Okay, so I’m pretty sure by now you’ve picked up on the fact that this house was a little weird. And I’m guessing you’re thinking I’m a tad off my rocker as well. Yeah… you may be right. But I promise I function in the real world. I was a professor at VA Tech, raising three kids on my own, remember? Trust me, I’ve run into my fair share of crazy people running around claiming to be mystics, psychics, mediums, and healers. Me? I’ve been trying my damnedest to hide!
Truth is, while I’ve been seeking God in a big way (privately), I’m publicly terrified of being found out. You see my parents were against organized religion. My mother, raised in the Catholic church, turned against God as a teenager: To her, religion in any form was a major character flaw. Intelligent, rational people solve problems with science and logic. Mention Christ, The Holy Spirit, or God and you were sure to be openly mocked. My father, for the most part, simply avoided the topic.
But then it happened…. just before my 9th birthday, my family moved to a farm in Ohio. As an introverted animal lover, I was in heaven. Spending hours and hours alone in the barn, it wasn’t long before I’d started to pray. Truth be told, I had no clue who I was talking to, but I loved the idea that someone – something – was out there. I pictured God as a cross between my father (for whom I had the utmost respect), and Santa Clause. My God was kind, loving, fat and best of all, always had time for me. (In other words, I turned God into one hell of an imaginary friend!)
By 12, I considered myself pretty attached to the idea that there was a God, of course, I also knew there was something seriously wrong with me. Telling my parents I was pregnant, gay, or a heroin addict would be nothing compared to them finding out that I prayed. To this day, I have never told them. Nope. Not even my sister knows.
At 13, I saved up my pennies and snuck into a Christian book store. Mustering all of my courage, I bought a neckless with small silver cross. It was $11.58. Leaving the store, I ripped open the box, took out the neckless and shoved it quickly into the pocket of my blue jeans. My first spiritual contraband. From that moment on, that cross was with me – stuffed in a pocked, my wallet, or even my bra. No one in my family – not even my ex husband, ever knew it was there. Fear? Hiding? Yeah… I think you get the picture.
As I write this today, that same silver cross (now joined by an angel’s wing and tree of life pendent), hangs visibly around my neck. But alas, I am no braver. My father has passed away, my mother is struggling with dementia. My ex-husband is long gone, and my children have lives of their own. While hiding a cross my seem insignificant: Hiding the full range of experiences I’ve had in the spiritual realm is becoming increasingly difficult. I guess I’m hoping this blog will help… if not me, perhaps someone else in hiding.
So thank you dear reader – my one and only reader (who I love and value so) for bearing with me on this journey. And now, if you’ll excuse me, the dog seems to think I’ve been typing too long. 🙂