Send Me An Angel: Seeking Faith

My religion is a religion of sharing, not of following. It is a religion of LOVE.

 ~Osho

NOTE: https://angelaura28.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/gods-unconditional-love-and-its-conditions/

Age 10

When I was ten years old, I was learning about the real meaning of faith. Our little A-frame church had a tapestry above the pulpit, in bold purple letters, stating that the “greatest virtue of them all” was faith.

I asked my mother, father and my Sunday School teacher to explain to me exactly what faith meant.

The answer was clear; to know, deep in your heart, that your belief is true.

All my life, up to that point, my upbringing told me to believe in God, Christ and Heaven. As far as I could remember, I had never actually seen or heard any one of them. Sure, I was beginning to understand that a beautiful day was God, my mother’s beautiful singing was God and Jesus was always with me. I had no proof. Nothing tangible.

As for Heaven . . . what did I know of this? It was in the sky and everything there; including my grandparents, are happy, safe and live in bliss. I wasn’t sure, exactly, what that meant, though.

West Congregational Church

Every night, of course, I said my prayers and according to our minister, I could pray for whatever I wanted. I asked for a sign. A sign to let me know, without doubt, that Jesus was really there. That He was really true and not just in my imagination.

You see, I had prayed for quite a few things and many of them didn’t come to me. I prayed a lot, too. Also, as my mother taught me, I was grateful for all the things I did have or received. Still, if God could do everything, and I had faith, how come not everything happened as I prayed?

What I wanted most, though, was true faith. I wanted so much to believe. And I was finding that very difficult because I couldn’t see God, Jesus or even Heaven. I saw the sky, no doubt, but I didn’t see my grandparents or my Uncle Pete who was the first person I ever knew to die. He died when I was seven years old. One night, about a year after he died, Mom and I saw Uncle Pete and his truck on the side of the road. We both saw him clearly and he waved at us! When we turned around and went back, there was no truck and no Uncle Pete. Thus, to my mind, he wasn’t in Heaven; he was there, in Phoenix, AZ, waving at us!

Mom N' Me (Age 7)

My nightly ritual continued, asking God and Jesus for a sign. Sometimes I would ask them for a specific sign and I often got it. For example, I’d admonish, “If you’re really there, make my curtains move!” And they did!

Nevertheless, I wanted something a little more obvious, unmistakable. Perhaps, the air conditioner was making my curtains move? I prayed.

One Wednesday afternoon, Mom and I went to the church so she could rehearse her solo for the next Sunday. The organist, Marie, was there before we arrived and the three of us moved to the front pew. My mother and Marie, at the organ, began the rehearsal. I was drawing pictures on a sketch pad, and periodically looking up to the large brown cross hovering over the altar above the pulpit.

It was a good time to talk to God and repeat my prayer for a sign.

About that time, a huge breeze swept up the aisle between the pews and whipped my hair into my face. An impossibility as we were far into the church, and the only doors were too far way to create such a huge gush of air.

Nevertheless, I thought Mom and Marie had felt it too. I figured they must’ve noticed; it was so strong! I also thought the minister had come in and somehow created the wind tunnel.

As I, alone, turned to see where the wind came from, at the back pew I saw an angel!!!

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She, at least that’s what I assumed, was floating several inches above the ground; looking up at the cross and going towards it. She was completely white from head to toe with a flowing gown and glistening white all around her. Not really wings, more like a gossamer aura encompassing her whole being. In her clasped hands, she held a candle with a flickering pure white flame.

I was staring, in awe, at her. I felt paralyzed. Inside my mind, my mother warned me about doubting saying it wasn’t right. Part of me thought God was punishing me by scaring me so much.

As that thought crossed my mind, though, the gentle and beautiful angel looked at me, smiled at me with a nod of her head and the message I heard in the Christmas story came into my whole body. “Be not afraid, my child.”

Immediately, I could move again and a tremendous feeling of love and peace came over me. My angel continued on her journey toward the cross and disappeared just above the pulpit.

I put my head against my mother’s comforting shoulder and cried . . . for happiness. I now had complete faith. I knew I was not alone and am protected and guided.

It took a while to tell my mother the whole story as I was in a blissful place for a day or two. When I told her about my angel, she believed me. It made me happy as I had often been scolded for having too big of an “imagination” and often buzzing out in school to daydream. It was incredible to be believed and accepted for my gifts, when that wasn’t always the case.

My mother or Marie did not see or feel anything. My mother, to this day, tells me that the angel was there for me and that is why only I was able to see her. Yet, she still believes me!

