ponderingsat80’s posterous

 He was obnoxious and boring as he told us the story of his conversion -  An encounter with God - similar to that of Saul’s on the road to Damascus:

 He had been a drunkard, a womanizer and a non-believer all his life, when suddenly one day,  as if struck by lightning, he was thrown to the ground. He lay there terrified and shaken but within minutes  he began to realize something enormous had happened -  he had been touched by God!

The experience changed him completely and he went in search of people to help: the poor, the troubled, the sick, the dying  . . . and to his amazement, he discovered he could heal! 

Jenny and I sat listening to his story, but because of his boastful manner, found it  hard to believe what he was saying. Sensing this, he turned to me and asked.  “Do you have a health problem?  -  If so, I can help you."    Reluctantly, I told him about stomach problems that had plagued me for years. 

He asked me to stand; putting his hands on my shoulders, he pushed me into the arms of his wife standing behind me; he lowered me to the floor, knelt down, laid his hands on my stomach and began to pray.  It felt ridiculous and I fought the urge to jump up and laugh.

Later that evening, Jenny asked if he’d pushed me?  We both agreed he’d been rude and arrogant.  Days later, however, I began to notice my stomach aches had disappeared.  The pain and nausea that I’d experienced forever had gone away.  I had been healed! 

God’s helpers come in many disguises.  O ye, of little faith.

People who need to control others continually undermine and criticize until, if allowed, break you down,  take over your life and push you towards what they think is right for you.  They are unaware of the damage they do,  and cannot imagine, let alone admit, they might be wrong. 

 If a strong personality is given this power,  the sensitive person will give up, become depressed, and perhaps never reach his potential.   I have felt this in my own life and have observed it in others.

No one has the right to even one second of your life!

 Her tone of voice is dull, depressed and tired.  We talk every day – always the same old thing – over and over again. I try to change the subject – find something uplifting and pleasant to discus but it is useless - she is trapped in a quagmire of self-pity

 I listen. I sometimes contribute. It feels ugly. There is no joy.  No hope.

 It goes on, day after day - a need to complain.  It is sad.

Are we who are broken, destined to remain forever in a circle of nothingness? 

She left flyers in everyone’s mailbox.  She was a 15 year old girl who lived up the street and wanted to baby-sit.  It was important to note that her mother was on call should a problem develop she could not handle.

 We had been invited to dinner that evening so decided to give her a call.  We were not going far and it would not be a late night.  A pleasant young girl arrived at our door and we felt confident that all would go well.  And it did.  Or so we thought . .

 Perhaps if we’d tried to phone home we’d have felt differently.  But then, we might have thought she was talking to her friends.

 It was a shock to find a couple of police officers standing at my door early the next morning and to have them ask if we’d been home the night before?  “No, we were out to dinner.” I answered, puzzled. “Why, do you ask?”   “We received several calls from this address last night, and someone gave us important information concerning a recent murder.”   “What!? . . .”  I told them about the new sitter and in total disbelief gave them her address.  

 “What has she done now?!”  Exclaimed her mother as she opened the door.

 The police later told me the young girl obsessed over murder trials and spent hours reading details about them in the newspapers.  She had an uncanny talent for solving murders and it was not the first time she’d made phone calls giving information to the police. 

 What happened next we never found out.  Did she go on to study criminology?  Did she become a criminal lawyer?  Did she become a criminal?  . . .  Who knows.  We knew we would never again hire a baby-sitter without checking her out thoroughly.  We would not take for granted that our children would be safe, just because a mother was on call!

On the same trip we took to France with two of our children we found ourselves in beautiful Aix en Provence.  We were in search of an au pair, and friends had suggested we meet her parents. We were invited to stay at their home which can only be described as a crumbling old hotel.  We were given 2 bedrooms on the third floor and told we would be by ourselves.

 We made our way across a room with dust covered furniture and hurried up the dimly lit stairs controlled by a timer set to go off in less than five minutes. More than once we found ourselves stumbling up the stairs in the dark, and to make matters worse, discovered to our horror, that what we thought were dust bunnies, were actually rats!   Our bedroom was sparsely furnished and had but one ceiling light, no night tables and no lamps.  Paint was peeling off the cracked walls and the bed was lumpy.  It was with great reluctance and a shrug that we settled down for the night.

Having been told we were alone on the 3^rd floor, it was somewhat of a shock to be awakened by the sound of running water and a light turned on in our bathroom. When we mentioned this the next day we were again told we were alone on that floor. The same thing happened the following night: water running, light on, then quiet.  More upsetting was the fact that one would have to walk through our bedroom to reach the bathroom . . . What was going on?

