Brenda's Bicycles

(This is the seventh and final installment of a series of posts describing my experiences in Ek’Balam and my subsequent journey of physical and emotional healing. New postings will continue on a periodic basis—as inspired.)

It is Sunday Morning, December 6, 2009. Only two short weeks ago, I immersed myself in the energizing love and spirit of a beautiful sunrise closing ceremony surrounded by the lush green jungles of Kaxan Xuul. As I descended from the crest of that powerful earth-covered pyramid, I felt spiritually alive and on top of the world. But deep within my soul, even in that sacred place of Kaxan Xuul, an internal battle was already beginning to rumble.

Just moments ago, while struggling to resume my writing, the dynamics of that rumbling inner battle have once again erupted as I begin to re-live the emotional trauma of this tedious healing journey. Until this very moment, I had no idea that so much deep fear and terror could possibly remain bottled up inside my soul.

The emotional floodgates have now opened. As the words are beginning to flow from my fingertips to my keyboard, my red cheeks are simultaneously swamped with rivers of moist flowing tears.

Other than keeping them as quiet and muffled as possible, I make no attempt to suppress my shaking sobs and trembling jaw. I know with all of my heart that I need to process right through the core of these bottled-up emotions. I simply cannot ignore them any longer. Suppressed emotion is a subtle poison that lulls me away into spiritual numbness—and I am tired of feeling numb.

Ego is playing both sides of the game here. On the one hand, ego wants to suck me into the trap of believing that the objects of my fear and terror are real, causing me to identify with a sense of poor-me victimization. As I resist that tendency, ego is playing the spiritual pride game, wanting me to suppress and deny my fears, my weaknesses, and my seeming inability to shake the trauma completely. This “I’m-supposed-to-be-strong” spiritual pride nonsense wants me to simply pretend that everything is wonderful.

But the genuine promptings in my soul insist that I face these deep feelings head on—that I embrace the emotions, hug them, love them, acknowledge them, feel them, and process right through them. And so, in this moment, I am allowing myself to continue shaking and sobbing, knowing that what soon awaits me is true freedom and renewed spiritual connectedness.

The powerful nature of this continued emotional outburst is amazing to me. I keep expecting that the tears will die down at any moment, but the sobs and chattering teeth continue to dominate my present experience. In my heart I know that these are therapeutic tears, tears of deep genuine acknowledgment and release—I don’t want them to stop—I want to finish what I have started.

I would be deceitful if I tried to pretend that these last two weeks have been easy. Yes, for the majority of the time I have indeed felt confident, trusting, peaceful, and emotionally healthy—but then there are occasional times, like right now for instance, where thoughts of fear and panic begin to sink their hooks deeply into my imagination.

In such times, I temporarily slip into ego. I want to be angry. I want to just give up and run home to a normal life. I grow tired of sitting around, resting on my bed, babysitting a wound whose mere presence is capable of triggering fear and doubt. I just want to vent—to be allowed to have a moment of vulnerability. Crying actually feels very therapeutically relieving.

I am now entering my fifth day of severe writers block amidst what has been a growing feeling of spiritual isolation and numbness. In my attempts to remain spiritually connected and positive, I have unknowingly and quite subtly denied and suppressed my emotions.

Today it seems very obvious that there is nothing spiritual about denial.

As I pass through the height of my fear, I feel as if I am back in the jungle, re-experiencing the intense heat of hot charcoal roasting my foot, re-living the panic and fear while my imagination runs wild. I am terrorized at the thought of not being in control, of not understanding what is going on, of not being the one calling the shots, of trusting my fate to others, of blindly placing my life into the hands of the Universe.

I am engaged in a tug-of-war between two worlds. In one world, ego tells me I am an insane fool for not immediately pursuing more advanced medical care. In the other world, my heart continues to bathe my soul in loving peace and trust, guiding me to stay right where I am for a little longer while I continue to write—while I continue to process and explore my emotions.

How I feel at any given moment is a direct reflection of the world to which I am closest. For several days now I have been subtly drifting away from the spiritual world. But amazingly enough, as my unexpected outburst of tears begins to settle, I feel very spiritually centered, back in a place of loving peace and trust. My intuition tells me in a very powerful way that, at least for today, my journey is to continue writing right where I am—right here in Valladolid, Yucatan, Mexico.

