repair a hot tub, install ceiling lights, and fix things I would never attempt. She's got a garage full of tools, and she's quite handy!
Well, back in 2006, sometime during August or September, she took a trip with friends to Yellowstone National Park. She was in the rear of the pack on her motorcycle, a 2004 Honda Shadow 750, wearing a black leather jacket, chaps, boots, and, of course, a helmet. They were moving along the Grand Loop, which passes Old Faithful, headed south to Interstate 191 towards the Grand Tetons.
She was enjoying the beautiful scenery and was cruising along at about 40 mph when the ground began to tremble beneath her. "What the heck! Is this an earhquake?" she thought. Her friends in front continued moving and she nervously kept up; but as the trembling increased, it became harder and harder to keep her bike steady. She decided to pull over; and when she came around the corner, lo and behold, a herd of buffalo was running quickly across the highway and into the field beyond. She counted about 50 to 75 of them and told me that it was one of the most awesome sights she had ever seen. She described it as "MAJESTIC." As the buffalo continued crossing, other vehicles behind her stopped to watch the rare sight. What a blessing! ... to witness these beautiful animals, a piece of America's history, in their natural habitat, during these modern times. That's surely not something that many people get to see! Thanks for the story, Susan!
APOLOGY
During the years that I operated a restaurant in Cameron Park, CA, I hired a homeless woman, who came in one day looking for work. She was rough around the edges, had a raspy voice, and was living at a nearby campsite ... but she seemed sincere and had experience, and my compassionate heart felt compelled to give her a chance.
At first she performed well and was good with the customers, worked hard, and seemed grateful for the opportunity. That lasted for maybe three weeks or so. And then something changed. She started showing up late, frenzied and disheveled, and was short with our customers. When I asked her what was wrong, she looked at me sideways like I was imagining the change in her. This went on for a couple of days; but it was the clenching of teeth and sweat on her brow that gave it away. I was sure she was doing drugs and was coming to work "all jacked up."
"Oh, man," I thought. "I gotta take care of this right away." I pulled her aside at the end of the day and said that I suspected she was doing drugs and that I was letting her go. She proceeded to yell at me, pointed her finger in my face, accused me of imagining things, and called me every name in the book. She even stood outside of the restaurant and told anyone passing by that I was a terrible person and that they shouldn't eat there! I finally had to threaten her with calling the cops, and she went away. I never saw her again.
I later became a Stephen minister at a Christian church in Placerville, CA. A Stephen minister is a person who has been trained in "walking alongside" people in crisis. During the eight years that I did this, I probably assisted around 50 women through a wide variety of troubling life situations. It was one of the most painful, yet rewarding, things I ever did. These women endured some very heartbreaking life events; and our purpose was to listen, encourage, pray, and exemplify a GOD perspective. I was privileged enough to see many women "transform" and come through their trial with a better life.
Towards the middle of that eight years I became part of a team that worked with single mothers at a facility built by the Church. It was called Hope House, and women coming out of incarceration or fleeing from abusive situations could live there with their children while they worked through their crisis and pursued gainful employment. One day I got a call at my restaurant from the homeless woman I had hired, and fired, years earlier. She told me who she was and asked if I remembered her. "Well, of course," I said. "How could I forget?" She indicated that she was living in Las Vegas and was working in construction. She said that one of the women in the Hope House was her daughter, and she asked if I would take special care of her and let her know how her daughter was doing. I knew who the daughter was ... I had already been working with her; and I replied that I would keep an eye on her. At the end of the conversation, there was a pause, and then she said, "I'm really sorry for what happened years ago at your restaurant. You were right ... I was doing drugs ... I treated you badly." To which I replied. "It's okay. All is forgiven. Let it go. I'll look after your daughter." And I wished her well.
Afterward I reflected on how her love for her daughter had brought about the apology. The reason didn't matter to me ... by that time it was ancient history. But it must have been hard for her to do. As for me, I was grateful ... 'cuz sometimes it just feels good when God gives you a little "pat on the back."