By the fourth day of our stay we still had not been given an explanation for this strange occurrence, and by then, my husband had to leave for Paris which meant I would be alone with the children that night.   No sleep for me - I lay awake with the ceiling light on.  And that night . . . there was no running water, no light turned on – nothing.

 Needless to say, I was eager to say my goodbyes the following morning and head for the airport.  The au pair arrived in the fall and lived with us for a year. All seemed well until, from her room one night, I heard her deep in conversation with someone. Who was in her room?    This went on for several nights until I could stand it no longer and asked, “Who have you been talking to?  Is someone in your room? “   - “I am talking to my grandmother who passed away last year,” she replied with sad eyes and a deep sigh. 

 Did the au pair visit our bathroom during our stay?  . . .  If so,  why?    Or was it an encounter with yet another ghost – her grandmother, perhaps?

 The mystery was never solved.

I am not religious. I must qualify this by defining the word religious:  I am not into institutional (formal) religion, but I believe in Christ’s teachings.  I believe God, who is Energy, Light, Wisdom – everything that is - created the universe out of Love.  Love needs to share.  Love needs relationship - needs to be known by another - by us! The Supreme Being created us so that we might share in the Eternal Bliss. Imagine!  It is all mystery – not ours to understand or try to define – only to accept and be glad.

 Life, with its ups and downs, is meant to be enjoyed. We view suffering as something evil, but it is an opportunity for growth - it is a blessing  It is in the every day routine that we are made holy, and when the time is right, we go back to the Source from which we have our being and become one with the all that is.  Christ came to teach us how to live, but his message got distorted and was used to gain control and power over people. There are saints in this world – those to whom it is given to lead the way, but they often go unnoticed.  My mother was a saint.  She was a beautiful, sweet and gentle soul.  She went unnoticed.  My brother-in-law was a saint.  He too went unnoticed.  Then there are the great saints like Mother Theresa and Jean Vanier. These are special souls, meant to capture our attention - meant to teach.

 I seek the Truth.  The Truth that will set me free - open my mind to all things and to all people.   In that sense I am religious.   Heaven and hell are now.  We chose (with the grace of God) to enter into this state while on earth.  It is a narrow gate and it is painful (growth), but it is possible to find an incredible Peace, now. 

 Christ is my Way.  He is compassion, love, light, joy – all of it.  He is my Forever now. 

What is your script? You asked.  Define script, I thought.

  No. I was not clever, nor was I wise when I was seeing you, Nina.

 What an amazing woman you were.  What a beautiful human being.  Just knowing you gave one a sense of value. 

 Script is a complicated word.  Each of us is given a script – a behaviour code - by our parents.  I knew mine – oh, yes, I knew mine:  “Keep quiet ---- be a good girl.”  And that I was.

 I was not encouraged to think for myself.  I was expected simply to follow.   But you led me by the hand and taught me to stand on my own two feet, and because of you,  I learned to love and value myself.

 It was not my parents’ fault they failed to do this – they too, were following their script.  

  I believe one’s script is one’s path – one’s journey.  And this is so for everyone.

 My script, dear Nina, were you here today, would be me struggling to become the person I am meant to be.  And you, as always, would be showing me the way.

 Who carried you?  Who answered your needs?    Did we, who leaned on you, show you your value? Were you aware of how much you were admired and cherished?  Did we who received so much from you,  leave you feeling abandoned and alone?  Were we the cause of your terrible need to end your life too soon?

 I often wonder, dear Nina, what was your script?

Someone said, there are three things in life we need in order to be happy:

 LOVE (most important).

Something to do.

And something to look forward to.

Who could argue with that?

Music, essence of my being

Mercilessly you hold me captive

To the passion of a ceaseless steady rhythm

Without which I have no meaning.

Touched by you, embraced by you,

I have no existence – there is no me.

Only the excruciating agony

Of a joyful pure abandonment.

I soar with you, my Beloved,

Lost in the ecstasy of an eternal moment.

Totally giving while totally free

Held by excitement of a great pulsating movement.

Adagio follows, to silence and to still

The passion of tormented beat or melancholy fever.

In depths of soul my spirit known

Is music, Lover, Captive be.

Why did I not say, your eyes are beautiful?

Why did I not say, your smile is sweet?

And why did I not say - please stay – don’t go.

I did.  But she left, and I weep.