Rocky Start

As I checked back into my cozy hostel room in Valladolid on Sunday, Nov 22, I quickly began to engage in an inner battle between ego and spirit.

“Surely, you have severe damage to your underlying skin and other internal tissues.” My ego screamed loudly. “Yes, even though you have a protective blister, the tissue below is bound to be cooked very deeply—probably even destroyed. You need to find a burn specialist—now!”

“You’re going to be OK Brenda.” Spirit whispered calmly. “Yes, go see a Doctor, and follow his advice, but there is nothing about which to panic. You need to stay right where you are, at least for now.”

For the next few hours, I bounced back and forth, like a ping pong ball. First, ego makes a vicious serve, filled with fear and panic. Spirit lovingly flips the ball gently back over the net, filled with peace. Ego puts a wicked spin on the next hit, hurling it back across the net along with a strong dose of anxiety. Again, spirit calmly and lovingly returns the ball, filled with trust and a feeling of calm.

Feeling slightly lost and fearful, I struggled to decide my next move. Peaceful thoughts were temporary and fleeting. I began to feel alone, helpless, and clueless.

Acting in the dark, feeling no direct promptings, I began to pursue several options. First I checked a Doctor’s office just barely around the corner from the hostel. It was Sunday afternoon and the door was locked tightly.

Next, feeling quite unsure of myself, I hobbled about one mile to the only hospital in town, expecting to find some type of organized emergency room. As I neared the back of the hospital, I found a large line of perhaps one hundred people that were waiting to be seen. Beginning somewhere inside the hospital, the line extended out of the back door and wound all around the walls of the small parking lot. Momentarily sticking my head inside the hospital to figure out what was going on, I noticed that there was no receptionist and no triage nurse—just a lot of people sitting around, waiting to be treated. Some of the children being held by their mothers appeared to be very sick.

A strong feeling pushed me away, telling me “this hospital is not for you.”

I listened to and followed that hunch—even though I continued to feel so disconnected that I was not quite sure of its source.

I considered rushing off to one of the bigger cities, all of which are about three hours away via bus.

“Surely I can find more sophisticated health care with English speaking doctors if I go to Merida, Cancun, or Playa Del Carmen.” I told myself.

But as I pondered all of my options, one seemed to resonate powerfully and peacefully in my soul.

“Stay in Valladolid.” The feeling began. “Tomorrow, you can go to the local doctor just around the corner. Based on how you feel at that time, you can make further decisions. Don’t worry, there is no rush, everything will be OK.”

As I lay on my pillow on Sunday evening, I truly found the inner peace that I needed. My body was exhausted from extensive walking, and I slept very comfortably.

Private Practice

Simply sitting in the waiting room of Dr. José Francisco’s office was quite an interesting experience. I arrived thirty minutes after opening, and about six groups of people were already waiting ahead of me. I observed that going to the doctor appears to be a family affair. No one in the room was alone, except for me of course. Most of the groups in the waiting room were couples with their children. Some even had grandma along for the ride.

As the receptionist finally came to her seat, everyone else in the room first jumped up to add their names to the list in front of me. I soon discovered that the doctor does not make appointments. He accepts all of his clients on a first come first served basis, very much like an after hours clinic in the United States.

“Does the doctor speak English?” I ask the receptionist (who I later discover is the doctor’s wife).

“No, very little—just a tiny bit.” She replies.

My heart sinks as I ponder the underlying meaning of her words. My medical consultation will be limited to a combination of simple vocabulary and basic show-and-tell.

About ninety minutes later, Dr. José Francisco opens his door and motions that it is my turn to enter.

I am surprised to realize that I am not in a sterile examination room. The large room looks more like a normal office. In front of a large wooden desk sit two normal high-backed wooden chairs. Motioning for me to take a seat, I take one of the chairs as Dr. José sits in the other. I lift my left foot and rest it on my right knee, carefully undoing my bandages.

In my best rehearsed Spanish, I explain the history of my burn, even showing Dr. José several photos of the huge blister before and after it was drained.

“It is just a second degree burn.” Dr. José quickly reassures me. “It should heal completely in about ten days.”

Feeling verbally handicapped, I am unable to adequately express my worries and concerns about the depth and severity of the burns. The skin from the blister is white and shrunken, completely opaque, revealing nothing of the damage below. I have to admit, that a visual quick glance does not reveal anything particularly alarming—other than the size of the burn that is.

