The First Call
In 1982, I was a dairy farm wife and young mother with two very young children. Reagan was in the White House, and the economy was tanking big time, especially for those of us at the bottom of “trickle down economics.” It seemed that every dollar that came in was preassigned to somebody other than ourselves, the hours were crushingly long: 24-7-365 was the work schedule. I was exhausted, frantic with worry about making ends meet and being a good parent to our two boys. There simply was not enough of me to get all the way around, no matter how hard I tried or how many hours I worked. It was not a sustainable lifestyle, and one night I simply had had enough.
I was not raised in a religious family. My relationship with God had always been pretty childlike: if I am a good person, work hard and do my best, I should reap the appropriate (and generous and good!) rewards. It wasn’t working out that way, and after everyone was in bed, I had a little talk with God. I was not happy. I was not playing nice any more. I was terribly angry, there were tears pouring out of my eyes. To say I was furious does not truly give you a full picture of how I felt just then. I felt betrayed. Abandoned. Forgotten.
How DARE you? I demanded. How COULD you? This is so UNFAIR!! Am I not a good person? Do I not do everything set in front of me as best I can? Why should I have to work this hard for nothing in return? If you are such a loving, good and generous God, FIX THIS RIGHT NOW!!!!
As I wound down on my diatribe, something happened. The world retreated, all light and sound and sensation melted away, to be replaced by warmth, softness, safety, and a sense of rightness. And love. Unconditional, endless, all-encompassing love. I was safe, I was warm, and I was loved. I never wanted to leave! Then, out of this velvet darkness, from nowhere and everywhere at the same time came four words: Yet A Little While
That’s it, no more. Those four words. Yet I was overcome with a sense of peace, strength and the knowledge that I would get through, that I would be okay, that things somehow would work out, and life would go on. Somehow. “How” no longer mattered.
So my quest began, to find out what this was that I had experienced, God or illusion. I was pretty sure it was not illusion. I read the Bible my mother-in-law had given my husband while he was in high school, to see if it had the answers. I found a lot that resonated with what I had experienced, and a whole lot more that did not. Ah, I thought, Porgy and Bess “the things that you’re liable to read in the Bible, they ain’t necessarily so” I figured it was a matter of interpretations from ancient language, and who was writing the checks for it. I did not find out about Emperor Constantine and his manhandling of scripture until many years later. I did not let it bother me. I took what I intuitively knew was truth, and left the rest to rot. If that sounds pretty arrogant to you, to say I simply knew what was truth and not truth in the Christian Holy Book, then please consider this: when you have been “held in the arms of God,” (for this is the closest description using words that I can come up with) you know what comes from Love, and what comes from Not Love. You Just Do. That does not mean you automatically have all the answers, oh, no! But you can spot phony from miles away. The Bible calls them “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Same diff.
Let those who can hear, listen. If in some small way my words can lift those up to be One with the All That Is, I will not have written them in vain.