Butterfly Kisses (15)

A couple of weeks ago, as I was jogging, a yellow butterfly came and kissed me on the cheek. Yes, I was moving at a decent speed, so naturally,  anybody would think the butterfly flew into me. However,  that wasn't the feeling I had in my heart. I took it as a sign. I saw through the eyes of my heart that God likes to remind us that He is near and anything is possible.

Sometimes the signs are all around us and they're not that hard to see, you just have to have a little faith. October is the month of Mary; I've been saying my rossary in honor of the Blessed Mother. I stroll out back amongst the trees, flowers and mountains in the distance, and I sometimes come across a yellow butterfly flying beside me and I know she's with me.

Flashback about a month ago, the day of my job interview and before the interview was even set, I prayed to God to guide me that whatever is meant to be His will then let it be. Just then a beautiful black monarch butterfly was flying beside me as I walked. Afterwards, I found out about the job interview. I took that as a sign that whatever happens will be for the best because it's from God. Again,  as I strolled out back along the circle trail,  I prayed to the Blessed Mother and simply said you know what I need the most. I eventually go inside at the right time and received a call for a job offer. I know it's silly to think, but I thought back about that black monarch butterfly and knew that it was meant to be a ll along.

Searching for Liz (14)

God lets me know that He is with me in the small things. He tries to restore in us a sense of hope. A few weeks ago, I was stretching after a run when I had gotten a random number calling me. It's not out of the ordinary to have an annoying telemarketer calling or just someone whom mistakenly dialed the wrong number. It happens to all of us. Normally,  I ignore those calls and say to myself,  if it's important they will leave a message.
However,  this particular sunny day, the tiny voice within me told me to answer. So, I did.
"Hello," I said.
"Liz? " her tone was filled with an emotional exhaustion,  as if searching for this woman named Liz was her only hope, her last chance of hope.
Obviously I told her I was not Liz and she had the wrong number.
"Oh forget it.." she responded, and I could hear her heart plummet and she was clearly tired and hung up the phone before I could say another word. As I walked around the little trail, I pondered on how many families are out there desperately searching for one another. Disagreements arise while jealousy ensues and that's when grudges are given a new life. We forget who we are as we let the fire consume us from within. We forget why we're angry, why we're upset in the first place that we mistaken a grudge as a crutch to lean on for support. A grudge becomes a wall around one's heart and that wall needs to crumble. How many family members out there are searching for one another? Too many to wrap my head around. Maybe her grudge of a wall was beginning to slowly crumble and she was reaching out to apologize? Or maybe she was calling to forgive? Whatever the case,  maybe there are some of us trying to bridge the gap between loved ones and wanting to start anew. Let the past belong in the past and live in the moment. Listen to that little voice within your heart and seek forgiveness and find a new hope. We shouldn't allow our past dictate our lives. Yes, learn from your past, but don't allow it to rule you otherwise you'll be leaning on that crutch called a grudge. I've heard family members of my own to stop talking because they either can't handle the truth or become too prideful to seek forgiveness.  Let it go. It's not worth the heartache. I'm not sure if this older woman had found Liz, but I hope she finds peace in seeking her because that's halfway toward forgiveness and hope.  It begins with having the faith to get there. Once we could find the tiny flame of faith within us than that is half the battle and there, we find Him. I hope we all find our Liz because God created family to be together, love and respect and laugh with one another. On the days that it is most difficult to love, respect and find joy in one another are the days we need each other the most.

The dream (13)

Last night I had the most vivid, yet surreal dream. The room was empty with white walls as the sun revealed it was mid afternoon. I looked up at the ceiling and saw that there was an oddly shaped hole in the ceiling.  Think of Picasso and his surreal shapes of melting clocks. I climbed up through the hole and suddenly found myself amongst a vast ocean and above me were thick, ominous gray clouds. The impending storm. Not even a hint of sunlight. Despite the sudden fear and anxiety I felt and the never-ending vastness of the ocean, the waters were utterly still and calm and not a ripple to disturb its peace. The impending chaos in which we have no control over, no say and no way to stop its haste was ready to tear through calm waters, which is the soul. I glanced all around me, the vast ocean which seemed to swallow me while my heart raced...where does it end? I feared this intimidation. Yet, I hung on. I did not drown. The ocean is my soul and its peace and steadiness comes from the hand of God.  We all go through storms in life, whether personal or political. Either way, we should remain like the ocean, vast and never-ending like God's
love and mercy and calm as the peace He alone could embrace us with.

