No Angel

For the last 25 years, I have celebrated a minimalist Christmas.  I don’t set up a Christmas tree.  I don’t put out any decorations.  I buy a few presents, but don’t expect any in return.  I don’t watch any Christmas specials.  I don’t set up my native scene.  My small plaster figurines of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the angels are safely wrapped up and tucked away in storage.  I usually spend every Christmas alone.

I wasn’t raised this way.  My mother loved Christmas.  It was one of the few holidays she continued to celebrate even after her children were grown.  Mom always decorated a Christmas tree using ornaments she had collected throughout the years.  Most of the decorations consisted of cotton ball snowmen, clothes pin reindeers, and clay handprints Mom’s children made in elementary school.  Mom always loved these awkward, lopsided, misshapen ornaments the most.  Every year, Mom also set up a native scene, though she always had to stop my sisters and me from playing with the Jesus figure as if he was our very own baby doll.  She would put vines of holly around every door and trays of candy on every table.  Mom always said that Christmas is a time for miracles.  That idea is the only tradition of Christmas that I carry with me from my childhood.

While so many people celebrate the holiday with the traditional tinsel and glimmer, Christmas for me is always a time of quiet reflection.  I always spend Christmas day in prayer, meditation, contemplation, and silent worship of Christ.  I want this one special day to be 100% God-focused.  I don’t want presents, or trees, or wreaths to distract me from my communion with Christ.  Even though I celebrate a modest holiday, it is continually filled with peace and elation.  The feeling is so blissful, I always pledge every Christmas that I will make this joy last all year long.  I’m always determined that I will continue to hold Jesus in my soul.  I want to get to know Christ more; I want to carry him within my heart and not let minor things of this world bother me and cause me to lose my focus.  I want to maintain Christmas joy for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, this year, I didn’t even make it a week….

Christmas was on Sunday, December 25^th, of course.  For the next few days, I was happy, and peaceful.  I felt grateful and blessed.  All my good intentions, however, crashed down around me by Thursday, December 29.  Yes, Thursday…just four days later!

That morning, I woke up at 2:30 to get to work by 4.  I started the day off well.  I said my daily prayers before I walked out the door.  The drive to work in the morning darkness was enchanting and thought-provoking.  I thought about life and God and everything in the universe.  Twice that morning, on two separate occasions, two of my co-workers talked about God with me.  To my surprise, they just randomly began to discuss God’s graciousness, his goodness, and his love for all of his children.  Their conversation made me smile.  Their words just enhanced the bliss I was already feeling.

A little later that morning, the computer I was using suddenly froze.  I tried everything I could think of to get the computer running again.  I turned it off and on; I punched control-alt-delete several times.  All the quick fixes I could think of failed me.  The computer remained frozen on a bright blue background with the computer logo flashing across the screen.  I told myself not to panic.  I took a deep breath and remembered that Archangel Michael was the angel to call on to fix appliances.  So I placed both of my hands on the monitor and started to pray:’

“Archangel Michael, please help me.  I have a lot of work I need to complete and the computer won’t work.  I need your help to fix my computer so I can finish my assignments.”

Suddenly, I heard a beep and saw a flash out of the corner of my eye.  In the midst of my prayer, the computer came flickering back to life.  I thanked Archangel Michael for us assistance and was able to get all of my work done on time.

So, the day was going well with many opportunities to remain God-focused even during my hectic working day.

So why did I suddenly lose my faith that afternoon?

I had been working hard.  I had multiple assignments and was doing my best to complete additional jobs for a few people who had called in sick.  I thought I had followed all assignments correctly.  I thought I was doing very well and remained in a state of grace…for a while…

Only when I believed I was being unfairly criticized by my supervisor for a miscommunication did my faith and my peace desert me.  When I felt unnecessarily attacked in front of my peers, my focus suddenly shifted away from God.  I had given into my ego.  I had given into my fears.  Why didn’t I just continue to trust in God and know that this moment would pass, too?  Why didn’t I remind myself that God still loved me and he would not forsake me even when I felt humiliated and disrespected?  Instead of just nodding my head and correcting the situation, I argued back that the directions I had been given were not clear.  I demonstrated to my supervisor that I had done the work according to her plan.  I continued defending myself by reminding her that I had checked in an hour ago to explain what I was doing with the assignment and my supervisor had told me I was correct.

But as I argued my point, I didn’t feel vindicated or victorious.  I felt horrified, sad, and embarrassed by my behavior.  I was ashamed of myself for not just letting the perceived injustice go.  I responded to the stress of the moment with more stress.  I responded to negativity with negativity.  I made a bad situation worse.

For just that moment that Thursday afternoon after Christmas, I had slipped away from God.  I remind myself that I am only human; I am by no means an angel.  I am here on earth now to learn and to grow and to change and to better my soul the same way I must do in every lifetime.  I just have to accept that there will be times when I will fall from grace, and I must keep the faith that God is still there for me even in those moments.  I have to remember that God will always be by my side even when I am far from perfect.

I still feel angry with myself now that, for a brief moment, I lost sight of what was really important in this world.  Now, I search for God once more.  I open my heart and my soul again to accept Lord Jesus Christ.  And I must remember even when I have my bad moments, I am still one of God’s children.  I am one of his lesser angels…and he still loves me all the same…He will guide me to heaven even in those moments when I do not think I am worth the effort.  He has come to save my soul from my own ego and insecurities….

In Christ, I am continually reborn….

And maybe, just maybe, that is the true meaning of Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisement

History Lesson

In the end, it is not the years in your life that count.  It’s the life in your years.–Abraham Lincoln

I have always found history fascinating.  I enjoy watching documentaries, reading textbooks, visiting historical sites, and looking at old, black-and-white photographs.  I don’t really know why I am fascinated with the past.  Maybe I just like the idea that there was life before I was born and there will be life after I leave.  History reminds me that time is never ending.  Maybe I like the idea that everything we say and do now will become the memories we turn to in the future for guidance or comfort.  Maybe our history is proof that our time hasn’t been wasted, and maybe, just maybe, there was a purpose to our collective lives and consciousness.  History demonstrates a solid cause and effect that can be mapped out as life progresses and our drama continues to unfold.  History reminds us who we are, where we came from, and the connection we all share to life.

So, if I truly honor past events that have created life as we know it today, why, every year, do I always dread August 21?  I don’t enjoy celebrating my birthday for several different reasons.  I don’t always like all of the attention.  Sometimes, I prefer to go unnoticed.  I also don’t feel comfortable accepting presents.  I don’t want people to spend their money on me when I know they may be financially struggling.  Or maybe…

Okay, to be honest…

I hate celebrating my birthday because I don’t like turning a year older.

