Here's something you might be interested in.
Wow. I entered the crisp, cool air of my kitchen with a feeling of awe. I had just come from the most amazing experience of my life. Even though I've lived in the Del Dios area since 1995, I've never thought to explore the Harmony Grove Spiritualist Assosication. And until I did, I had never really come home.
I first heard about HGSA a few years ago, while working as a patient care volunteer for the Elizabeth Hospice. I drove along Harmoney Grove Road, hoping I wouldn't lose my way, among the many winding turns and long stretches of golden fields flocked with heards of cows. The roads are long and lonely in that part of Escondido, but when driving on them, I felt totally free. I imagine the fresh air and vast openness is what Wendell Berry strives to recreate when he's writing one of his books.
I crossed the concrete bridge, and read the warning sign about lights that flash when there is a flood. As I crept further into isolation, beyond the boundaries of civilization and among a stand of trees, I felt a sense of peace come over me. I drove passed the wooden sign overhead that indicated I was entering the "Harmony Grove Spiritualist Association" property.
I loved the house that "Maggie" lived in. It was up high, built over a garage, and I climbed several stairs to get to the front door. Inside, the house was full of knick knacks, the evidence of many travels over a number of years. A full-size bed dominated the living room and outside the kitchen window, humming birds flitted in the garden.
The house was old and well-worn--the kind of house with the residue of love and grief clinging to the walls. I regarded the house with the same affection I feel for aging dogs. They too have served their owners well.
On this day a few years ago, my patient was Maggie's mother. I was to keep her company while Maggie visited the doctor. The elderly lady was propped up in bed, positioned to watch "The Price is Right" on T.V., even though I could tell her eyes could no longer see and the fragility of her spirit had already half worked its way out of her body.
The one-bedroom home was small and a little cramped with dark wood paneling on every wall. I sat by the withered woman's side, flipping the remote and occasionally looking through a travel book until the hospice worker came and asked me to help her lift the lady so she could get a bath.
I remember that day well because that was a mother who was well-loved. Her daughter had kissed her with the most tender of kisses. I could only hope that when my time came, I would be treated so well. And looking back, I know that a seed was planted in my heart by an unsuspecting gardener that day. I get goose pimples just thinking about what lay ahead.
On July 9 of this year, I went back to the Harmony Grove Spiritualist Association because my heart was in serious need of healing. I didn't care who tried to heal it--a monk, a rabbi, a psychic. I was aching inside and anxiety was causing my heart to pound. I had been checked out by Palomar Medical Center a few months earlier and doctors determined I didn't have heart disease and was not the victim of a heart attack. If anything, I was the victim of a broken heart brought on by too many deaths in too few years--a span of four to be exact--and by children who don't love me. When my time comes, I don't expect they'll ply my face with tender kisses or be by my side at all.
For several years, I had been reaching for something I could not see. I had lost my spiritual home in 2008 when the Mormons decided to back Prop. 8. In my mind, it was blasphomy. I couldn't connect with anybody--not the ex who died of a heart attack in 2007. He was always good for a few laughs. Not even with the grandmother who died a few months after my ex passed away. She was the one person in the world who loved me unconditionally, no matter what bad things I did, and I'll confess right now, as a young person I did many bad things.
Uncle George. Aunt Hazel. Randy. Charles. Mr. Burton. Gene. Michael. Tony. Dee. Danny. They are all gone now and probably many more people I haven't kept in touch with over the years. As my mother has often said, "You can't go back." At fifty two, I now know exactly what she means by that.
So I went out to the HGSA seeking and willing to accept whatever kindness I could find. For people who insist that there is no God, I'd like for them to explain what happened next:
I arrived and drove in a circular path unable to find the information center. But I did see some women on a hill, getting out of their cars and entering a chapel. I decided to ask them for directions. I drove up the hill and right into the loving arms of Christ. The spirit was waiting there, and so was Jane, an angel he sent to guide me.
Jane was no longer beautiful in the physical sense, but her smile was wide and her eyes were merry. She possessed the kind of beauty that comes from the inside; the kind that time cannot destroy.
Before I could speak any words, she opened her arms wide. I got out of the car and without much preamble, entered the chapel just as services were about to begin. I was dressed in shorts and flip flops, clothes I didn't usually wear to church. But many other attendees were dressed the same way; and it didn't matter because I was there to receive a message and not to put on a fashion show.
At first, spiritual songs by Anne Murray filled the room. People clapped and sung and swayed. Her voice gave me the sense that bells were ringing, but it was a song by Josh Groban, "You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)," that particularly struck me. I had been waiting to hear it for as long as I'd been suffering.
Don't give up. It's just the hurt that you hide. When you're lost inside. I, I'll be there to find you.