New place, new surroundings. (12)

Even though I am a day late, it is never too late to wish our mother Mary a happy Birthday. I know that she is guiding me as I settle into my new life in upstate New York. It's been a little over three weeks living up here and so far, I'm loving it. I'm still adjusting, especially dealing with allergies.  Apparently Golden Rod spreads like wildfire up here. Since we're staying temporarily at his brother's house, I'm treating it like it's my own. In the mornings, I walk and sometimes jog out back where a path is mowed. It's my own little sanctuary and I find peace. Last week as I was strolling along and listening to my music, I knew in my heart this is where God wanted me to be. That very moment. The wild purple and yellow flowers I admire (favorite colors), the monarch butterflies that cross my path and the hawks. As long as I don't come across a coyote, I'm good. Despite the changes I am still adjusting to, I know I am meant to be here at this time.

I get along so well with Tyler's brother's girlfriend.  She was hoping the same too before I moved up. Both of our prayers were answered. She took me hiking one day, while the guys were doing what they do best, fixing something. She saved me from boredom. While hiking, I saw Lake Ontario and touched the water. It was unusually warm. It was like gazing out at the ocean. On the way back, we talked about cemeteries and how she finds peace there. I agreed with her. We talked about haunted houses and how some ghosts continue to linger around. I told her I believe in ghosts and I have seen, but she's unaware that I have truly seen more. More than just an indecisive spirit. Even though I have spoken about my experiences publicly in my blog, I still keep it low-key to those I just meet. "Yeah, I've seen ghosts and angels and demons too...you know, the norm."  Nope. This is why my circle is tight knit. However, if you ever feel inspired to show others my blog, please don't hesitate.

On another note, maybe I should start a cooking blog. Thoughts? Mind you, I was never a cook, but then again, I never truly practiced either. Now I have two hungry, hard working men to feed. I guess this is good practice if I ever have boys one day, especially when they become teens. I realize that when you're forced to do something,  you're going to do it right the first time. The other night, I made some fajitas for the first time. Well, I had a fajita spice pack, but I still added a few extra herbs onto the bell peppers and venison. Yes, venison. Since they're hunters, the freezer is packed with venison. Last night, I made sloppy joes from scratch with venison of course. It was simple to make, but I was still proud of how delicious it turned out. Before I cook, I always say this prayer,  "Lord, I don't know what the heck I'm doing, so I need you to help me."  Or "I'm not sure what to make, so please inspire me."
So, I'm confident enough to say, the Lord is with me in the kitchen and I've actually found a therapeutic joy in it.

Good Friday (11)

In the few days proceeding to Easter (of this year), I had spent a few days helping my grandmother prepare and set up for Easter. We baked, we baked and then we just baked some more. We were ready to go somewhere on Wednesday when we received an unexpected call from her neighbor and friend, even someone I've grown close to in the past couple of years. She was in the hospital. She asked us to pick up a few items from her home. Mostly holy cards of Saints, because she wanted to pass them out to the nurses. She told us if that is the only way she could evangelize, then let it be. I thought that was so beautiful. To me, I saw her as being courageous in her moment of weakness and in her moment of humility, she saw an opportunity to give hope to others. At least to try.

While visiting her in the hospital, she told me that she bought me a whole set of fancy plates, mugs, saucers, etc. because it had my name on the back of it. She thought of me and couldn't pass it up. I thanked her and thought of how kind and generous she was. I also thought about the summer where I helped her set up her garden out on the deck. I maneuvered heavy cement blocks and placed the Sacred Heart of Jesus on top and another set of blocks where the Blessed Mother and angels stood. I used a screwdriver to drill in the trellis as a backdrop, (so my handyman boyfriend should be proud I know how to use a screwdriver), and set up the plants to her liking.

I felt that was her way of thanking me. The thing is, she told me, the plates are in the cabinet above the fridge. With boxes in tow, my grandmother and I gingerly took down the plates. She discussed that I could use them on special occasions for a large crowd and marveled at the bowls and how perfect they would be for ice cream and even soup. So, naturally, I imagined these scenarios. My own home and family to share these plates that would create newer memories, as I would tell them about my friend, Roberta.