There I said it.  I hate getting older.  It bothers me because I don’t see myself the way other people have started to view me.  In my heart, in my soul, I still see myself as a spritely, physically strong, highly capable, intelligent, attractive, young woman.

I’m amazed how many people disagree with me.

I was horrified the first time I was offered a senior discount at the movies.  But…but…I’m a young woman!  Why would I be offered the discount?  My brother, Tony, tried to calm my anxiety.  “Jamie, every person who works in retail or fast food thinks anybody over 30 is a senior.”  His explanation didn’t help.  How did I possibly go from being carded to being offered senior discounts?  What happened to the in-between years?

And I almost went over the edge when I received my first offer to become an AARP member.  I stared at the letter and magazine in abstract horror before I manically shoved both pieces of literature into the paper shredder.

I cringed in terror when I tripped the other day at work and one of my colleagues stated, “You have to be careful.  At your age, you could have fallen and broken your hip.”  I was shocked when I was informed by personnel at the school where I was teaching that my health insurance was going up by twenty dollars a month because I had crossed over into the “older age” category.  I’m always surprised when websites and applications ask my birth year and I have to scroll further down now to find the date.  And just how is it possible that people born in the year 2000 are getting their driver’s licenses now?  Why am I looking at the younger generation and saying things like, “Well, when I was growing up, we were taught to show respect…”  Isn’t that what my grandmother used to say?

I have tried desperately through the years to prove to other people that I am still a young woman.  I buy skin products like anti-wrinkle creams believing that each “magic elixir” holds the secret to eternal youth.  I put in hair extensions and dyed all the gray out of my hair.  Each gray strand reminded me of each day ticking off my life.  I go to the gym constantly and try to convince myself that I am in better shape now then when I was a teenager….if only my knees would stop popping.  I exercise and stimulate my mind by reading, writing, and studying…well…history!  Why do other people so quickly point out and joke about my gray hairs, the lines on my face, my momentary memory losses, and my thin, frail body?

For these reasons, I have let several years pass by without celebrating my birthday.  I didn’t plan on celebrating this year either.  I was just going to go to work, go to the gym, and not deviate from my usual day’s routine.

But then…

Ignoring my request to let August 21 just pass by this year, my family surprised me with dinners, sweet gifts, nice compliments, and a visit to the Kansas City Zoo.  And I was shocked how many people posted wonderful birthday greetings and blessings on my Facebook page.  The good wishes were heartwarming and made me feel connected to so many amazing people who had guided and supported me throughout the years.  Today, Tuesday, August 23, I received a twenty-dollar bill tucked inside a birthday card from my aunt Nancy in Florida.  The card and money made me smile as if I was eight-years-old again…and I think I appreciated the gift more now than I did as a child.  I understood the sacrifice my aunt made by sending me the money and I was touched by her generosity.  The money made me smile, too, because it reminded me of my mother who also sent money through the mail regardless of the risk of loss or theft.  My aunt and mother are women of grace; beautiful, trusting souls who saw the simple good in life, an attribute that only comes…

…that only comes with age!

And that’s when I realize that birthdays are a true blessing!  This year, I thoroughly enjoyed the attention I received from my family and friends and loved the birthday celebrations.

I suddenly realized that my birthday really wasn’t about getting older.  It was a commemoration of how far I have come in my life.  It was a reflection of the connections I have made and the friendships I hold dear.  As I went about my day on August 21, I didn’t feel a year older.  Instead, I felt surprisingly blessed.  I was so thankful for every day of my life and all of the amazing experiences I have had over the years.

Now, I have years of experience and knowledge that only comes with age!

And with age comes a carefree sense of self.  I walk around in my pajamas and go out in public without makeup or brushing my hair and I don’t care.  I say what I feel and don’t worry if it’s not the popular opinion.  I hold on to the things that I like and don’t worry if other people think my ideas are stupid.  I sing out loud and dance with spirit even though other people think I have no talent.  I hold on to my beliefs and refuse any pressure to become someone different.  I try to handle my stress and don’t insert myself into other people’s problems.  I’ve learned to live my life free, accepting the person that I am without fear of what other people think of me. I have grown comfortable in the person I have become.

And I know that all of those who offer me the senior discount and fear for creaking knees will not know this until they too have reached the age of “old,” the age of wearing pajamas in public and dancing when there is no music.

I am more of myself today than I have ever been.  I haven’t grown old.  I’ve grown up by growing strong and growing joyful and growing free.  Among the many great presents I have received over the years, I appreciate the gifts of humility and wisdom the most.  And this year, I learned that every day is precious and every moment needs to be celebrated.  My best birthday gift in 2016 was to see every year as one more blessing.

Though I now have my own unique past, I still maintain my childish heart.  I still have dreams and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  But I also have stories to tell and wisdom to share.  I have lived a full life of travel, adventure, successes, failures, heartbreaks, laughter, and tears….

Now, I am older.  I have a history….

I am history.

Pleasant Days

“I really don’t care for the big things, the big moments,” my sister-in-law, Mary, told me.  “I always tell everyone I don’t need to have big surprises.  I just enjoy the kind things people do for me.”

I smiled at Mary’s words as she continued to talk about the things that were important to her in life.  Her words made me smile.  Life can be so simple if we recognize the things that truly make us happy and hold on to those things regardless of other people’s negative comments or actions.

I was more open to Mary’s thoughts at that moment because I was having a very good day.  I woke up around 9 am and spent the morning sipping a diet coke and catching up on my reading and studying.  I spent the majority of the time in quiet contemplation as I studied my inspirational books on angels and new age teachings.

When I was finally ready to exercise my body and not just my mind, I got dressed and drove to the gym.  I parked in front of the building, but before I got out of my car, I looked out of the windshield and noticed a large, brown, beautiful dragonfly hovering right in front of me.  I smiled when I saw it.  Though I was already familiar with this theory, I had just been reading that morning that butterflies and dragonflies are always symbols of a loved one who has passed over.  Whenever a dragonfly or a butterfly appears, someone on the other side is sending a message of love and support.  I thought about my mother as I watched the dragonfly dance on the breeze for a moment.  I had just been thinking about my mom that morning as I prayed and studied.  Slowly, I got out of my car, but even my sudden movements and the slamming of the door did not chase the dragonfly away.  It remained around my car, circling slowly from the front to the sides and back around again.  I started walking across the parking lot to the building.  Once I reached the front door, on a whim, I turned and looked back at my car.  The dragonfly had not moved away.  I could still see the creature, just a small floating dot now, still dancing around my car.  I smiled again, feeling at peace and walked inside the building.