Even with communication difficulties, I am mostly able to get across my most basic concerns, but Dr. José assures me that I do not need to worry. A feeling of peace settles into my heart as he carefully bandages my foot with cream-saturated gauze that is pre-soaked with an antibiotic ointment. Giving me the box containing two additional gauze pads, Dr. José instructs me to buy more, and to change them every day, doing it just as he had shown me.

Holding a prescription for antibiotics, an anti-inflammatory, and a tetanus shot, I leave Dr. Jose’s office feeling peaceful and confident that all is well—at least for today. 

The entire consultation costs only 250 pesos—barely less than $20 U.S..

Believing the hard part of my journey to be behind me, I set off to the nearest pharmacy. I soon discover that there are pharmacies all over the place, and most of them are tiny shops, carrying only the minimal basics. After visiting two pharmacies I was only part way to my goal; I had found the anti-inflammatory and antibiotics, but was striking out on the tetanus shot and the special cream-treated gauze.

To make a long story short I searched (on foot) for hours looking for what I needed. Dr. José had insisted that the tetanus shot was critical. He told me to inject myself, but when I protested, he told me he would do it for me if I brought it back to his office.

None of the pharmacies stocked my treated gauze, and the last few told me that it is impossible to purchase the tetanus shots at any pharmacy. After visiting seven different pharmacies (all on foot) and even taking a taxi ride to the hospital, I had come up empty and discouraged.

Returning to my doctor’s office, I begged the receptionist (doctor’s wife) for help. Two hours later, with her help, I had my tetanus shot and a promise that a pharmacy just down the street would have my gauze in stock tomorrow.

By the time I finished my medical adventure, the clock showed late afternoon, and exhaustion was setting in. As I re-bandaged my foot for the first time on Monday night, I was shocked to see just how red and swollen my foot actually was. My ankle was considerably larger than it should have been, and the area of infected redness in the skin reached several inches above the burn area.

Money Panic

I began my intensive writing effort on Tuesday, but interruptions were many. Quality writing time was difficult to find when interspersed between changing bandages, purchasing additional supplies at pharmacies, dropping off and picking up laundry, and going out for lunch and again for dinner. Doctor José had strongly insisted that I need to rest and stay off my feet, but these errands could not go undone; being alone I simply had to be out walking about just to survive.

Wednesday proved to be equally distracting. While out for lunch, I noticed that my cash was dwindling and decided that it would be best if I stopped by an ATM to restock my wallet. I had just recently been to this same ATM on Sunday, but doctor bills, pharmacy expenses, and prepaying for my hostel room had mostly drained my cash reserves.

As I reached for my Debit Card, my heart nearly sank through the floor when I realized that the card was nowhere to be found in my wallet. I searched several times to make sure, turning every piece of paper, searching every possible hiding place. Sure enough, the card was gone.

My imagination began to run wild. “Was it stolen? Is someone in the process of emptying out my entire bank account?”

Peace was quickly restored with a quick check of my online banking records. Every penny of my money appeared to be exactly where it was supposed to be. I acted very quickly.

Sunday when I had used the ATM, I had been in the midst of emotional distractions, trying to make medical decisions about what to do and where to go.

“Surely, I was just scatterbrained and left my debit card in the ATM machine.” I reassured myself.

Realizing that ATM machines often pull unclaimed cards back inside, I rushed over to see if there was any way the local bank could retrieve unclaimed cards from their machine. The banker just looked at me as if I were from outer space.

“Sorry, you need to call your own bank.” He replied bluntly. “We cannot help you.”

Soon I was on the phone with the toll-free numbers for my bank. A sweet young man with an interesting name, “Gerty,” was quite helpful—at least he was until he told me in a very business-like manner:

“Your new card will be shipped to your home mailing address within two weeks.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” I told him firmly (but lovingly). “It needs to be rush shipped to Mexico. I will not be back in the U.S. for possibly six months or more. I need you to ship it to me right here, right where I am at in Valladolid.”

“We cannot do that,” he insisted very sternly, “surely you understand why we simply cannot ship your card to Mexico?”

“But I know you CAN do that.” I calmly insisted back. “My hostel owner tells me that your bank rush shipped cards to another person here just a few weeks ago. Please, I need you to do this for me.”

After putting me on a long hold, a woman named Kristen came onto the phone. “Of course we will rush ship your new card to Mexico. Can you give me the address?”

