Message from the Other Side

[image from 67pics.com]

This morning I was joking with a friend about Life After Life (which I believe in). She was saying she figured she would be one of the few occupying lower realms  in Heaven, designated kitchen duties or some other lowly form of service.

I replied, "Me, too. I've always thought I'd be one of the cleaning staff, or some other work detail, because somebody has to maintain Heaven, right? And I'm so good at it!"

But then I told her a true story that would reassure anyone that there is a loving acceptance awaiting us, and compassion for our faults.

When I was taking hospice training, one of the other trainees, a nurse named Kathy, told us an amazing story. When she was a young nurse, newly and scientifically trained, she was a skeptic. She had no faith then, in anything that had no scientific basis in fact. On the ward where she was working, there was an elderly lady that everybody loved. One day she went into cardiac arrest, Code Blue was called, there was great effort to revive her, but finally the doctor pronounced death and left the room. The nurses were all crying, because this woman had been so loved, and someone - to lighten the atmosphere, and with no disrespect - said something funny. They were both laughing and crying. Kathy was in the process of actually tying the identification tag on the lady's toe when she looked up and saw she was pinking up.

Kathy ran into the hall: "Mrs. W. is pinking up!"

The doctor thundered down the hall, Mrs. W. was trying to breathe. They whisked her up
to  ICU and Kathy went on with her job and her life for two weeks without thinking much about it.

Then one day, on the ward, she saw Mrs. W. walking towards her with a big smile on her face. "I have a story to tell you," said Mrs. W. Kathy started to shake her head because she knew something was coming she wasnt prepared for, something that might just change her entire way of thinking and being. But Mrs. W. insisted.

"When I died," she began, "I was up on the ceiling looking down at you. The Doctor said this and someone else said that and you were all laughing and crying. I could see and hear everything. I could see myself down on the bed.

"Then I went to a place of great love and peace, where there was welcome and acceptance for me. And angels were there, helping me. And my husband's hand reached down to me from Heaven, and I just placed my fingers against his palm, when he withdrew his hand and told me, "No, now is not your time. I wanted to go with him, but he said no.

"And then the veil between this world and the next was pulled back, and I could look down and see the earth. I could see the whole globe, turning in the cosmos. It was so beautiful. And lights were flashing all over the world, millions of lights. Some were shining steadily, some were twinkling, but some were darting out far beyond the earth, more powerful and brilliant than all the rest.

" I asked the angels who were with me, 'What are those lights?' and they told me, 'Those are prayers, and the brightest and most powerful ones are the prayers of mothers for their children."

That moment started Kathy on her spiritual quest, which took her to such places as Macchu Picchu.

I recommend, for anyone interested, two definitive books on the topic: Life Arfter Life, by Raymond Moody and Many Lives, Many Masters, by Dr. Brian Weiss, M.D.

[image from mormontemples.com]

I Remember 9/11

I am flying my Peace globe on September 11th, in solidarity with Mimi Lenox at http://www.mimiwrites.blogspot.com/ who started the fast-growing Blogging For Peace movement.

On November 4th, in 50 countries around the world, we will be flying globes for world peace. Today, in light of the growing discord around the "pastor" in Florida who planned to burn the Qu'ran on September 11, and the backlash of anger that has been touched off in response, it is important to speak out for peace, not fan the flames of more hatred, division and discord.

I remember September 11, 2001. I was ill, in bed, when the phone rang and my daughter Lisa said, "Are you watching the news? They're flying planes into buildings in the states." I turned it on and watched in horror and disbelief. And with a horrible, sinking feeling............. because I knew when George Bush was elected there would be a war, and now I knew for sure that it would happen.

Over those first horrible days, when emotions ran so high, I listened to the administration's rhetoric and grappled with a mixture of feelings. It was terrible what had happened, what some misguided and extremist human beings had done to so many thousands of innocent other human beings, and their families. But I also knew there were events preceding this attack that were being ignored in the endless news discussions.

This week has seen a rise in rhetoric, in anger, in further estrangement. Acts of aggression cannot help but provoke such a reaction. They are not the way to peace.

Words fail me, at the moment. But I happened upon this prayer, tonight, riffling through my Earth Prayers book. I shall offer it here, to accompany my globe, in hopes no books get burned, no bad things happen, flared tempers will subside, and some manner of appeasement is managed, somehow, some way.

Here we are, God - a planet at prayer. Attune our spirits that we may hear your
harmonies and bow before your creative power

that we may face our violent discords and join with your Energy to make
heard in every heart your hymn of peace.

Here we are, God-a militarized planet. Transform our fears that we may
transform our war fields into wheatfields, arms into handshakes, missiles
into messengers of peace.