A blessing indeed!

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Even Optimists Get Depressed

DISCLAIMER: This is about a recent incident, mostly and other past situations.

The incident: The night before I had to be up at 6:00am, with a job I had planned for over a month. A friend/client texted. “Can you do a reading, right now?” 

I texted back, honestly, and said, “Not tonight. Tomorrow, later in the day — maybe. I have to get to bed early for a morning gig.” 

This person does pay, nevertheless, with no sleep; I would mess up the job in the morning. And in my intuitive business, I prefer to make an appointment.  This friend/client texted back, “I will never use your service again!” and unfriended me on Facebook!

I don’t recall saying that I am here at the beck and call to my friends/client. Yes, I have done same day readings; it is not my regular thing to do. Secondly, to unfriend me and refuse to utilize my service again, over this, how unkind, rude and very unloving (for a friend).

 Apparently, not a friend at all.

Of course, through the years, there’s the friends who feel my gift is something I should give them full benefit of – all hours of the day or night, for two or four hours – without compensating me.

NOTE: Nevertheless, I do have wonderful friends who pay me regularly for readings – as they can and what they can – when they ask me to utilize my gifts for them.

Still, even optimists get depressed. We really do . . . yet, when we do [get depressed], we get chastised for it.

You see, us who encourage and fix everyone else are not truly allowed to . . . well, feel down. I’m sure it’s because, if we’re down, then, the world must be ending.

Reality check, we hit bottom, too. Sure, 85% of the time, we are the cheerleader for you, ourselves and the Universe. Then, after weeks, months or even years of being that gracious, fun-loving and joyful person – we hit a jagged rock or two or a hundred.

Through our tutelage and/or our encouragement you get to:

1) pursue your dreams,

2) win, win, win from all our free advice

Then, you feel showering us with “I love you” is a fair reward for the two-hour phone chat – during non-free minute days – or when we could be looking for a job.

What’s love got to do with it? I’d rather have cash . . . to be honest. Money may or may not buy happiness – still, I certainly feel much better when I have electric, food, transportation and can pay for my phone, rent, etc. Thus, having money lowers my blood pressure, and stops panic attacks. And certainly that makes me happier.

Somehow, one thing is forgotten – we, the cockeyed optimists – have to give up our dream career for a “real job”. We are asked to do the right thing, give up everything we ever wanted. All our giving of our free advice (to you) pays no income, and you do not offer or have excuses.

I love youdoesn’t pay rent, unfortunately. We can get downright depressed! Can you blame us?

To add salt on the wound – you will give us advice, i.e. “don’t post that you need help on Facebook. It looks unprofessional . . .

And no . . . psychics do NOT know everything, i.e. lottery numbers, where you are, your name or if we will get clients. Our gift may be highly accurate, yet, there are limitations.

Then, when we don’t express our need, guess what happens in our life? NOTHING! We don’t get money, we don’t get help and we fall deeper into depression, debt, high blood pressure, sleepless night and dis-ease.

Then, you tell usyou’re different orcheer up”. Pay me, I will cheer up! You have to seek help to get it. The Lord helps those who help themselves. Being quiet, sitting in what’s left of our room, begets no actual help. We’re hungry. We have bill collectors calling hourly . . . we get told “no” at every corner for jobs . . . and then, you text or call and want immediate attention! Wow! Because we are home, unable to go out — we are supposed to stop everything and help you through an emotional crisis, for no compensation.

Of course, you have a job and do not know what it is like to have the electric company threatening to turn off your electric . . . still, we, the optimist, the person with a business that you, or others, consider “unimportant” and not really worth actual money . . . we are supposed to jump to cater to you the second you have an issue.

Sorry, my time is worth money. Yes, you are a friend. You are not being my friend, though, when you feel it is my job to jump when you say jump. Strangely, I recall, awhile back when you said, “If you ever need anything, just ask.”

And I remember when I did need help – like now – you aretoo busyor youhave bills”. Yes, you have bills and an income. I don’t [have an income] unless you compensate me for my time. Your bank account is down to $1,000 until your next paycheck. Wow!

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My account is down to .05 cents (no exaggeration). Closed my savings account a few months ago, since it cost $3.00 a month and I often had $2.00 or less in it. My .05 cents won’t go up

until you, or someone decides my service is worth a few bucks.

What I’m saying is be real, my friends. I just had to vent . . .

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming of optimistic encouragement, love and light!