Good Friday came, and it drizzled in the morning and as the day went on it began to clear. We were driving in the car on our way to Mass as I was pondering on the beauty around me and what heaven is like. Does heaven have woods to walk through? Are there rivers and streams? As I wondered, I suddenly began to smell a strong scent of incense. I asked if either one of my grandparents smelled it, but they couldn't. For me, the scent was powerful, yet it brought an overwhelming  sense of peace, I couldn't help but cry. These weren't tears of sadness. These were tears of joy and in that moment I felt a sense of renewal. My grandmother told me Jesus is with me. And I thought, wow, He chose me. He chose to spend time with me in the car driving as I was going to see Him. For twenty minutes he graced me with his sweet presence, but I know He is always with me. Always with us.

Not All Who Wander are Lost - Part 2 (10)

When I was ten years old I had gone on a religious retreat with my grandparents and great-grandmother (Babcia, which means grandma in Polish) to Quebec and Montreal. Not only did I discover that Canada is impeccably spotless, including their highways, but it was definitely strange to be wearing a sweater in the middle of August.
We visited many different churches and cathedrals, including a tiny chapel in a park. It was my first time being in a foreign country and hearing Mass in a different language, other than English. And it was the first time I had seen black squirrels.
Waddling down the road in the charter bus, I was looking forward to stopping somewhere so I could finally stand and stretch out. We were covered by many pine trees, which made the afternoon seem evening. The bus driver pulled into a parking lot and we all piled out one by one. Glancing around me I experienced a feeling of deja vu. I knew I have been here, but when? And why?
A moment later, it finally occurred to me. I recognized the small wooden cabin and the sign right outside the place. The vast field behind the parking lot and the same bright blue sky hovered above.

"I had a dream I was here," but I don't remember how soon I had said it to my family.

Inside, there were the wooden tables and benches along the walls of the place and the man behind the bar in the center was helping out the customers. I know it was a funny thought to have, but I half expected him to recognize me. The place was called Milk and Honey. My grandparents and I sat in the same bench in the back as I did in my dream. I ate some bread, but without the honey. I know at this point, I quietly told them I had a dream I was here. Everything looked exactly the same. They believed me of course. Back outside, I even spotted the small animal section with chickens and I think a goat or two. I noticed the road in which I had run down from, feeling lost and insecure.

But maybe I wasn't lost. Maybe that path was carved out for me on purpose. Sometimes we find ourselves wandering down a road or path in life and we believe we are lost and can never be found. But in actuality, He had lead us down that path for a reason. I wondered why I had dreamt of a milk and honey place and not of one of the cathedrals. I suppose it's because milk and honey symbolizes heaven. In the land of milk and honey. He will provide.

Not All Who Wander are Lost (9)

I was running down a very steep road along the side of a mountain, surrounded by many tall trees, which made the daylight appear dark.
I was lost and thought I would never find my home again.
Reaching the bottom of the hilly road had brought me to another very long and quiet road and the only direction I could go was either left or right. I furiously ran up and down the street, desperately trying to find someone I knew, like my mom or dad. I ached for a familiar face, but found none.
I did spot a quaint wooden cabin across the road with a large parking area next to it. It wasn't a home, it was clearly a restaurant or store. There was a sign out front, but the pine trees did their job of making everything appear snugged and sleepy.

I pushed the door open and found that it was a small dimly-lit restaurant and everything was made out of wood. The bar up front and the tables with benches along the left side of the place were all wood; the floors, walls and ceiling. There was a man with brown hair behind the counter and a couple of people quietly sat either at the bar or at the tables. The place was quiet and slow. Anybody could easily fall asleep and not be stirred for hours. I jumped and sat on the bar stool  and stupidly asked the man how to get home. He just stared at me like I grew a second head, but more so like he couldn't understand my language. I believe he gave me some bread with honey and milk. I don't remember eating it. I was so high strung and anxious, I kept zipping from one table and bench to the next and around the corner where the restaurant was dark and placed my head on a table in exhaustion and despair. I will never find home, I will never see my parents again. The gentleman watched me sadly exit the place and outside I wandered around aimlessly. The large parking lot was mainly empty, if I could recall, but around the back of the restaurant was a chicken coop with a couple of other animals like a goat. And then there was a vast green field, as big as the clear blue sky if flipped. I still had no clue where I was, but I know it was peaceful. 
Suddenly, I awake from this dream and twenty-three years later I remember it like it actually happened.

To be continued...