Fifteen years ago, an angel saved my life. A year later, I was standing on the pier watching the waves crash around me, when the same voice said, "You can do this too."
"What?" I asked quickly, afraid the voice would go and I'd never know what he meant.
"Move mountains", came the reply.
And there the conversation ended. As the minutes passed, I began to wonder if I'd imagined it. I asked for proof that it had really happened, I asked to see a perfect minature rainbow right in front of me.
I waited and waited. Eventually, I gave up. Just as I was about to turn away, a huge wave crashed against the pier, creating a perfect minature rainbow. Right in front of me.
I was deeply touched by this. I felt I had a purpose. My life meant something. I didn't know what, but it meant something. Over the past few months, I've been thinking about that event and wondering what it meant. I've not moved any mountain. I had thought I would achieve some great social good when I got that message. Not the case. Although I'm not dead yet either!
I was texting my sister in law about James' burns yesterday, when I realised I had lived it... The mountains were internal not external. When I had felt completely alone and helpless, doing what I could for James, I had prayed. I had believed that I was not alone. I was held in the arms of the universe.
I got many tiny affirmations that this was so: the peace that descended when I brought myself into second attention; the wonderful nurse who could not have done more for us, in an NHS system where inadequate care is a constant headline; the bandage from ambulance crew, for the next time(!).
Everywhere there are clues showing us that the world is as we think it is. Even when something terrible happened, my son being hurt, and I was beside myself with guilt and fear, I had faith, even if just the 'size of a mustard seed', and that mustard seed moved mountains!
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