Over the past several years, guided by my Angels, I have had visions many having to do with events in my childhood. All of these affected me deeply in one way or another. . .
One such occurrence was when I was about five years old. It is consistent with something I remember from that time. . .I remember being really small. . . standing all alone in our rather large unkempt yard thinking “I don’t belong here. I must be adopted.” And, it really went beyond that . . . it was more like. . . I don’t belong here as in “ I don’t belong on this ‘planet. . . ’
And, that was the day I was taken to meet Mary Magdalen. The Angels showed me standing with her. . same dress. . . plain top, plaid skirt. . . She was dressed all in white with a cap close to her head shaking my hand and telling me that I was going to go through some very difficult things. . . but that She and the Angels would always be with me.
As with any five year old, I was mesmerized. . I just stared. . . transfixed at the beautiful lady . . . And then, when I got back, that was when I had the thought, ‘I don’t belong here.’
That same year, my soul was shattered by what happened around me. My Father drank . . . a lot . . . and my parents argued over me. I didn’t understand it all; but as a child, I thought it was all to do with me living there so I decided to run away. I couldn't write . . . I was five . . but I scribbled a note and left it in the mailbox and started out up the country road to my grandparents’ house about a mile away hoping, I guess, to find safety. . .peace and safety. That's all I ever remember really wanting . . . peace and safety . .
I remember being little sitting on the edge of a chair in my Grandparents' living room and being fed something nice and sweet. But my parents came to get me.
Fast forward two years . . .
It’s Christmas Eve . . I’m seven; my sister is five . . .
Another Christmas party at my Father’s job. . misery for us . . . you know, in those days, 1957; there were no shows like Oprah and Dr. Phil . . . No one was on TV talking about alcoholism. . . certainly no Internet chat rooms. . . My sister and I were still small anyway . . . the man worked . . . made the money; the woman stayed home: no driver's license, no job . . . We lived for many years in fear and isolation . . . This Christmas was to be no different. . . .
So, about noon . . my Father was already roaring drunk and out of control and all we could hope for was that he would soon pass out and stay that way. . it had been a bad one. Enough said. . .
The problem for my sister and I beyond the passing out business was there was no tree. So, we decided to take matters into our own hands. We found our Father’s old hatchet and set off across the fields to cut down our own tree!
Now, the only thing growing in that old pasture up over the hill was a couple of old spindly pine trees but even they looked like monsters up close to the two of us so we trudged back home empty handed and dejected. . .
I guess the Christmas tree Angels were with us because we were somehow inspired to set off up the road to the next house, which was far from what you would describe as affluent. It was propped up on one side by wooden supports and, on the other side; the contents of the house spilled out onto the front porch making it look like some sort of ongoing rummage sale.
But, amidst the clutter on that porch, my sister and I spied a crooked, broken down discarded tree . . .could it be? We knocked and waited. . the Mrs. came to the door . . ."Yes, she said, tha’ ol’ thang, ya’ll gin’ hav’ it. We git ‘rselves r’ a bitter ‘un."
And so, in the year of no tree, my sister and I, seven and five with the guidance of some loving Angels and the Mrs., procured for ourselves one long needle not so straight ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ Christmas tree.
And it came to pass that what I was told came true. Many difficult things happened. But the Angels have always been with me. And, there have been times I have forgotten they were with me. Now, I remember. . .it is a time for remembering . . .
And so, from all of us to all of you . . .
Merry Christmas . . . Happy Hanukkah. . . Happy Kwanzaa . . .
Epilogue: As I sat here writing this, I saw something descending in my field of vision. The Angels had sent me a Christmas tree! Blessed be! It will be a good Christmas . . . and a sober one . .
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