Over an hour later, I walked out of the gym, and to my surprise, the dragonfly was still there!  It hadn’t flown away from my car.  The insect continued to float lazily around the front of my vehicle.  I climbed into my car and watched as the dragonfly now situated itself directly in front of me as I stared out through the windshield.  I could clear see the creature’s four fragile, gossamer wings.  Again, I thought of my mother’s delicate and sensitive nature and felt her presence beside me.  I started the car and began to ease out of my space and drive across the parking lot.  As I rolled up to the exit, I tapped on the brake at the stop sign…and suddenly, there it was again!  The dragonfly was once more hovering in front of me!  I felt so blessed and grateful.  I was loved and at peace with my life.  I knew that everything was going to happen for the highest good.  I had Mom supporting me from the other side.  I drove away then from the parking lot and headed for home.

That evening, Mary and I decided to visit my brother, Tony, at his job and take him out to dinner.  It would be a surprise for him, just a way of letting him know he was loved and appreciated.  As we waited for Tony to finish work, Mary and I decided to walk around the outdoor outlet mall for a while.  It was humid and hot, so we soon decided to get something drink at the small pretzel shop.  Mary was gracious enough to treat us both to a diet coke.  We then stepped outside and sat on a silver iron bench in the shade as we sipped our cold drinks and talked.  Our discussion was inspiring as Mary talked about the things she considered important in her life.  I couldn’t help but grin as I listened to her.  My smile must have grown very wide because Mary suddenly stopped talking and asked me, “What is it?”

I told her then about my incident with the dragonfly that morning.  “And look at this,” I said as I quickly reached into the pocket of my jeans.  I pulled out a shiny, sparkling penny and showed it to her.  I’m a big believer in “pennies from heaven.”  Every time, I find a coin on the ground, I know someone in heaven is thinking about me.  “Look…while you were paying for our drinks at the pretzel shop, I had walked over to grab some straws and I had kicked something across the floor.  When I looked down, it was this penny.  So I had my dragonfly this morning and my coin this afternoon…I have been thinking about Mom all day.  And I know now for sure that she has been thinking about me, too.”

Mary looked at me with her eyes grown wide with wonder.  She didn’t think I was crazy!  She believed me and agreed that my mother was around me that day.  Mary and I then shared amazing stories about superstitions we acknowledge and moments were we had true clarity in our lives.  Mary then stated her philosophy about the importance of basic kindness as opposed to big gestures.

After a few minutes, Mary and I returned to my brother’s workplace and we all went out together for a great meal and a relaxing, fun evening.  I spent the rest of the night reflecting on what an amazing day I had just experienced.  This had been one of the best days of my life.  I was content.  I was relaxed.  I was loved on earth and in heaven.  And I knew that I was so fortunate.  I don’t need to be always traveling the world or getting praise for my work or being the center of attention.  I just need dragonflies and coins, thoughtful conversation, and moments of kindness.  I will always be willing to trade one great, busy, remarkable day for a hundred days of pleasant.  It’s the little things that always make me happiest, too.

Unconditional Love

Friskie has not been a happy dog lately.  When I come home from work, she no longer jumps up excitedly.  She doesn’t wag her tail or bark happily.  Instead, she just continues to lie on her large brown puppy pillow.  She just glances up at me as I walk into the room.  Her big brown puppy dog eyes plead sadly with me for just a moment.  Then she lowers her head back down, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.  I stare at her for just a moment and think about all the fun we used to have together.  Friskie and I became fast friends when I first moved into my brother and sister-in-law’s home.  I considered Friskie my first real friend when I returned to Kansas from California.  The dog and I used to wrestle around the living room together.  We used to play tug of war with her toys.  Any of the toy I would toss across the room, she would fetch and bring back to me with her little tail waggling and laughter glowing in her eyes.  We used to cuddle and laugh together in bed at night before drifting off to sleep.

But now, she is silent and still.  I think she is depressed.  She is sad; sorrow is reflected in her eyes and joy no longer radiates off of her sweet, furry, brown and white face.  She whimpers for a moment now and then settles down and goes back to sleep.  And though she can’t tell me in words, I know why she cries.  I know why she is upset, but I can’t really do anything about it right now.  I tried to explain the situation to her with gentle, loving words, but, of course, she doesn’t have any idea what I am trying to tell her.

“Friskie,” I try to reason with her as I stand across the room from her fluffy puppy pillow.  “I love you but I can’t pet or cuddle with you right now.  I can’t take you into bed with me.  I’ve been so sick.”

And it was the truth, but I don’t think Friskie believes me anymore.  I had been working a lot of additional hours over the last few weeks, and though I was tired, I was feeling good….until last Tuesday.  Tuesday morning, I awoke feeling good until suddenly my stomach began to twist around in circles and I found myself in the bathroom hoping that my suddenly queasiness and vomiting would pass quickly.  Even though, I felt better after a few minutes, I was still feeling achy, dehydrated, and exhausted for the rest of the day.  That was just the beginning.  For the next five days, I was horribly sick with flu-like symptoms.  I continued to cough, sneeze, and vomit.  I suffered from diarrhea, nausea, and horrible prolonged headaches.  My muscles ached and I felt unable to control my movements.  In the middle of summer, I was freezing and couldn’t seem to get warm.  I was shivering horribly and yet would get up from the bed to find my pajamas and the sheets soaked with sweat.  I had absolutely no energy, mainly because I couldn’t eat anything.  Even the thought of food made me feel nausea and queasy.  I stayed completely behind the closed door of my room, only stepping out when I needed to use the bathroom.

As I struggled to heal, I stayed away from the sweet family pets.  I didn’t want to get any of the dogs or the cat sick.  I don’t know if the animals could catch any viruses from me but I didn’t want to take that chance.  I was too exhausted to deal with the animals.  I was too hot to cuddle with the dogs who are covered in hot, sticky fur.  I left the animals completely alone…and I think I hurt Friskie’s feelings.  Though the other animals seemed to understand and take the situation in stride, Friskie looked hurt and upset.  She seemed to be lonely and sad.  I don’t think she could understand why I had turned my back on her after we had been so close.  A few nights, I could hear her tapping her little paws down the hallway and coming to a stop right in front of my bedroom.  I would lie in bed fully awake as I listened to her scratch at my door.  Then my heart would break as I heard the dog start to whimper and cry to be let into the room.  I tried to ignore her.  I didn’t want to be around the tiny dog while I was so sick.  I really wanted to open the door, but I couldn’t pull my achy body out of bed.  My muscles just would not respond.  I couldn’t get up and walk to the door.  So I lay in bed and listened to my lovely furry friend crying for most of the night.  I wanted to call out to her to soothe her, but didn’t want to risk waking up the rest of the family.  As bad as I was feeling, hearing the dog cry made me feel even worse.  But there was nothing that I could do about it.

