Since the time that God answered the prayer regarding my health insurance in 1999, I have learned from other’s experiences that full healing, even on a physical level, is available without painful procedures, exams or surgeries. However, until I myself am able to fully understand and embrace that concept, and manifest it with regularity, I am so thankful for God’s provision through the brilliant minds and steady hands of doctors.
CHAPTER 11
THE MULBERRY TREE
Growing up on the ranch was filled with opportunities to explore nature and find mischievous ways to entertain myself. I loved climbing trees and the eighty-acre ranch was full of various species, and they were all beautiful. Because I was only five when we moved to the property, I am not completely sure when I was introduced to the most peculiar tree I had ever seen, which stood randomly buried between two other large trees that were completely different. As a young child, I vaguely remember my mom taking me to this spot, which was probably about a mile from our house, and handing me these large, plump berries that she reached up and picked. She referred to them as mulberries. I am not sure if that was what they actually were, but that’s what they became known as to my taste buds. I remember her telling me that it was hard to get the mulberries because, as soon as they were good to eat, the birds got them and, unless we were right there to compete, they would be gone.
Every year, until we moved, it became an annual challenge for me to make the trek to the mulberry tree every day during the appropriate season to see if I could get my hands on the berries. Because we never were able to find these in the grocery store, I had to stalk the tree, wait for the berries to arrive, and figure out how I would get them before the birds did. When I was smaller, I remember dragging milk crates, old buckets, and logs out of the barn, which was quite a distance away for a young kid, and using them to gain height so I could grab a branch and climb. To this day, I think of that tree every spring and wonder if the owners of the property even know of its existence.
For more than twenty years, I never had the opportunity to see what I had come to know as a mulberry tree or the berries anywhere. I chalked it up to one of those childhood memories that I would cherish and hold dear, but never imagined experiencing it again. In 2009, right in the middle of trying to figure out what was wrong with my body, I decided to go for a long walk. Anyone who encounters me, quickly experiences that I am full of energy, sometimes nervous energy, and I have to keep moving. The stress of my marriage, with the lack of healthy physical intimacy, and other life stressors were really weighing on me. I didn’t know what I needed, and wasn’t praying for anything specific at the time, but was simply walking on a path along a busy road in Fort Collins. I had my dog Roscoe, who was just a pup at the time, and together we were enjoying the sunny day.
As I was on the last mile of my walk, I neared a tree that I had walked and driven by hundreds of times, but that day it got my attention. “No freakin’ way,” I thought to myself as I saw large, plump, purple berries seemingly dripping from the branches. I scooped Roscoe up in my arms and ran as fast as I could realizing, with a childlike familiarity, that I was nervous that the birds were gonna win! As I bolted to the base of the tree, I could hardly contain myself. I realized I never noticed this was a mulberry tree because the tree I was familiar with growing up was hidden. I never knew what it really looked like, as the other trees served as camouflage, hiding its branches. It was beautiful. I grabbed my first berry and relished the familiar, delicious taste. Beyond being yummy, I realized it had been a childhood comfort food, and I was standing on the side of the busy road in nice clothes, with a puppy who, at this point, was tied to my ankle while I was jumping in the air grabbing berries. I am sure passersby were amused, but I was shameless in my efforts. As I often did as a child, I ruined my shirt with crimson stains as I piled as many berries as I could in a make-shift pouch. By the time I got home, I had eaten all of them and was never happier to have a stomachache.
The next day, I made the same walk again, and though I was disappointed a bit, I was not surprised that the berries were half eaten from the birds. The odds of me being out that day and finding those berries before the birds did, at a minimum was a perfect coincidence, but based on my history and experience of God knowing the nuances of my history and knowing what would comfort me on that day, it was yet another example of God’s Divine guidance and an opportunity for Him to get my attention in such a heartwarming way.
CHAPTER 12
SPIRITUALLY CONSTIPATED
In the summer of 2008, Jason and I decided we needed a vacation. We were not yet at our one year anniversary mark, but it had already been an intense few months. I was working full-time in a pressure-filled sales job, and Jason was in transition from running his own business to an employee position. The travel agent hooked us up with an all-inclusive package to Mexico, and we were off to the beach.