DILEMMA
This is my most recent story, at which time I am still in Northern California finishing a two-year visit with my children and grandchildren. Almost every day I walk with my best buddy, my dog JoneZ. That's been a real challenge for me out here. In the winter you can walk almost anywhere ... but in the summer you have to go where foxtails, rattlesnakes, and high water (they open up the dams) are not. And I have chosen to stay away from the State Parks because they charge an exhorbitant $15 just to walk your dog for an hour ... it's insane. But, thankfully, I have been able to find some pretty decent trails that are safe, and FREE.
Walks are, for me, a form of meditation ... a time to be alone with my thoughts, to talk to God, and to simply appreciate the surroundings that, at that time, I am blessed to be in.
On this particular day, just a couple of months ago, I was struggling with the pros and cons of living in California, where my children are, versus living in New Hampshire, where my home is. I decided that a walk would do me good, so I headed over to Coloma to take the wooded path that runs along the south fork of the American River. I parked my car, got my dog and my backpack, and headed for the trail.
The questions running through my mind were, "What should I be looking for? What will spark the most growth in my spiritual journey?"
I made my way through the picnic area; and just as I got onto the dirt path at the beginning of the trail, right there on the ground in front of my feet was a beaded white bracelet with just three letters on it, "GOD." I stood there happily amused, kind of froze for a second; and then I looked around to see if there was anyone close by who might have lost a bracelet. But there was no one in sight, so I picked up the bracelet and continued walking.
As I held that bracelet in my hand, I thought, "Okay, GOD, I know You're listening and thank you for reminding me that YOU are first in all my decision making. But that's not my dilemma. I know I can see You anywhere ... in the hustle and bustle of this hectic, "twisted up" state of California or in the serenity of my peaceful home in the quiet of New Hampshire. I know that SOUL is happy there, but SOUL also desires to serve. And me, the physical being that is not getting any younger, just senses that it's time to stay in one place. It's not as easy to get back and forth anymore. I have a dog and I'm weary of flying. So ... Is it family that comes first? Or is it where I feel closest to you, where I find solitude and peace of mind? What will serve You best?" Some would say family first and some would say spirit first. And although I know that service comes from within and can be done from anywhere, I simply want to know where my "where" is, where my God purpose can continue and make the biggest difference.
California has been a real "catalyst" for me. I am here because I love my family ... but I don't enjoy California the way I used to. It is not the California I sought back in the early 80's and where I have lived for periods of time over the years. Everything is so expensive, I mean unreasonably so. And why is that? Supply and demand? Politics? Who knows. And even though California is a big state, it is overcrowded. The traffic is unrelenting and everyone seems to be in a hurry. I have witnessed the excavation of beautiful rolling hills to make way for construction of hundreds of tract-home communities everywhere the eye can see. There is a shopping mall on almost every corner. Mother Earth has been "defiled" by miles and miles of abandoned silver and gold mines, which have caused deadly heavy metals to leech into the natural waterways throughout the area. It literally breaks my heart, and I have had to look very deeply within to extract the "Godness" I can find in the daily life here. It has not been easy.
Not to mention that what I have in New Hampshire, a 3-bedroom house on 2.7 acres with an inground swimming pool, is way beyond anything I could currently afford in California. And at this point in my life, it's hard to imagine living in an apartment or mobile home park, with a tiny yard, and which would still cost more than owning my home. But as my oldest son so casually puts it, "Mom, where there's a will, there's a way." And to that point, I know he's right ... But is that really the "WAY?"
The "pros" of living in New Hampshire are the peace and quiet I enjoy; the pleasure of doing yard work and improvements on my own property; the four seasons with the Fall colors and the milky white snow; the awesome thunderstorms; my good friends; and the slower pace that, at my age, is most welcome. In that environment I feel closest to God and I know that I can do so much. But is it what GOD would have me do? What I wouldn't have there is family ... we would be 3,000 miles apart again ... and that alone fills me with sadness. Leaving will not be easy.
So, stay in New Hampshire or sell everything I own and move to California? At this point, I still don't have any "answers" ... but I am not worried. GOD will lead me as long as my heart is open to the journey. He always does. I'll head back home to New Hampshire in September ... I'll pull into my driveway, feel the warm breeze and breathe in the Fall air, walk around the property and into my house ... and I will know. I believe right then and there, I will know ... God willing.
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