I had been lost for a very long time. Why had it taken me so long to come home when the church was only a few blocks away?
Reverend Coy was an articulate, middle-aged woman who talked about hard times and the significance of 9-11. She inspired me to prepare for a new world order, that will come once the worst of times have passed. But the readings at the end of the meeting were particularly mind boggling. The first medium shifted from one foot to the other as she asked a woman in a black sweater if she could come to her.
"Yes," the woman replied.
The medium then described someone's presence who sounded like a grandmother.
Reverend Coy spoke after that message was received. A different kind of energy came into the room, as strong and loud as lightening and thunder. The reverend's fingers began to flutter, not in a dramatized way. This was not a carnival show; the presence in the room was all encompassing and enthralling me.
She addressed me as "the lady in the sunglasses" and asked if she could come to me. I said "yes" with tears already smeared on my face. I had known I'd be her chosen one that day.
Her guide, "Bar" or "Bear" had been pushing her almost off the chair. The message was immediate and urgent and the reverend's words were fast and intense. She spoke of three entities that were speaking loudly to me. I saw three dark figures before my eyes. I don't know if they were the ones that the reverend was referring to, but I do know one thing--my dad, my grandma and my grandpa were there in the chapel with me.
The buildup of energy was fierce. Tears were streaming from my eyes as I was gripped by the presence of someone more powerful than me. "You have the capacity to light a stadium," the reverend said.
Others in the room gasped. I felt relief. Just the night before, I had decided to give up on my writing. Writing reaches many people as do lights in a stadium. Every spiritual piece I've ever submitted has been published in a national magazine. Already, I have come close to lighting a stadium. Keep going, keep pushing, be a part of the new world order, the guide was telling me.
Until today, I didn't believe in mediums, crystals or psychic fairs. I considered them to be toys to pacify the weak. But anyone can change your life if you are willing to receive what they have to say. I saw evidence of God in the card I was asked to pick from among many spread out on a table. Mine was pretty in green and gold with silver detailing. I didn't know who Archangel Raphael was; or even what an archangel was altogether, but from looking at his picture I could see that he was a strong warrior with a staff and silver wings. And there are ghostly wings even bigger than he wrapped around him. I know now, that someone is protecting me in my battle against the world.
Thanks to Reverend Coy for finding me.
http://youtu.be/izJyz64Tvdc
Wow. I entered the crisp, cool air of my kitchen with a feeling of awe. I had just come from the most amazing experience of my life. Even though I've lived in the Del Dios area since 1995, I've never thought to explore the Harmony Grove Spiritualist Assosication. And until I did, I had never really come home.
I first heard about HGSA a few years ago, while working as a patient care volunteer for the Elizabeth Hospice. I drove along Harmoney Grove Road, hoping I wouldn't lose my way, among the many winding turns and long stretches of golden fields flocked with heards of cows. The roads are long and lonely in that part of Escondido, but when driving on them, I felt totally free. I imagine the fresh air and vast openness is what Wendell Berry strives to recreate when he's writing one of his books.
I crossed the concrete bridge, and read the warning sign about lights that flash when there is a flood. As I crept further into isolation, beyond the boundaries of civilization and among a stand of trees, I felt a sense of peace come over me. I drove passed the wooden sign overhead that indicated I was entering the "Harmony Grove Spiritualist Association" property.
I loved the house that "Maggie" lived in. It was up high, built over a garage, and I climbed several stairs to get to the front door. Inside, the house was full of knick knacks, the evidence of many travels over a number of years. A full-size bed dominated the living room and outside the kitchen window, humming birds flitted in the garden.
The house was old and well-worn--the kind of house with the residue of love and grief clinging to the walls. I regarded the house with the same affection I feel for aging dogs. They too have served their owners well.
On this day a few years ago, my patient was Maggie's mother. I was to keep her company while Maggie visited the doctor. The elderly lady was propped up in bed, positioned to watch "The Price is Right" on T.V., even though I could tell her eyes could no longer see and the fragility of her spirit had already half worked its way out of her body.
The one-bedroom home was small and a little cramped with dark wood paneling on every wall. I sat by the withered woman's side, flipping the remote and occasionally looking through a travel book until the hospice worker came and asked me to help her lift the lady so she could get a bath.
I remember that day well because that was a mother who was well-loved. Her daughter had kissed her with the most tender of kisses. I could only hope that when my time came, I would be treated so well. And looking back, I know that a seed was planted in my heart by an unsuspecting gardener that day. I get goose pimples just thinking about what lay ahead.
