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Yesterday I posted—“We Are Never Alone.”
This morning I turned on the radio (WJMJ in Bloomfield, CT) and they were playing the hymn “Be Not Afraid.” When I heard
Be not afraid.
I go before you always;
Come follow me,
and I will give you rest.
And thenIf you stand before the pow'r of hell and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all.
it was as if the Universe wanted to confirm what I posted previously.
If you’re interested, you can go to the website and there you will find the words. You can also get a musical rendition without vocals so be prepared to sing along.
I listen to WJMJ (88.9 FM) because it’s the only radio station around that plays the kind of music I like (real old oldies, classical and occasional hymns). I don’t mind the 30-second sermons every 20 minutes or so; it’s the music I’m after.
God knows what radio station I listen to, which made it so easy for Him to get His message to me. ☺
I think it is important to know we are never alone. We always have angels, guides and guardians all around us to respond when needed. In the true story I am about to tell you, I did not consciously call for help, but it was there. I take great comfort in knowing I am always being looked out for—especially in those moments when I am most vulnerable.
The Fire Next Door
A widow and her teenage son lived next door to us. Next to her was a cemetery, and behind us, a trailer park.
One night, possibly February or March of 1982 (not at all sure of the date), I awoke to a lot of commotion and my daughter screaming, "Next door is on fire!" I ran to the front living room just as the fire department was pulling up.
Everyone got out safely—except the cat. It could have been a whole lot worse. Apparently the son and one of his buddies were asleep downstairs and a quartz heater was in use — too close to the sofa. The house was a total loss. They lost everything and my heart went out to them.
I went back to bed and felt strongly that I needed to do a cleansing of the entire area— my house, the burned out house, the trailer park and the cemetery. Negative energy hung over the neighborhood like a smothering cloak.
I called on Spirit to create a column of Pure White Light descending from Above, penetrating the Earth to its core. Once this column of pure, God Light was in place, I asked that the Light be intensified to the degree it could be tolerated and accepted, purifying all negativity. I held that image for a few moments, released it, and fell asleep.
I became aware of a knocking on my bedroom window. I did not open my physical eyes, but I could “see” a dark, hooded figure outside my bedroom window. From somewhere within me the words were spoken: “Go away, you are not welcome here. Only God dwells within.”
Again the knocking, further away this time and the figure had receded. Once again the words came forth from within me: “Go away, you are not welcome here. Only God dwells within.”
The knocking came a third time, very faint now. The figure was barely visible. Again the words: “Go away, you are not welcome here. Only God dwells within.” Now I was fully awake, fully conscious. While all this was happening, I was in a twilight sleep. I never felt frightened.
I sent a telepathic message to whatever had been outside my window: “If you didn't like the first cleansing, you are absolutely going to hate a second one.” I proceeded to call down the column of Pure, White, God Light and asked for another cleansing. There were no further disturbances that night or ever again.
I mulled over what had just transpired and wondered where those words had come from. Certainly not from my conscious self. I believe those words came through me from some protective source. Angels? Guardian Angel? My God Self? I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the protection was there then, and I know it will be there again should I need it.
Every day I get an email inspirational message from Neale Donald Walsch (author of Conversations With God). I don’t know why I get these messages. Someone must have signed me up and I’m forever grateful. Today’s message had to do with approaching everything you do in life with enthusiasm and joy.
I must admit I have always approached life like that. My poor friends and family. If I have plans for anything, everyone within earshot of me knows what I’m up to (hence the title of my other blog) - Look What I'm Up To Now). I am not able to contain my excitement. And, of course, I am of the opinion that what I’m doing, or planning to do, is so much more interesting than what you are doing. Why? Because, by my standards, if you were doing something grand and glorious you would be talking it up.
So, I'm telling you all now, no matter what you are doing, do it with enthusiasm and joy. Shout it to the rooftops! The "what" you are planning deserves all the joy you can give it.
Let us share it with you!
Yes, I guess at times I can be insufferable, but no one has shut me up…yet! ☺☺☺
Jon Roe suggested I tell the story of my struggle to stop smoking.
This may be a little long, but I encourage you to read it, especially if you are a smoker. You may see yourself in me.
It has been seven and a half years since I stopped smoking. If anyone had told me I would never miss the habit I would have told them they were crazy. I smoked for 51 years. Like most smokers, I tried many times to quit with no success. I believe there are addictive personalities, and if I were not addicted to nicotine, it would have been something else. I was totally out of control.
What made me quit?
During the five years before I quit, I had noticed a problem taking a satisfying deep breath from time to time. Nothing to worry about. Just one of those things. I should have paid attention. The problem occurred more and more often as those five years rolled along, but I was in denial that something was wrong.
Toward the end of March 1997 I had a panic attack (didn’t know what it was) and could not catch a deep, satisfying breath. I was hyperventilating, dizzy, and scared. I continued to light up. Don’t ask me how I ever got dressed and drove to work. I joined friends in the cafeteria for breakfast and Janine took one look at me and told me we were going to the Walk-in Medical. Next thing I know, I’m in her car and we’re off. I was diagnosed with COPD. I had no idea what COPD was. But I learned.