My short term money worries were also quickly solved when I was able to get a personal banker at my local branch in Salt Lake City to initiate a bank-to-bank money transfer to a local bank here in Valladolid. A sense of deep gratitude filled my heart, when less than five hours after the seeming-crisis began, my wallet was filled with sufficient cash and a new debit card was on its way.

Yes, for a few minutes at the beginning of this ordeal, I briefly immersed myself in the fear. But even though the process was tedious and time consuming, I quickly turned what appeared to be a near disaster into a valuable and loving learning experience. At the same time, I deepened my friendship with Tania and Ewout, the owners here at the hostel.

Eight days later, Tania from the hostel gleefully called out my name when I walked by, saying “Brenda, your new card is here.”

Routine Writing

In an interesting twist of fate, the Universe had blessed me with a series of incredible stories to tell, while at the same time providing me with abundant time with which to capture those stories in writing.

With my foot bandaged and orders to rest as much as possible, what else could I do? I quickly immersed myself as much as possible into my writing, churning out eight blog entries in eight days.

Deep inner passion pushed me forward, urging me to capture every detail of my adventures in Ek’Balam. Not only was the writing time consuming and intense, it also proved to be extremely therapeutic, allowing me to re-experience all of the emotions of the weekend. Through the medium of writing, I began to powerfully explore the intense fearful emotions that continued to beg for further release and exploration.

But those eight days were not entirely devoted to loving feelings. The blistered skin covering my burn had become quite clear and transparent by Wednesday, giving me ample opportunity to see glimpses of the discolored and uneven skin below. One solid white area, about one-half inch in diameter, continued to occupy my thoughts.

This is the area where the tick bit me, the same area that received the most intense concentrated heat. My imagination began to run wild with speculation. When touched through the blister, the white area felt thick and dead, having no sensory feelings whatsoever.

“Surely this and possibly other areas of discolored skin are areas of third degree tissue damage underneath the blister.” I began to fearfully speculate.

On Friday afternoon, the day after Thanksgiving, I went so far as to research third degree burns on the internet. Everything I read simply fueled my fearful thoughts. In a state of near panic I skyped my friend JayDee in Cozumel to ask for advice.

“She used to be a nurse in a burn trauma unit.” I reassured myself. “Surely she will know the answers I need.”

“Yes, Brenda, it is possible to have a third degree burn underneath a blister,” JayDee responded, “but I cannot tell much from the photos you sent me. I would need to be hands on before I could give you an opinion.”

JayDee’s answer did not lessen my fear. On the contrary, the confirmation of possibilities simply fueled my worry and speculation, making it even stronger.

Somehow, in the middle of wallowing in these fears, I managed to meditate and re-connect with a deep peaceful feeling that resonated within, telling me:

“Brenda, you cannot go anywhere until you finish your writing. That is your number one priority. Even if there is more severe damage it will not hurt to wait a couple of more days. Now, get back to your writing. Trust me. There is no need to worry. All will be well.”

These unspoken words resonated in my heart with an intensely peaceful and reassuring energy, giving me the confidence and courage to again push my ego-based fears aside. For the remainder of the weekend, I peacefully and lovingly continued my intense writing routine.

The fears continued to grapple for attention, with the next round manifesting in the form of mild Urinary Tract Infection symptoms. Rather than panic, I again focused my attention inward as I located an already-filled prescription for Cipro—one that I have been carrying with me for six months.

After calming my speculative fears about the possible significance of a secondary infection, I listened to my intuition which whispered:

“This is simply my body letting me know that I need to add Ciprofloxacin to my medication mix.”

Again, the writing continued, inspired and driven from deep within.

As I listened, silent voices continued to whisper to my soul. “Keep writing Brenda. All will be well … quit worrying … trust your instincts … trust your heart … release your fears into the nothingness from whence they come.”

Other than my twice-daily walks (four blocks each way) for lunch and dinner, I remained mostly in my hostel room, writing, writing, and then more writing. Sure there were interruptions to care for my foot, to have an occasional conversation with friends, and to rest—but writing remained my inner passion.

Doctor Revisited

By recovery day number 10, Nov 30, my fears about possible third-degree tissue damage were again demanding an offering of appeasement. To humor those fears, I opted to make another impromptu visit to Dr. José.