Finally, slowly, after five long days, I began to get back on my feet by Sunday morning.  Though I was still weak, I began to feel better and was finally able to get out of bed and move around a little.  But now, Friskie wanted nothing to do with me.  For days, I had ignored her.  For days, I had not played with her or pet her.  For days, I locked her out of my room and refused to cuddle with her.  I had broken her little puppy heart and now she was done with me.  She wasn’t happy to see me when I walked into the room.  She wasn’t excited or playful even as I grabbed some of her toys and tossed them across the room.  She just stared at me, her little doggy eyes watching me closely and suspiciously as I walked across the room and retrieved her toys myself.  I held them out to her but she refused to take them.  She had been my best friend and I had let her down.  She no longer trusted me.

I felt as if I had just lost my best friend and I couldn’t even begin to explain to her what had happened.  I wanted to just grab and cuddle with her, but she would wiggle away from me.  She refused my offers of food and comfort.  We ignored each other for several days, both of us with broken hearts and not sure how to fix this situation without the ability to talk out our feelings.  I began to realize that I would just have to be patient.  I had to let Friskie slowly come to trust me again at her own pace.  I didn’t force her to be with me.

And slowly, it began to happen.

Finally, on Wednesday, the fourth day of recovery, I sat on the living room couch with my nose in the book and pretending that I wasn’t concerned about the dog.  I tried not to make any sudden moves as I realized that Friskie was slowly climbing up onto the large square padded ottoman where I had my feet comfortably placed.  Friskie stopped for a moment and stared at my stockinged feet.  Slowly she reached out her paw and patted the top of my foot before quickly pulling away.  I put my book down and we stared at each other for a moment.   Once more, Friskie reached out and patted my foot.  As I looked up at her again, she seemed to smile shyly at me for a moment.  I turned back to my book.  Friskie slowly climbed up and used my legs as a bridge to cross over to the couch.  Tentatively, she climbed until she was cuddled in my lap.  I wrapped my arms around the dog slowly and cuddled her close as she playfully licked at my hands and fingers.  Then she nestled in close to my chest as she settled down to sleep.  After having her heartbroken, she had started to trust me again.  Over time, Friskie started to come into my room again.  She sits on my lap as I work on the computer.  She cuddles in bed with me at night.  I don’t know if she will ever know that she was turned away because I was sick.  I don’t know if she will ever understand the reason that she had been so rejected.  But regardless of the reason, she has trusted me again.  She is loving me again without question.  She is putting her heart on the line one more time in order to feel and know love.  Friskie, like so many other animals, has returned to love me without question or without asking for anything in return.

Why are humans the only creatures on earth that have to make love so complicated?  Love should be pure, giving, kind…love should be without question…love should be trusting and understanding…love should be the willingness to have your heartbroken.  I want to love as purely and simply as animals do.   Too bad all my relationships aren’t this forgiving, this loving, this kind…maybe I need to learn to trust when I want to run, to love when I want to fight, to give when I just want to take.  To love without fear or ego…and maybe God put animals on earth to teach us about unconditional love.

Alone for Christmas

“Christmas is a time when you should just feel good.  Christmas is a good time,” my fourteen-year-old nephew stated as he gazed at the twinkling lights on the tree set up in the family room of my brother’s home.

Mike’s pronouncement of Christmas was very simple, and yet he had said so much in just those two sentences.  I knew exactly what he had meant.  He wasn’t referring to a “good time” in the sense of lots of presents or a big party.  We had, instead, been discussing the importance of Christmas and the actual purpose.  Mike couldn’t understand how anyone could be depressed and upset at this time of year.  My nephew, however, still believed in the starry-eyed wonderment of miracles and magic at Christmas.  It’s a shame that so many adults lose that enchantment as they grow older.

I tried to explain the situation to him.  “Well, Mike, for a lot of people, it’s difficult if they are all alone.  People can become very depressed when they feel isolated.  We need to bond with other people.  When there is something special happening like Christmas, and someone cannot share it with another person, it can be very upsetting.”

“But it is still Christmas,” Mike insisted.  “What does it matter if you’re with other people or all alone?  It’s all about how you feel about Christmas, right?  It’s all about making Christmas special no matter where you are, right?  What else really matters?”

I smiled at my nephew, but didn’t say anything more.  I no longer wanted to talk about depression or anxiety over the holidays.  Instead, I wanted Mike to enjoy the magic of Christmas as he experienced it now at the age of fourteen.  I didn’t want negative talk to destroy his ideal of Christmas now or in the future.  As I also looked at all of the twinkling lights that made the small room seem like a charmed fairyland, I prayed that Mike would never lose his sense of wonder.  Life can beat that out of people very quickly…and Christmas, for so many souls, can be the worst time, especially if they are all alone…but, then again, I had to admit, Mike was definitely on to something.

Over the past several years, I have spent Christmas by myself.  I had moved a thousand miles away from my family home in Kansas City, Kansas.  I have spent solo Christmases in England, Tennessee, New Mexico, and California.  A few times, a lot of my gracious, good friends in many of these locations would invite me into their homes for Christmas dinners.  Though sometimes the situation could be a little awkward when friends had big family gatherings that included trading presents and family memories, I was always grateful for the invitations.  However, as I grew older, the invitations were no longer offered.  Many of my friends had grown up, moved away, married, and had their own families now.  As we all moved ahead with our lives, invitations to Christmas gatherings ceased.  I was for several years, completely on my own over the holidays.  What was I going to do?

As the season began to unfold, I would stress over what activities I could do to make my lonely Christmas bearable.  I could spend the day watching movies; I could go out of town…or just for a walk around the block; I could see what restaurants might be open (even though I felt guilty knowing other people had to work on Christmas Day); I could have the luxury of reading uninterrupted for hours; I could volunteer at shelters…My mind raced for days, loaded down with thoughts about Christmas.

And then on the day of my first Christmas alone, I woke up slowly after a good sleep…and prayed.  I thanked God for this day.  I counted my blessings.  I prayed for the health of my family.  I asked that all people were joyous…and then I smiled and I laughed as a sense of pure peace flooded over me.  I realized then that it didn’t matter how I spent Christmas.  I had been blessed with even having another Christmas….and suddenly that seemed like the best gift I could have ever received.

I laid in bed and stretched and thought of some of my friends who had asked me how I was going to spend the holiday.  I had answered, “I don’t know.  I think I’ll read, watch movies, go for a walk, volunteer…I don’t know…I guess it will be a day of surprises.”

Some of my friends would look at me with envy and make statements like, “Oh…I want to have your Christmas…we have to spend the day at my in-laws’ home…and I can’t stand them!”