Here we are, God-a polluted planet. Purify our vision that we may perceive
ways to purify our beloved lands, cleanse our precious waters,
de-smog our life-giving air.

Here we are, God-an exploited planet. Heal our heart, that we may
respect our resources, hold priceless our people, and provide for
our starving children an abundance of daily bread.

Joan Metzner, from Earth Prayers

From my tired, weary, but still-hopeful heart, blessings and peace to all who long for peace - world peace, peace in every land, in every heart, on every hillside, under every tree, beside every garden, in every trench. May peace fall over the war zones of the world. May the only noise to be heard be the packing up of the bombs and guns, and the silent retreat of the stealthy, as they dismember the Improvised Explosive Devices.

May there never be another day like September 11, 2001, anywhere in the world.

Lucky For Us

Jon Merk photo - Rogers Pass

Luckily for us, all the patron saints were standing by, that blowing, snow-blinded winter day in the heart of the Hope-Princeton Highway. In those days, the road was narrow-laned, unpaved, steep and winding. In good weather, it could take from twelve to eighteen hours to travel between Kelowna and Vancouver, a distance that now takes from four to six hours.

Our family traveled often between the two points, following the whims of elusive fortune, as we moved between the city ("Big time Vancoober!" I'd say when I was a baby), and Kelowna. I remember my disappointment at age four, when the ferry that my father said was going to carry us across Okanagan Lake turned out to be a big white boat, and not a magical tiny being with wings. On another occasion, when I lay close to dying in the Kelowna General Hospital at age six, my parents drove the same road all one night, to reach my bedside in time.

But this day, it was mid-winter and out car windows steamy from our combined breathing, we could see nothing but swirling white. Our car was inadequate for the trip, a metaphor for our family's financial journey, and I dont remember why we were traveling this time; though since my aunt, uncle and cousin Teddy were in the car with us, I suspect we had all gone to Grandma and Grandpa Marr's in Kelowna for Christmas and were now heading back to the city.

Teddy was about ten then, and I adored him from the distant vantage point of being a freckled and disdained six, and a girl to boot. But he and I both attended Catholic schools and were the only family members in the car whose prayers were likely to be recognized by God.

I remember us trying to get up a steep and slippery hill, and the sickening feeling in my stomach as we slid back down. The men, my father and my uncle, got out of the car to kick the tires, have a smoke and generally commiserate at the misfortune of being poor and alive and on this damned road to begin with, damned women and their sentimental nonsense.

Then both car doors opened, they thumped into the front seat with a whoosh of frigid, snowy air and renewed spirit, and Uncle Ted beamed back at us: "Better say your Hail Mary's, if we're going to get up this hill!"

Teddy and I bowed our heads against the back of the front seat. I prayed obediently, and probably as hard as I have ever prayed in my life, the whole time feeling the car resisting the slow push up, up, up, tires spinning helplessly. We werent going to make it. Then - wait! were they catching? Hail Mary's tumbling through my mind along with fear that we would be stranded here in the cold and the snow, would never reach warmth and safety again. Then we passed the point at which the tires must grab hold or give up the fight and, amazingly, they held their ground and we were up and over the hill, in a burst of happy chatter, the Virgin Mary directly responsible for getting us up that mountain.

One other winter journey, when I was maybe a little younger, we took the Fraser Canyon route, also narrow-laned, unpaved and winding, but even steeper. I was standing on the seat between my parents when I saw the older model car ahead of us, before our horrified eyes, take a slow, icy sliding swing to the left that led the car and its occupants inexorably to and over the cliff edge, down and out of sight. Our car stopped; my parents got out, after a ghastly silence spent looking at each other. "You stay here" Mom said to me. They walked to the edge and looked over, and that's all I remember.

Later, I seem to remember being told the car had been stopped by a tree from falling far, and that the young couple inside was lucky and had been saved. I am not sure whether they said that to ease my mind. I hope it was true.

And we were lucky too. Lucky that those Hail Mary's got us up the hill that winter's day, and likely a lot farther along the highway than we ever guessed.

A Miracle in Africa

photo from commpassionatejourneys.com

[This was sent to my inbox today and I looked it up on the internet to verify the author. I consider myself to be a "spiritual" rather than a "religious" person. Having been rather scared away from organized religion, I prefer a wider view of matters spiritual.

The priest who related this story says that God knows our prayers even before we are born, and answers them before we even ask. This brings a certain comfort on this lovely cool-ish sunny late-summer morning, and it is such a beautiful story I decided to pass it on. We can take from it what we wish.

I sit here, so grateful for the sun, the trees, the freshness of the air, my morning cup of tea, my two doggy companions..........and connection with all of you, each starting your day somewhere else. Blessings abound!]