COPD
Chronic Obstructed Pulmonary Disease. That meant, in my case, that some areas of my lungs were no longer spongy like they should be and there was hard scarring. The good news, as bad as my symptoms seemed, the degree of scarring was small. COPD would get worse unless I stopped doing what was causing it. If I stopped smoking, then the COPD would not get worse, but it wouldn’t go away either. I pictured myself on the beaches of Cape Cod pulling an oxygen tank behind me. Totally the wrong picture of what I wanted in life. I had to change.
I started with the nicotine patch. That worked very well. When I was almost ready to stop the treatment, a new-born grandson developed problems breathing. I was so distressed I turned to my old friends, cigarettes. For the next three years I “played” with the nicotine patch. Wore it when it was not convenient to smoke; took it off hours in advance of purchasing my next pack of cigarettes.
This is where addictions get stupid. I would buy a pack, smoke maybe three to six cigarettes then, feeling guilty, would throw the rest away and slap on another patch. The patch was great for flying cross-country. Somewhere over the Rocky Mountains I would take the patch off and by the time I landed in either Los Angeles or Seattle, I was ready to smoke again.
In September of 2000, I was on Cape Cod enjoying my usual vacation, and because I was alone, I was smoking. I came down with a bad cold—had trouble breathing; then had a major panic attack (I still didn’t know what it was) complete with feelings of doom and wanting to curl up into the fetal position while lying on the floor because I was so dizzy and I knew if I passed out I would not fall off and hurt myself. I was there alone, the cottage had no phone and I had no cell phone. I thought I was going to die! I was scared.
When I got home I had some decisions to make. Did I want to quit smoking or did I want to die? To someone who has never been addicted, the choice is clear. No so to the addict. I enjoyed smoking. I loved everything about it. However, I decided I loved life more.
I had tried cold turkey, the patch, hypnosis, and gum. Nothing worked.
I had one option left—acupuncture.
Fortunately I knew someone who was an Acupuncturist – John Mammone in Wethersfield. I have known John for years, trusted him completely, and finally called him in November of 2000. John outlined a series of six treatments (two per week for three weeks). And so we began.
I am terrified of needles yet I did not mind the acupuncture needles at all. I barely felt them. I was cigarette-free from the very first treatment. For treatment #5, I came from work and had been having a very bad day. I told John I had people needling me all day and the last thing I wanted was him sticking me with more! He suggested we do some acupressure and other hands-on healing modalities instead. We did that for the last two treatments.
I have been smoke free ever since. I do not crave cigarettes. I cannot conjure up in my mind a scenario where I would light up a cigarette never mind inhale. It’s been so long that I don’t even have “smoking dreams” any more. I still like the smell of someone else’s newly lit cigarette, but it does not make we want one. A home or car where smoking is permitted is offensive to me. Smelling cigarettes on someone’s breath makes me wonder how others put up with me when my breath must have been just as stinky.
At the beginning of this story I made a statement about addictive personalities. You might be wondering what I turned my attention to in order to stay addicted to something. I have to confess that I am addicted to: bike riding, hiking, and writing – I maintain two on-line journals, write to five fine young men in the Marine Corps., write poetry as well as stories and articles.
In September of this year, my daughter Kathy and I are going to bike ride the Erie Canal from Niagara Falls to Albany, NY— a nine-day, 365 mile ride.
That’s going to be a lot more fun than being dead!
First I want to make it very clear I speak only for myself. Others should not consider this as advice because it is not. Always check with your own health care provider before taking anything.
I believe that if I eat right (most of the time) and choose my medications/supplements from the most natural sources possible, I will do the most good and least amount of damage to my body. This is a line of thought that I have embraced only in the last few years. After years of smoking and subsisting on crackers with peanut butter and apricot preserves, I’m lucky to have a body left to treat kindly. These bad habits are a thing of the past. Little by little I am learning better ways to live.
Without going into long drawn out detail, I present a thumbnail of what I have been doing that has worked for me. Maybe it will help others.
1) Armour Thyroid instead of Synthroid for hypothyroid.
2) Omega 3 fish oil capsules (I take 2 capsules 3 x a day) for Arthritis.
3) Quinoa (KEEN-WAH) FLAKES hot cereal for irritable bowel syndrome. IBS needs high protein and fiber. Quinoa has both and provides a non-meat source. Dress it up with cut up fruit, a little honey and soy milk.
4) Turmeric (curcumin) as an anti-inflammatory. Comes in capsule form or you can eat a lot of Eastern and Middle Eastern dishes that use Turmeric. Stops the pain of inflammation as well as ibuprofen without damage to vital organs.
Do your own research; ask your own health care provider. My doctor at least listens to me now as I explain why I take certain things.