So on that Christmas morning, I stretched and felt really good that I had a day of peace.  Pure, real peace…the peace of a thousand angels.  And then I realized, I was not alone.  I would never be alone on Christmas.  For this was the day that Jesus came to his people, to save us from sin, to love and protect us, to guide us through our lives, to give us hope and faith and love.  I spent the next several days in a happy glow.  I felt connected to all people.  I could feel their hearts and share in their love and kindness.

I may have been by myself, but how could I have ever felt alone on Christmas?

So now this year, I listened to my nephew talk about Christmas.  “Aunt Jamie, it’s really not a holiday,” he declared.  “It’s how you feel in your own mind.  I still don’t understand how people can feel sad at Christmas.”

“Neither do I, Mike,” I said, ending the conversation, “I guess no one can really understands if they have never felt alone on Christmas Day.”  The feelings of depression during Christmas are something I can’t explain, for I have never been alone.

This year, after nearly twenty years, I am spending Christmas with family.  Together, we have put up a tree, decorated the house, watched Christmas shows on TV, viewed plaza Christmas lights, and listened to Christmas music.  It’s so enjoyable to be with family at this time of year…but it was also a beautiful day when I was alone.

After all, as my 14-year-old nephew said, “Christmas is in your heart.  It’s a state of mind.”

So wise, Mike, so very wise!

 

 

 

Tolerance and Hope

For a quiet moment, I stared anxiously at the beautiful black and white photo that was printed on the small plastic white card I held reverently in my right hand.  I couldn’t stop staring at the face of 13-year-old Helen “Potyo” Katz.  I couldn’t seem to turn away from the haunted look in her large dark eyes.

“Bring your card over here,” I suddenly heard the young museum docent say to me.  “If you place the card into one of the computers, you’ll get a print out about your child.”

I smiled and followed the young woman over to one of the computers that was lined up against the far wall.  I placed the card into the slot on the front of the computer.  A few second later, I picked up the single sheet of paper that had seeped out of a nearby printer.

Helen “Potyo” Katz

The same black and whiter photo of the young girl with the large dark eyes stared up at me from the page.  I quickly read through the text that was printed on the pure white paper.  I suddenly found myself choking back tears as I read the last two paragraphs.

“Potyo and her mother were immediately separated from her brother and sisters, and they were murdered.  Potyo was 13-years-old.”

“Potyo was one of 1.5 million Jewish children murdered by the Germans and their collaborators during the Holocaust.”

I took a deep breath and looked at the three tall card dispensers that were stationed at the front of the room. Each dispenser held stacks of white plastic cards.  Each card presented a picture and name of a child murdered during the Holocaust…

1.5 million children…

Looking at the stacks of cards I still couldn’t seem to wrap my head or my heart around that number.  I was still contemplating this fact when my friend, Allison, walked up beside me and asked if I wanted to go downstairs and attend the presentation by the guest speaker. Affirmatively shaking my head, I quickly followed Allison to the elevators and we rode in silence down to the lower level.

Allison and I had decided to tour the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, California, because we both have a huge interest in the Holocaust, World War II and the events of the 1940s.  The exhibits at this museum were beautifully and respectfully designed to honor the people of the Holocaust.  I was pleased to see though that the museum also paid tribute to all people who were targets of hate crimes. All minorities that have suffered violence and discrimination are respectfully honored at the Museum of Tolerance.  Looking at the displays was a sobering and profound experience.

Allison and I took our seats in the large back room on the second floor that had been set aside for presentations.  As I sat comfortably in the plastic seat on the end of the third aisle and waited patiently for the presentation to begin, I glanced anxiously around the room.  I was pleased to see that the audience contained many young people.  A large majority of them were with a school group.  Others were sitting next to their parents.

A few minutes later, a short, slender man with dark hair walked up to the front of the room.  He introduced himself as Michael though he was known to his family as Miki.  For the next hour, I sat riveted to the presentation as Miki spoke of his experiences in the Auschwitz concentration camp during the Holocaust.  I found myself swept away as he talked about the separation of his family, the condition of the concentration camps, and the brutality he witnessed on a daily basis.  Listening to Miki’s words, I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing down my face.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry out loud at the details of Miki’s horrific life story.  I had to continually turn my head to the open space on my left and forcibly breathe out to keep myself from screeching.

I was not alone in this grief.  Miki’s story was so intensely horrific that the audience reacted in shock and despair.  I looked around the room and saw many people in tears.  I struggled to hold in my sobs as I noticed a young blond boy gripping his mother’s hand and patting her arm as tears ran down both their faces.

When his hour was over, Miki still had not completed his entire story.  As terrifying as the story was, I didn’t want Miki to stop talking.  This moment was so incredibly enriching to my soul, I didn’t want it to be over.  I have read many books about the Holocaust, but hearing a first-hand account made the events more personal and realistic.  I wanted to remain connected to the people in that room, who were joined together to honor the tragedy and awesome courage of another person’s life.

When Miki had to end his presentation, Allison and I stood in the line of people walking to the front of the room to thank Miki for telling his story.  Allison and I patiently stood by as we watched audience members move up to Miki one at a time.  Now, I didn’t fight back my tears as I watched the young blond boy and his mother approach Miki.  Miki asked the boy how old he was to which the boy responded “Thirteen.”

“Thirteen!” Miki repeated.  “Aaahhh…that’s the age I was when I was sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp.”

Now the boy and the man stood staring at each other for a moment of profound silence.  Then, the boy suddenly threw his arms around Miki and held him in a long embrace.  I watched as the two generations held onto each other, trying to find some peace and understanding in life’s atrocities.  When the two separated again, I watched in awe as other young kids—13-, 15-, 17-year-olds—each took a turn to shake hands or hug Miki while thanking him for sharing his story.  I watched as one young girl with long dark hair offered her hand to Miki.  Her chin quivered violently as she tried to hold back the tears that were swimming in her eyes.  Miki took her hand looked into her eyes and said, “It’s okay to cry.”  He paused and then added, “And it’s okay to laugh.  We are all just human.”  The young girl’s tears now spilled down her cheeks as she embraced Miki quickly and then ran from the room.

Allison and I were the last in line and now we stood in front of Miki.  As Allison talked to him, I addressed the short, dark haired, elderly woman standing beside him.  Miki’s wife and I stared at each other for a second before embracing.  As we held onto each other, words just slipped out of my mouth.  I whispered to her, “You are beautiful.”

The woman pulled away and stared at me for a minute.  “Oh, no, not me,” she now said with a gentle laugh as a sweet blush eased across her cheeks.  Her suddenly rosy face and shy smile gripped my heart.  “Of course, you are,” I answered as the woman embraced me again.

I turned then to Miki and choked on my words as I said to him, “It was an absolute privilege to hear your story.”  Miki and I shared a gentle hug.

As I pulled away and turned towards Allison, I suddenly heard Miki’s wife excitedly say to him, “Did you hear what she said to me?  Did you hear what she said?!”

I turned back around to find the woman beaming joyfully at me as she stood next to her husband.  She seemed to be waiting anxiously for me to repeat the words.  “I told her she was beautiful,” I said even though my tears caused me to choke on the last word as the woman’s smile suddenly radiated out around the room.  I wanted to run back to her, take off the big white sunglasses she was wearing, stare into her eyes and ask, “Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you before?”  The woman seemed so pleased to be addressed in such a manner.  I suddenly realized that it was not ego that made her want my words repeated, but a deep aching need that we all have to be acknowledged and humanized.

I turned around then and followed Allison out the door and down the hallway to the bathroom.  I stepped into one of the stalls, leaned my head against the wall, and cried.  I don’t think I’ve wept that hard in a long time.  After a few minutes, I stepped out of my stall at the same time Allison came out of hers.  For a moment, we stood staring at each other as we noted our tears…

And then suddenly we smiled…

And then we started to laugh.

Because it really is okay to cry…

And it is okay to laugh.

Allison and I walked out of the bathroom and back into the main hallway.  We looked at a few more exhibits until the museum closed at 5 pm.  I didn’t want to leave.  I loved being at the Museum of Tolerance.  I certainly wouldn’t say it is the place that make me the happiest.  I certainly wouldn’t say it is the place that makes me feel the most alive.

The Museum of Tolerance, instead, is the place that makes me feel the most human…

I was always concerned that in years to come people would forget about the Holocaust, that it would simply over time just fade away into the pages of dusty old history books.  I think about the evil that people continue to do to each other.  I worry about the disrespect we, including myself, demonstrate to each other on a daily basis…

….but then I think about all of those young people who cried, and laughed, and honored a Holocaust survivor…

And I know there’s hope for the next generation.  Oh, yes, there is tremendous hope for the generations to come.

Human Chain

Last Monday, during a two-hour break between my classes, I decided to drive over to Clark’s, the local health food store and grab some healthy snacks.  I really enjoy shopping through all of the bulk bins that are at the front of the store.  I grabbed several plastic bags and began to fill them up with sesame sticks, blueberry granola, and unsalted peanuts.  Once I had chosen my snacks, I walked over to the registers and got in line.  A few minutes later, the clerk was scanning my purchases while I searched in my wallet for my credit card.  Suddenly, I heard a voice loudly saying to me, “What are you going to do with all of these peanuts?”

I glanced over to see my bag of peanuts suddenly dangling in front of my face as I heard a deep rumble of laughter.  At first, I was a little aggravated.  I don’t like to have my grocery selections questioned or my food touched.  I don’t always like strangers shouting at me, mocking me, or teasing me.  I never know how to respond.  So, yes, I could feel myself becoming irritated.  I looked up from my wallet and suddenly found myself looking into the face of a young man with the most dazzling, happy smile I had ever seen.  The smile was so kind and endearing, I couldn’t be upset.  I stared at the man whose eyes behind his thick glasses were slightly crossed and the look of Down’s syndrome graced his face.  The young man was wearing a green Clark’s apron.  The nametag on the apron had the word “Volunteer” stamped on it.  How cool!

Suddenly, I heard the female clerk’s voice laugh as she said, “Well, she is going to eat them.  What did you think she was going to do with all those peanuts?”

I started to laugh now.  “Do you like peanuts?” I asked the volunteer.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I like them.”

“I do, too,” I answered.   “I think they’re really good.”

“Yeah,” the volunteer answered, “that’s why you have a whole bag of them.”

“Yeah,” I laughed at his observation, “you’re right.  I guess that’s why.”

The clerk interrupted us then as she ran my credit card and asked if I wanted paper or plastic.  I told her I didn’t need a bag at all.  The clerk turned to the volunteer then and smiled, “She doesn’t want a bag, Mike.  Just hand her the items.”

But the volunteer still seemed fascinated with the bag of peanuts.  Suddenly, his face lit up.  “Hey,” he said then, “I know what you can do with all these peanuts!”

“What?”  I asked him as the clerk listened in on his suggestion.  “What should I do with all these peanuts?”

“You can make peanut butter!” he said triumphantly.

The clerk and I laughed then, “Yes,” I told him.  “That’s a great idea!  I just might do that!”

The volunteer handed me the plastic bags of peanuts and sesame sticks as I told him thank you and have a good day.  He smiled at me and wished me the same.  I walked out of the store and started walking over to my vehicle.

As I reached my car, I suddenly noticed a middle aged, blond woman in a silky short black dress and high black heels walking across the parking lot.  The woman was taking very small tentative steps as she pulled at her dress.  She continued to fret with the skirt of her dress, awkwardly pulling it down her legs to her knees as her fingers slipped and tangled in the loose flowing material.  I watched her for just a moment.  The woman walked a little sideways on the balls of her feet as if she was afraid she was going to fall.

As the woman approached me, I smiled and called out to her.  “You look really nice.”

The woman stopped and stared at me for a moment.  Then she smiled as she blinked several times as if to block tears.  “Oh, thank you so much,” she said.  “You look so nice, too.”

I smiled and blushed a little at her words.  I was wearing what I normally wear when I teach my classes.  I want to be comfortable so I wear a long skirt, simple shirt, and flat sandals.  And though I do think the woman was only trying to be nice to me, there was a hint of sincerity and kindness in her words that I don’t usually hear from a lot of people.

I smiled at the woman and said “Thank you.”  I was grateful for her kindness.  The woman stopped walking for a moment as I stood by my car door.  She hesitated as if she was going to say something more to me.  I waited, but she just stood awkwardly still, looking at me with a shy smile as her fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt.  We smiled at each other for a moment more before I said, “You have a great day!”

“Oh, thank you so much,” the woman said as she began to take awkward steps again.  “You, too.  You have a great day.”

I got into my car then and watched as the woman shuffled her way across the parking lot and then stepped inside of the sliding front doors of Clark’s.  As I watched the doors close behind her, I smiled as I thought of all the unusual, amazing people God had brought into my life that day.  I had the greatest feeling that the people I had encountered were in my life for a reason.  Just these brief encounters made me feel incredibly blessed.  I hoped that I had been an inspiration and blessing to other people as well, too.

I drove back to the campus feeling incredibly connected to the Oneness that bonds all souls.  I thanked God for allowing me, in some brief way, to be a link in His amazing human chain.  I don’t want to be the weak link in this chain!  I want to love and be kind to people.  It is always return to me. It comes back around.  For I love myself the most when I love other people.

Mother’s Day

“A queen is wise.  She has earned her serenity, not having had it bestowed on her but having passed her tests.  She has suffered and grown more beautiful because of it.  She has proved she can hold her kingdom together.  She has become its vision.  She cares deeply about something bigger than herself.  She rules with authentic power.” –Marianne Williamson

My mother has always been my best friend.  Maybe because we saw the world in a way that other people around us didn’t understand.  Mom and I shared visions and predictions.  We would get into long conversations about spirits, reincarnation, out of body experiences, and angels.  My mother would grip my hands, stare into my eyes, and say, “I can’t talk to anyone else the way that I can talk to you.”

You see, my mother was a seer, a psychic, a sensitive, a traveler, a seeker…and, for her, it was a horrible burden.  She would continually be misunderstand, mocked, and criticized.  She would suffer through 40 years of domestic abuse that left her depressed, bitter, and broken.  She would only regain her spirit after my father passed and my mother suddenly found herself alone and free to be the woman she was meant to be.  She began to reclaim her life.  She would then tell me the most amazing stories about God and the universe and I was always so eager to hear and to understand.

I share my mother’s gift.  I carry the same burden.  It was a tremendous relief for me when my mother finally found the strength to reveal her true self, even though there were still days that it left her lonely and confused.  Her visions and intuition had caused her to be lonely and isolated.  Being a sensitive, my mother was always aware of the thoughts and feelings of the people around her.

One night, I was with my mother in a hotel room in Atlantic City.  We had just spent a long week traveling through the northeast together, exploring Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and Niagara Falls.  I don’t know if it was exhaustion or exhilaration from our 8-week wander through America, but my mother sat on the bed with her legs tucked up under her.  She started to talk about her life, her visions, and the suffering she endured.  She began to say to me, “I know people don’t like me.  I know most people laugh at me.  But I can only be who I am.  I can only be me.”  Though her voice was strong and her declaration clear, the tears running down her face were breaking my heart.  I sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped my arms around my mother and together we shared tears and strength and visions until mom became silent and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, mom was up early.  She was dressed, packed, and ready to continue our journey through America.  I was so happy that I was able to share this adventure with her.  I was so glad I got to live with her every day for the last nine months of her life.  Though my mother always doubted herself, she taught me to be strong; she taught me to be proud of my visions; she taught me to enjoy all of the wonders of the universe, both on earth and in heaven.  And this I can say with deep love in my heart and joy in my soul: My Mother was the greatest woman no one ever knew.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma.  I love you.  I miss you every day.

And to all of the mother’s, all over the world, who love their children, who teach their children respect and kindness, who hold their children close to their breast and even closer to their hearts, who give their children strength to stand on their own two feet and yet pick them up when they fall…

To all the mothers who give of themselves without asking for anything in return; who stay in the shadows and allow their children to shine…

To all the mothers who are proud of their children even when sing off-key, miss a dance step, or strike out every time they are up at bat…

I know who you are…

I had a mother just like you…

And though it may not always be said, you are always loved and honored…if not by family, if not by neighbors, if not by friends…

You are held in the greatest admiration of God and the Blessed Virgin…

They see your suffering; they know your heart; they understand your deepest intentions and listen to your continuous prayers….

Giving birth was a blessed event and a blessing event…

You are honored…

I wish you all a very Happy Loving Mother’s Day….

Coffee Talk

Last Monday, I received a phone call from a close friend of mine.  “I really need to talk,” she had said.  “Can we get together this morning?”

I eagerly agreed.  I didn’t have anything planned and I thought it would be fun to spend the morning talking with a friend over a cup of coffee.  We agreed to meet at 10:00 pm at a local McDonald’s.

I got to the restaurant about half an hour early but that was okay.  I had my books with me and would just relax and read for a while until my friend arrived.  I was really surprised, though, when I walked into McDonald’s.  The place was packed.  Every table was taken and a line of people waiting to order stretched across the lobby.  Wow!  Why was the place so busy this morning?  As I looked around at all of the people, it suddenly dawned on me.  Coachella Fest!  All of these people were on their way home from the big music festival that had taken place last weekend in Indio, California.  Instead of being aggravated as I took my place in line, I found myself smiling.  I am a notorious people-watcher.  I loved seeing all of the young, excited, dusty, dirty, colorful, beautiful people that were gathered all around me.  It was difficult not to get caught up in their excitement and peaceful happy exhaustion.

It took me a few minutes before I was finally able to get my hot cup of coffee.  HHhhhmmm….now to find an empty table.  Just then, a table right up front by the counter became available and I ran over to claim it.  I sat down and glanced around.  I wasn’t really happy at this table.  It was too close to the front where people were walking back and forth to the counter.  In between reading pages of my book, I kept glancing around for other open tables.  Oh, another table just became available closer to the back of the restaurant.  I grabbed my coffee cup and books and raced over to now claim this table as my own.  I sat my books on the table and then sat down.  Okay, this was better but I was in the center of the room, which usually makes me a little uncomfortable.  Over the pages of my book, I kept my eyes focused on the booths around the sides of the room.

Just then a young woman walked by me.  She was about 20 years old with pretty, waist-length long, dark hair.  Black plastic glasses were perched on her small nose.  She was dressed in respectable khaki shorts and a black Coachella Fest T-shirt.  The woman was carrying a tray of food over to a table beside the large picture windows.

“Excuse me,” I heard her say to the elderly woman who was already sitting there.  The older woman had been quietly reading the newspaper and sipping from a coffee cup.  “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

The elderly woman glanced up from her paper for a moment and stared at the girl over her silver wire-framed glasses.  The girl then explained.  “All the other tables are taken.  I have nowhere to sit.  Do you mind if I share your table so I can eat?”

The elderly woman now smiled at her and started to stack up the scattered sections of the newspaper that had been strewn across the table.  “Oh, that’s fine,” she answered.  “Please, sit down.”

The young woman said a pleasant “Thank you” and took a seat as the elderly woman turned her attention back to her newspaper.  They were silent for a moment and then the older woman began to gather the pieces of the newspaper again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the young woman responded.  “Am I in your way?”

“Oh, no, no,” the older woman answered.  “I was afraid I was in your way.”

“No, you weren’t,” the girl responded before she giggled.  Suddenly, the two strangers stared at each other and then started to talk like old friends.  I turned my attention back to my book but I could hear a few scattered comments about Coachella Fest and visiting Palm Springs.  I felt tears burn my eyes as I thought of the two women and wondered why both of them had been alone in a restaurant filled with groups of friends and family members.  Strange that they had found each other and seemed to make a peaceful connection.