Even as I stepped into Dr. José’s office on that Monday morning, a strong sense of internal knowing told me I need to finish my writing before changing focus. In my heart I knew that even if Dr. José agrees with the possibility of more severe tissue damage, that I would not be pursuing alternate treatments until at least Wednesday.

After a quick look, Dr. José reassured me, telling me “Brenda, it is good for you to worry and to ask questions, but everything looks fine. The white area is just an area of deeper burns, but it will be OK. Trust me when I say that these are just second degree burns.”

Giving me another prescription for more antibiotics to prevent re-infection, Dr. José instructed me to continue using the crème-treated gauze bandages every day, and to come back to see him in another ten days.

Doubt continued to fester in the background, causing me to question just how much I trust Dr. José—but I knew one thing for sure. I definitely need to finish writing.

Inner Rebellion

Finally, as the evening of Tuesday, Dec 1, worked its way into the history books, I felt a surge of pride for having attained my goal. After spending the entire day posting photos, my writings about my amazing weekend in Ek’Balam were complete.

But I subconsciously knew there was more. I was not finished. It was now time to write about my roller coaster ride of recovery—to document my faith and my fears.

As Wednesday morning rolled around, the emotional rebellion began to sink its deep roots into my psyche.

“I don’t want to write today!” I pouted. “I have been writing every day for more than a week and I am tired of it. I will do it tomorrow.”

Seeing no harm in waiting another day, I spent a relaxed and lazy day resting, watching television, listening to my IPOD­­.

Thursday morning I was determined to resume writing—but again the same rebellious attitude overwhelmed me. I was beginning to feel tired and numb, even slightly depressed. Writing was the last thing I wanted to do. Each and every time I sat in front of my computer, my mind was blank, completely empty. The day evolved into an unsatisfying all-day encounter with reruns on television.

Throughout Friday and Saturday, the emotional numbness and lack of motivation continued to build. I began to wonder if I was afraid to finish my writing, knowing that when I was done I would need to face the unknown of “what now?”

My lazy attitude had strengthened into a full-blown case of rebellion mixed with lingering guilt and self-doubt.

Finding Release

As Sunday morning finally rolled around, I was determined to get to the bottom of my resistance. For more than an hour I stared at opening paragraphs that I had repeatedly written, deleted, and re-written over the previous four days.

“What is wrong with me? What is the lesson in all of this that I need to explore, to process, and to learn?”

It was then that the emotional floodgates opened—that the intense sobbing and jaw shaking found their way into my experience.

As I finish this writing on the day after that beautiful experience of emotional release and healing, I am once again at peace. While still waiting for additional internal guidance, I am fully aware that my writing is now nearly complete.

I won’t lie. I still face the cycling fears on an almost daily basis. These persistent little fears seem to come in all shapes and sizes. But each time that I spiritually center myself, the fears melt away into trust and confidence.

My foot seems to heal very slowly. Daily improvements are hardly noticeable—yet there are definitely slight improvements.

Fueling my fears is the fact that my Urinary Tract Infection symptoms have again returned in a mild form. Continued use of Ciprofloxacin seems to keep the symptoms mostly in check—but they do not completely go away.

Then, yesterday morning, as I removed my bandages, a tiny corner of dried forming scab was stuck to both the gauze and my thin skin. Before I realized what was happening, I partially tore a small half-inch strip of the flimsy blister skin, getting a brief glimpse of what was below before quickly and carefully returning the skin to its preferred location.

What I witnessed on day number 16 of my recovery was a combination of some fresh newly developed pink skin—along with some narrow strips of white, raw skin that are definitely much further away from full healing.

The swelling and redness around my ankle have been gone for more than a week, and I have never been in much pain—just an occasional aching feeling which actually reassures me. I am also encouraged by the fact that except for the thick-skinned white area, I do feel the sensitivity of the nerves when I lightly prod the skin in other areas.

My faith and intuition continue to tell me that everything happens for a reason and that all is well—but they both tell me as well that my healing journey—both physical and emotional—is not yet over.

I will be seeing Dr. José again in a few days, perhaps sooner—but something tells me that I will also be seeking out a doctor who speaks English—someone with whom I can carry on a full meaningful conversation.

One thing is for certain. I will allow all of my feelings to surface in a genuine manner. I realize on a very deep level that my emotional and spiritual health is the key to my physical healing.