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Many stories and "urban legends" make their way around the world through the Internet. Some cannot be verified, many can be proved fictional, and some, like the one below, can be authenticated.

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THE HOT WATER BOTTLE - A True Story By Helen Roseveare, Missionary to Africa

One night, in Central Africa, I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all that we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying, two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive. We had no incubator. We had no electricity to run an incubator, and no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. A student-midwife went for the box we had for such babies and for the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly, in distress, to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates. "...and it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed.

As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk; so, in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over a burst water bottle. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can; sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm."

The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with many of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chilled. I also told them about the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt consciousness of our African children. "Please, God," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, the baby'll be dead; so, please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of corollary, " ...And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen?" I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything: The Bible says so, but there are limits, aren't there?

The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator! Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time that I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel!

I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone; so, I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then, there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children began to look a little bored. Next, came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - - that would make a nice batch of buns for the weekend.

As I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it, and pulled it out. Yes, "A brand-new rubber, hot water bottle!" I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone: She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked, "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday School class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. One of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child -- five months earlier in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "That afternoon!" "And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear." Isaiah 65:24

Helen Roseveare a doctor missionary from England to Zaire, Africa, told this as it had happened to her in Africa.

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On NDE's and the Other Side

When I was taking hospice training a few years back, a nurse who was also taking the training told us the best story I have ever heard about a near-death experience. Cathy, being a nurse, explained that when she was first practicing, she was fresh out of school, clinically trained, taught a scientific approach to making sick people well. She is now a highly spiritual person, but in those early days as a nurse, she said she had no real spiritual beliefs and was skeptical of anything that wasnt scientifically based.

Until this happened.

There was a sweet elderly lady on the floor who had been there long-term and whom all the nurses loved because of her lovely disposition. The day came when this lady passed away. The doctor pronounced her dead and left the room. The nurses began preparing for her to be moved down to the morgue. Cathy said they were crying a bit, and also talking and laughing a little about something, not disrespectfully, but in an effort to ease the tension, since they were upset at this lady's passing.

Cathy was tying a tag on her toe when she looked up and realized the woman's face was regaining some color. She ran into the hall and called for the Doctor: "Mrs. P. is pinking up!"

"No way!" the doctor said, rushing back.

But it was true. Mrs. P. was still alive, or had been dead and come back to life. She was breathing. They whisked her away to ICU and Cathy didnt think much about her, busy with other patients. Then one day, about two weeks later, Cathy looked up from her duties to see Mrs. P. walking towards her with a big smile on her face. "I want to tell you something," the old woman said.

Cathy said she must have had a look on her face that totally resisted what had happened. Mrs. P. said, "No, please listen. When I died, I could see and hear all of you. I saw what the doctor was doing, and I heard you and the other nurse saying....." and she relayed to her their exact conversation. Cathy was stunned. But there was more.

"While I was away," the woman continued, "I saw my husband's hand come down from heaven and reach out to me. I placed my fingers on his palm, but just then he withdrew his hand, and told me it wasnt time for me to come yet, there was still work for me to do on earth. I wanted to go with him, I didnt want to come back, but I had no choice.

"While I was not present in my body, I was up above the earth, looking down. Other beings were around me. I think they were angels. I could see how beautiful earth is, and I kept seeing lights arcing up from the earth, up into the sky. Some were small and flickering, some were really strong and powerful.

"I asked what the lights were and the angels told me they were prayers people were sending up, and the strongest ones were the prayers of mothers for their children.

"Then I found myself back in my body." The woman smiled at Cathy and walked away......and at that moment Cathy began her spiritual journey and became a believer.

SONG OF THE MOUNTAINS

Clayoquot Sound, photo through Friends of Clayoquot Sound

[This poem was written as I ferried down the Inside Passage from the north, where I had wintered, (hibernated!), back home to my beloved Tofino. Joy accompanied me, every inch of the journey.]


Song of the green, green hills,
Song of the porpoise leaping,
Ice-pack down the mountain seeping
A sudden torrent, like a giant weeping;
Prayer of the silent earth,
Deep within, where the springtime's stirring,
Gratitude into my heart creeping -
My spirit waking, which had long been sleeping.

I'm alive as the waterfall,
Cascading downward, like a fountain.
Its living waters carve an ageless path -
Eternity upon the velvet mountain.

Song of the evening sky,
Soft colors fading, end-of-day to starshine,
Each star a promise of a new tomorrow,
Song of the hopeful heart that is mine.

Surge of the sea-green foam,
Sound of the mountains singing,
Joy within me ringing,
Thrum of the motor bringing me,
Lift of my heart winging me,
Song of the mountains singing me
All the way home.