This CAN'T be True... Part 2

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I hear church bells and "Bells of St Mary's" don't know if someone is referring to the movie or a real place...

•  My oldest sister died a few years ago. They rushed her to St. Mary's Hospital. St.  Mary's Church was next to the hospital and they rang bells when I arrived at noon. She hung on until we all arrived.

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This was a single exchange from a session I did. It took about three years to go from finding out mediumship was possible, to doing it myself for folks on a regular basis for a while. But before that, I spent much time just learning about the processes of psychism, and more coming to grips with how much of what I was reading was describing my own experience.

Oh, NOnonononono... not me!

Srsly, how many of you want to be thought of as a crazy person, weirdo, charlatan or self-deluded moron? How many of you who have been reading this are about to write me off as one of these things?  See, you can speak of miracles of God and transcendent experiences all you want and people will maybe not completely believe you, but they won't think ill of you.  But this? SIGH-kik?  Who's kidding whom here?


I never wanted to put this stuff in this blog.  But in the end, it would be dishonest to avoid and apparently purposeless to have begun at all.  So, here's what happened.

It was like being swung by a pendulum: one minute I am immersed in the light of Extraordinary Experiences of the Holy Spirit, and the next I am involved in....what exactly?  The only place you can find this information is in nonChristian sources, the "New Age" mostly.

But there were things that I knew: I was never leaving the Church God led me to.  Nothing that was True was outside of what I could find in the Church, in either Tradition or Scripture.  No search for Truth, if you find that, can lead you away from God.  I did not have to be afraid.  And I knew something else: God had led me to this as surely as he had dragged me into the Church.  You see, after what I wrote about in the last post, I started to remember times I had seen John Edward before, on shows I was ignoring while I read or was online, he was talking about things I usually paid no attention to.  He'd actually been on a  billboard on a busline I road when he was on the radio in Denver recently.  I was oblivious.  Someone was trying to get my attention.

But by now I was listening for the advice and input of those on the Other Side and asking when I'd hear from them: Who am I listening to?  How do I know this is of God? And the answer was that whether "guides" or angels or my own relatives or a Saint or God, Himself, it always came with peace, surety, love and all was powered by God's Intent, in any case.  Anything scary or negative I rejected and counted on Saint Michael to send that away.  I believed in the "white Light of Divine Protection" as John puts it.  I still do.

I don't know why it was so hard for me psychologically to go from accepting God heard me and spoke to me, through whatever agency, and saying the words: "I'm psychic."  Maybe it was all the years I repressed those odd moments, like when I lost a friend because she accused me of reading her diary, or the other friend I lost who accused me of gossiping behind her back with another person.  They said these things because I couldn't possibly have known what I knew about them any other way.  I also pushed away the memory, when messing about as teen-aged girls will, of predicting the death of my friend's father with regular playing cards, pretending to predict the future.  I stopped doing that then and when he did pass suddenly about a year later, I cut off all connection to her.

But the first time I heard from someone on the Other Side and knew, knew it was from a specific individual for a specific individual, it took me months to work up the nerve to deliver the message.  I prayed and prayed.  I had told God if this gift were genuine I would use it for people.  But this was from a child who had passed in our Parish, a terrible and painful thing for everyone.  Was I really going to go to his mother and say, "I have a message?"  How horrible that would be if somehow I was just being a drama queen or going nuts or ...  oh my God, protect her from me.

But there were things compelling me to act.  One was the experience of the message itself.  It started in church as I was praying.  I got the whole thing at home and, while I was writing it down, I was allowed to share how he felt, how it felt to be in  Heaven.  Y'all, we really want to go there.   I believe I was given this to reassure his mom how happy he was.  Parents worry, you see, when children pass, that they are alone and afraid with no one to care for them.  Never happens. And I had promised.  Promised I would do this if it was real.

I won't share the message, I generally don't ever because it's just private.  But I finally wrote her a letter and included the message and prayed.  I will tell you this. I mailed the letter in the early hours of Saturday.  She got it on Monday.  On Sunday night she had a visitation from him in a dream which contained elements in the message.  She had never had a visit from him before.  She called me and validated everything in the message.

I was uplifted, stunned, relieved, overwhelmed.  Maybe this was all it was for, just to get this one message of reassurance to this grieving mother.  Or, maybe you think then I just hung out a shingle and started doing all sorts of "readings."

Not so much.