Messages From Above

As I left for lunch a few hours ago, I felt happy and content with today’s writing—but an amazing synchronicity just manifested itself out of nowhere, and I simply have to write about it.

Three or four days ago I decided to experiment with riding my bicycle to lunch. As soon as I straddled the seat and began pedaling, I felt a strong sense of confirmation that I had made the correct decision. Riding proved to be much quicker and less stressful on my foot. Feeling safe and secure, I began to ride to and from every meal.

Today, as I began my short four-block ride, I was shocked when my bicycle chain almost immediately broke and fell off onto the ground. As I realized what had just happened I burst out laughing—the whole situation seemed so unlikely, so funny.

“Surely the Universe is trying to get my attention here?” I giggled to myself as I picked up the broken chain and wheeled my bicycle back to the light pole where I lock it up in front of the hostel.

As I walked to lunch, I began to ponder the silly occurrence. “Perhaps the message is that I am not supposed to travel anywhere just yet—that I am supposed to stay in Valladolid rather than seeking outside medical consultations?”

I was not ready to jump to any conclusions—but I knew one thing for sure. The whole experience felt peaceful and familiar. Silent voices in my heart told me to be extra alert for any unusual messages that might come my way.

As I gobbled down the final few bites of my lunch, I was caught off guard when a younger Asian woman, perhaps around thirty years old, paused briefly by my table and commented in English, “That food looks good.”

Without even thinking, I simply smiled and automatically replied, “Yes, it is.”

Something about this woman called out for me to pay attention. I observed her very closely. She walked over to the same small fast-food Mexican diner where I order my lunches, and then returned with a menu, sitting at a table just a few feet away from me.

As I watched her study the menu, a very strong intuitive feeling silently whispered to me, “Hello … hey you … Brenda … pay attention … you know you need to go talk to this woman.”

As I silently observed, a distinct awareness also popped into my head. “If I had ridden my bicycle today, I would have been here ten minutes earlier, I would have already finished my meal by now, and I would have already left to return to the hostel. Surely this situation would not have presented itself if my bicycle chain had not broken to get my attention.”

My internal synchronicity meter was beeping wildly. “Talk to her … TALK to her … TALK TO HER.”

Seconds later, as I began to return my food tray to the diner, I casually passed by her table and asked, “Having trouble deciding?”

“No, I already know what I want.” She quickly replied. “I’m just ….”

I didn’t quite catch the rest of her muffled sentence.

Almost immediately she noticed my bandaged foot and asked, “Oh, what happened?”

As I quickly summarized my story, she seemed intently interested in what had happened to me. As we talked she repeatedly asked questions, exploring in great detail just how my healing is progressing.

Then, out of the blue she rolls up the sweat pants above her right knee and proceeds to tell me the story of her severe flesh wounds that were the result of a horse accident. The scars on her skin just below her knee looked bigger than my burn. She described the nature of the raw open flesh and what she had done to nurse it through the self-healing process.

“It is critical to keep the wound clean, sterilized, and dry,” she emphasized, repeating this message over and over to me in several different ways.

I told her how my friend JayDee had also told me to let the wound dry out a little each day, and that I have already been doing that for a few hours when I change my bandages.

“No,” she replied, “you don’t understand. You need to let it dry more than that. The humidity here is a main contributor to the problem. Bacteria grow extremely fast in these hot humid conditions, and under a hot moist bandage the harmful bacteria multiply and grow even faster.”

Suddenly a sense of deep understanding clicked into place in my resistant mind. My thoughts flashed to many experiences in Cozumel where my limes, oranges, bananas, and potatoes had decayed and rotted so unbelievably rapidly. Back in Utah, I could keep slightly-green bananas out on a counter, and they would still be edible even a week later. In Cozumel, if I kept bananas for more than two days, they would turn to brown mush.

The conversation rang with a feeling of truth and intuitive logic. The analytical side of my brain could really wrap its arms around the idea, and my spiritual side was vibrating with peace.

I never learned this woman’s name. I have no idea where she is from, or where she was going. I only know that I was holding back tears of peace and joy as I walked down the street headed back toward my hostel. Something deep inside peacefully confirmed that I had just had a personal medical consultation with God, and that everything is going to be OK.

Call it coincidence if you like, but there is no doubt in my mind. In her own special way, this beautiful woman served as a powerful messenger for the divine.

Sometimes, God communicates in such creative ways. All I have to do is be willing to pay attention.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved