I have been having what some would call “auditory hallucinations,” and I know they are real, as real as the grass in the yard, the puffy clouds on the horizon, and the alarming number of frogs that have seemingly overtaken our seven acres. Who cares! I love frogs.
Okay, how do I explain the inexplicable? I’ll have to go back to the early days, circa 2013, after an incredibly stressful demolition of our church, by Christian hypocrites who simply took over, spewed their venom and caused one of our pastors to turn to Atheism. Actually, she was so attention seeking that I’m pretty sure she would have called herself a purple people eater if it gave her the results she sought. Our pastor Frank Schaeffer left our church after a trial in which he was accused of marrying his own son to another man. I won’t go into the details, but it made world news, and the press were so underhanded that they snuck into a service and filmed our pain. A friend saw a documentary on Huffington Post in which we are featured sobbing, uncontrollability, as we learn news of his departure. I was distraught over what I then thought to be the end of my life as I knew it. I got sober in this chapel, every single person knew my story and they showed me love and grace, not harsh ostracism. The travesty is, we were beginning to do some amazing spiritual work……we were in sync, and you could feel the Holy Spirit-lifting us up and out of our day to day lives. And then: Kaput.
I began to experience a strange, but lovely thinning of the veil, if you will. I began finding feathers in crazy places-different colors and hues. I collected twenty of them and put them in a crystal glass. No explanation for how they came to be in the middle of my bedroom floor; no cat toys missing pieces, no feathered anything to be blunt. I did not realize they were feathers from the Angels at the time, no not until the last feather was gifted me: a large, purple beauty, somehow I knew that this would be the last one, and it was. I have brought these feathers to bedside vigils, to give others the hope of better days to come, when we are once again home, the complete and unwavering love of God, His mercy and forgiveness.
Shortly after the last feather appeared, I had been toying with the New Age. I came out of that nightmare unscathed, but now things were getting downright eerie. Five minutes before I was stalked by a half naked man, causing me horrible PTSD symptoms, I heard my angels wings. So loudly, I turned around as I expected to see a Vulture, or other huge bird looking at me. Instinctively, I knew what it was. I believe I was guided by the heavenlies that day, and I have good reason: the Conservation Officers were doing their annual trail checks that day, and I had the good fortune to run out of the woods and into the arms of the officer who took the case.
One day, I was absolutely driven to get up off my buttocks and take a picture of my back yard. It was a dreary rainy day, and there was nothing to see…..but listen to myself I did. As I brought the camera to my eyes, I saw 6 or 7 white crosses-along the garden plot. If I took the camera away? Nothing. Each time I brought that camera into focus, I saw the white crosses, and I felt protected, if not a little shaky.
Yesterday, while getting out of the shower, I heard those wings again. I know Jesus wanted me to know my angels accompanied me, which both frightened and delighted me. But what were they trying to tell me? What now? Why now? I had to sit for a spell and calm myself down.
So, it is evening and my husband and I are preparing dinner.
“Honey, you know if you need to talk about the Bud (formerly known as my stepson) debacle, I know how much you’re hurting. I want you to know that I am here for you, and if you need to vent, please do so.”
There had been an incident between us. I was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was still hurting from his break up with the girl who got away. He had been angry and upset for weeks prior to this, and we had words on one occasion, as he was completely ignoring me. The next time he stopped by I was prepared. I simply wanted to comfort him, but that wasn’t an option on that day of days. He had a complete and utter meltdown, attacking me verbally simply because I was there. He had warned me not to talk to him, but that only made me dig in my heels. Oh, he’s going to talk to me alright, read my thought cloud.
It didn’t end well. I was rushed into a therapy appointment. I was close to being admitted to our local psychiatric facility. The shrink my brother referred me to (very lovingly) came to the dire diagnoses of DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. She told me she thought I tortured my son unknowingly, while in a fugue state. I ran like my pants were aflame, and never looked back. I can tell you, however, that for an entire weekend-every time my husband asked me a question, and I didn’t know the answer? Yep. I thought the other personality had received that transmittal….it was harrowing.
At that point, months ago? I was upset, angry if you will, but I wouldn’t, couldn’t stop loving the now fully grown version of the little boy that tried so hard to please everyone. The little boy who grew into a teenager-never a problem, no drugs, no booze, straight As. I felt in my heart of hearts that this wasn’t over, this was not the end.
My husband’s devastation matched my own.
“I told Bud to come and get his things, it’s over,” Dwain choked back tears as he spoke.
My heart sunk. So this was it. The very next day, in the pouring down rain, Bud came to grab things that had been on our farm since his childhood. He had to make two trips. I stood in the shadows and wept. It was physically painful to watch. I actually thought my heart would break right then and there, and, if only for a moment, it did.
My mother in law had invited us to a birthday celebration for my sister in law. She did not inform us that Bud and his girlfriend would be there, and she chose not to inform them that we would be attending. The first moments were awkward. We said our hellos from the dinner table. My son looked so uncomfortable that I ran to him. I had previously text him that I forgave him, and that all I wanted was for us to love one another. I did not receive a response, but I knew he took it in. I went to hug him, he clung tightly for a moment.
Dwain wasn’t ready to forgive, and I am not judging-you can’t rush forgiveness after heartache of that magnitude.
Then Bud text me on Mother’s Day.
He text me on my birthday.
By Father’s Day, Dwain was despondent. He came close to crying in church, and it takes so much for him to get to that point. I went to the bathroom and text my son.
Dwain’s phone beeped.
“Hey dad, happy Father’s Day. Would you mind some company?”
And after our son left, Dwain settled into a long Summer’s nap-something he could not do BF. Before forgiveness.
She talks to angels, they call her out by her name.