After a few minutes, the elderly woman stood up from the table and said good-bye to her momentary companion.  The young girl smiled and said a shy good-bye as her “friend” walked across the restaurant and out the front door.

Both women had been so kind to each other, I felt particular touched that I had witnessed this interaction.  Suddenly, the young woman stood up and walked passed my table on her way to the soda fountain.  After refilling her cup, she started to walk back to her table…

And that’s when I made my mistake.

As the young woman passed by my table, I called out to her.  “Excuse me,” I said, “I know it’s none of my business, but I thought you were very sweet to that woman at your table.  You were very kind.”

The young woman started at me for a moment as if she didn’t quite understand my words.  Her face didn’t register any expression.  Then she just mumbled “thank you” and returned to her table.  Man, I’m an idiot!  Why did I say anything to her?  It was not my place to say anything, and, in fact, I think I may have embarrassed the young woman.   She didn’t expect any praise for her behavior.  In fact, she didn’t need my comments at all.  I should have kept them to myself.  Without comment, without praise, without pretension, without congratulations…that young woman is just who she is…and who she is beautiful…but she doesn’t need me to tell her.

A few minutes later, my friend arrived.  She walked over to me and we hugged each other warmly.  As she sat down, I felt blessed to share my table with someone.  I said a silent prayer of thank you to God for blessing me with so many people who came into my life that day for either just a brief moment or long enough to enjoy a hot cup of coffee with me.

Travelers

I had actually been happy while driving home from work around 10:30 last Thursday night.  I was planning to leave very early the next morning to spend three days in Las Vegas.  I was really excited about the trip and looked forward to visiting a friend I haven’t seen in a few months.   I was about four miles from home when I suddenly remembered something.  Dang!  I had forgotten to put gas in my car that afternoon.  Whenever I have a trip planned, I like to fill my tank the day before.  Then I can leave on my trip very early in the morning without having to make an extra stop.

I was really frustrated with myself now.  How could I have forgotten to get gas?  In between classes that Thursday afternoon, I had run around town getting ready for my trip.  I got my haircut and ran to the bank.  I stopped at the 99 Cent store and grabbed some snacks to take with me to Vegas.  I was already for my weekend getaway…

…and I forgot to get gas for the car! How could I have forgotten this one important errand?  How could I be so stupid?!  I continued to angrily cuss at myself as I drove home.

I didn’t want to stop for gas that night.  It sounds silly I know, but I didn’t like to stop anywhere this late at night.  I was exhausted and I don’t trust too many people after 9 pm.  I would just have to wait to go to the gas station on my way out of town in the morning.  I was still really frustrated with myself even after I arrived home and settled in for the night.

On Friday, I woke up around 5:30 am and quickly got dressed.  I locked up my apartment and climbed into my car.  Dang!  I had to stop and get gas!  I drove down Washington Street but instead of turning left onto the highway, I turned right onto Varner Road.  Then I made an immediate left turn into the Chevron gas station and pulled my car up to a gas pump.  As I stopped the car and opened up my door, I noticed a tall, slender, 20-something-year-old woman standing beside the pump.  The woman was dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck, and a zippered gray sweater.  Cuddled in the woman’s arms was a large, orange cat.  I smiled curiously at her as I got out of the car.

“Excuse me,” the woman suddenly said, “but can you please help me?  I don’t have any money.  Do you have a few dollars I can please have to get some gas?”

I looked at the woman for a moment and then gave my standard reply when people approach me for money.  “I’m sorry,” I told her, “but I don’t have any cash on me.  I’m paying for my gas on my credit card and I don’t like to charge a lot…”  My voice slowly trailed off as I felt slightly overwhelmed.  Why was I telling her all of these things?  Why was I rambling on to this woman?

But the woman just smiled, stroked the beautiful, fluffy cat, and said, “Yeah, well, that’s okay.  Thank you anyway.”  I just nodded as I moved over to the gas pump and stuck my credit card in the slot.  As I stood there pumping the gas, I kept hearing a strange voice in my head.  “Help her,” the voice demanded.  “Don’t turn her away.  She needs your help.”  I shook my head to clear the voice but it wouldn’t go away.  “Help her!” the voice continued to demand.  A chill suddenly rushed through me as I tried to ignore the voice.  I kept getting the inclination that I needed to help this young woman.  I couldn’t shake the feeling way.

I finished filling my tank and hung the nuzzle back on the pump.  I put the cap back on my tank and then turned around.  The young woman was gone.  I looked around for a moment and then walked around the pump.  I noticed that the woman was now sitting in her car cuddling the cat.  I walked around the front of her car as she opened her door.

“Listen,” I said as she stepped out of the car and stood in front of me.  “I just can’t stand the thought of driving away and leaving you sitting here.  I can’t spare a lot, but I would be happy to help you.  I can put a few dollars on my credit card for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” the woman responded.  “I don’t need much.  I just need enough gas to get to the next exit.”  We walked around to the other side of the woman’s car.  As she opened up her gas tank, I ran my card through the slot on the pump to make the purchase.  The woman picked up the nozzle and placed it in the tank.  Slowly the gas began to drizzle into her car.  She smiled at me and stopped the pump at $2.50.  I was surprised.  “Are you sure that’s all you need?  Don’t you need a little bit more?”

“No,” she answered.  “This is plenty.  As long as I have enough to get to the next exit, I’ll be fine.  Thank you so much for your help.”

“That’s okay,” I answered.  “Just be safe.”

The woman and I then got into our cars.  I started my engine and then waited as the young woman waved to me and drove off.  I followed after her a few minutes later.  I drove down Varner Road and then turned onto the highway, finally on my way to Vegas.  As I drove along, my eyes kept sliding over to the side of the road.  I was watching for the young woman with the cat.  She had taken so little from me, I was afraid that I would find her stranded somewhere along the highway.  I watched for her, hoping she got to her exit okay….

…and that’s when I suddenly realized what happened!  Oh my gosh…that was why I “forgot” to get gas yesterday.  I was meant to be at that gas station this morning to help that young woman.  I tell myself that it was no big deal.  Someone eventually would have come along to help her.  But, just as I heard the voice telling me to help the young woman, there is knowingness within me that says that I was supposed to be at the gas station on this day at that time.  That’s why I didn’t get the gas yesterday.  This was no coincidence.  Everything really does happen for a reason, exactly the way it is meant to be.

Even though I don’t know what the ultimate plan is yet, I know there definitely is one.  The good and stupid things I do are all part of God’s great plan.  Why stress when everything is already set in motion?  I continued to drive down the highway then, happily singing along with the song on the radio.  I didn’t see the young woman again.  She must have made it safely to her destination….wherever that may be…I was just happy that God trusted me to be a part of her journey.