On July 9 of this year, I went back to the Harmony Grove Spiritualist Association because my heart was in serious need of healing. I didn't care who tried to heal it--a monk, a rabbi, a psychic. I was aching inside and anxiety was causing my heart to pound. I had been checked out by Palomar Medical Center a few months earlier and doctors determined I didn't have heart disease and was not the victim of a heart attack. If anything, I was the victim of a broken heart brought on by too many deaths in too few years--a span of four to be exact--and by children who don't love me. When my time comes, I don't expect they'll ply my face with tender kisses or be by my side at all.
For several years, I had been reaching for something I could not see. I had lost my spiritual home in 2008 when the Mormons decided to back Prop. 8. In my mind, it was blasphomy. I couldn't connect with anybody--not the ex who died of a heart attack in 2007. He was always good for a few laughs. Not even with the grandmother who died a few months after my ex passed away. She was the one person in the world who loved me unconditionally, no matter what bad things I did, and I'll confess right now, as a young person I did many bad things.
Uncle George. Aunt Hazel. Randy. Charles. Mr. Burton. Gene. Michael. Tony. Dee. Danny. They are all gone now and probably many more people I haven't kept in touch with over the years. As my mother has often said, "You can't go back." At fifty two, I now know exactly what she means by that.
So I went out to the HGSA seeking and willing to accept whatever kindness I could find. For people who insist that there is no God, I'd like for them to explain what happened next:
I arrived and drove in a circular path unable to find the information center. But I did see some women on a hill, getting out of their cars and entering a chapel. I decided to ask them for directions. I drove up the hill and right into the loving arms of Christ. The spirit was waiting there, and so was Jane, an angel he sent to guide me.
Jane was no longer beautiful in the physical sense, but her smile was wide and her eyes were merry. She possessed the kind of beauty that comes from the inside; the kind that time cannot destroy.
Before I could speak any words, she opened her arms wide. I got out of the car and without much preamble, entered the chapel just as services were about to begin. I was dressed in shorts and flip flops, clothes I didn't usually wear to church. But many other attendees were dressed the same way; and it didn't matter because I was there to receive a message and not to put on a fashion show.
At first, spiritual songs by Anne Murray filled the room. People clapped and sung and swayed. Her voice gave me the sense that bells were ringing, but it was a song by Josh Groban, "You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)," that particularly struck me. I had been waiting to hear it for as long as I'd been suffering.
Don't give up. It's just the hurt that you hide. When you're lost inside. I, I'll be there to find you.
I had been lost for a very long time. Why had it taken me so long to come home when the church was only a few blocks away?
Reverend Coy was an articulate, middle-aged woman who talked about hard times and the significance of 9-11. She inspired me to prepare for a new world order, that will come once the worst of times have passed. But the readings at the end of the meeting were particularly mind boggling. The first medium shifted from one foot to the other as she asked a woman in a black sweater if she could come to her.
"Yes," the woman replied.
The medium then described someone's presence who sounded like a grandmother.
Reverend Coy spoke after that message was received. A different kind of energy came into the room, as strong and loud as lightening and thunder. The reverend's fingers began to flutter, not in a dramatized way. This was not a carnival show; the presence in the room was all encompassing and enthralling me.
She addressed me as "the lady in the sunglasses" and asked if she could come to me. I said "yes" with tears already smeared on my face. I had known I'd be her chosen one that day.
Her guide, "Bar" or "Bear" had been pushing her almost off the chair. The message was immediate and urgent and the reverend's words were fast and intense. She spoke of three entities that were speaking loudly to me. I saw three dark figures before my eyes. I don't know if they were the ones that the reverend was referring to, but I do know one thing--my dad, my grandma and my grandpa were there in the chapel with me.
The buildup of energy was fierce. Tears were streaming from my eyes as I was gripped by the presence of someone more powerful than me. "You have the capacity to light a stadium," the reverend said.
Others in the room gasped. I felt relief. Just the night before, I had decided to give up on my writing. Writing reaches many people as do lights in a stadium. Every spiritual piece I've ever submitted has been published in a national magazine. Already, I have come close to lighting a stadium. Keep going, keep pushing, be a part of the new world order, the guide was telling me.
Until today, I didn't believe in mediums, crystals or psychic fairs. I considered them to be toys to pacify the weak. But anyone can change your life if you are willing to receive what they have to say. I saw evidence of God in the card I was asked to pick from among many spread out on a table. Mine was pretty in green and gold with silver detailing. I didn't know who Archangel Raphael was; or even what an archangel was altogether, but from looking at his picture I could see that he was a strong warrior with a staff and silver wings. And there are ghostly wings even bigger than he wrapped around him. I know now, that someone is protecting me in my battle against the world.
Thanks to Reverend Coy for finding me.
http://youtu.be/izJyz64Tvdc