When we arrived at the resort, we were excited about the fact that we had a beautiful room with an ocean view, but the beach was both rocky and filled with trash that had accumulated. On the second night we were there, we were notified that we needed to bring all of the patio furniture into our room because hurricane winds were anticipated. The resort management was concerned that, if not secured, the furniture would end up in the room anyway via the windows or glass doors. The less-than-perfect conditions became metaphoric of what was to come.
Just in case you haven’t been to an all-inclusive resort, it means that you can eat as much food as you want, all day long. I tend to be pretty picky, and try to eat light, so I settled for a few items I could get each day at the buffet and I was content. Jason had a different plan, however, and ate everything. Keep in mind, in Mexico you need to be careful with the water you drink. The last thing either of us needed was to contract some awful intestinal bug, so I hoarded bottled water and he stuck with soda. Like most wives, I tend to inject my opinion and told him a few times that he may want to back off of the constant food consumption, especially from items he normally didn’t eat, and drink some bottled water so he didn’t get dehydrated. After all, we were in Mexico… in July.
We enjoyed the trip, getting much needed rest and disconnection from our normal busy lives. About three days after we got home, he finally confided that he had a stomachache. When I asked him what he thought was wrong, he sheepishly told me he hadn’t gone to the bathroom since the second day we were in Mexico. I tried not to tease him or say, “I told you so,” because he was clearly in pain, but I did have a gross visualization of over a week’s worth of buffet food and soda compacted in his body. Over the next two days, we tried various forms of over-the-counter products to help, to no avail. Finally, we made an appointment with our physician, who because of our various quirky health issues, had become a regular fixture in our schedules.
By the time we got to the doctor, Jason was in pure agony and was even having difficulty sitting in the waiting room chair. When our doctor started pressing on Jason’s stomach, she got a highly concerned look on her face. She finally said something along the lines of, “I think I need to send him to the hospital for an emergency CT scan because he may be having an aortic aneurism.” That was not only alarming, but not at all what I expected. I am not a doctor so I can’t fully explain, but she told me she felt palpitations in his abdomen and apparently that was a bad thing. She explained that she was recommending this as a precautionary test because, on the fluke chance that it was an aneurism, it could kill him. She ordered the tests and sent us a few blocks up the street.
When we arrived at the hospital and proceeded to check in, Jason was literally curled up in the fetal position in the chair. Okay, this next part totally reveals my personality and how it differs from that of most women. I had a peaceful feeling that he was going to be fine and I know how this stuff works. Essentially, we sign a blank check, the doctors do whatever they want, and we have to pay the bill or be threatened by their collections department. We did have health insurance, but it’s still important
for me to be informed. Rather than panicking and allowing them a free ride on our dime, I requested that they print off the itemized list of tests that were ordered and the cost attached to each. It was to be a simple abdominal scan, and I signed the printout with clear instructions that we were only agreeing to that one test. Once all of the financial expectations were clear, off to the scanning machine we went.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, our doctor finally called me and explained that there were two issues. First, he was literally full of crap, and it was severely compacted. Second, the scan revealed that he had a muscle that was in the wrong place and it was compressing one of his major blood pathways. If you can, imagine wrapping a rubber band around a balloon. That was essentially what was going on. The added pressure was causing the palpitations to be notable when she did the abdominal exam. They had confirmed it was neither serious nor needed to be addressed. Over the next few days, we continued to try more aggressive over-the-counter methods to get him “moving,” but nothing worked. Finally, he had to go back to the hospital and have some assistance, and I will leave it at that. Jason now has a new perspective as it relates to opportunities to eat endless amounts of food for seven days straight.
About a month later, we got the hospital bill and I was furious. It was literally double of what we agreed to. I called the billing department and explained that we only agreed to an abdominal scan. She explained to me that when they do an abdominal scan, they always do a pelvic scan as well, because the intestinal track runs through both regions. I told her that I understood, at least now, but that was not disclosed at the time of admission and that we did not agree to pay for an additional scan. Keep in mind, we were not dealing with just a few dollars. This equated to several thousand and, although had we been informed we would have authorized it, that wasn’t the point. It was the principle of the matter, and it wasn’t okay to do whatever they wanted without our knowledge, and expect us to pick up the tab. The billing lady and I were going rounds and rounds and neither of us were budging. To avoid losing my temper, I simply got off the phone.
After many attempts, I was making no headway on this situation and I was getting really angry about it. It wasn’t that we didn’t have the money, but again, it was a matter of principle, and I hate being taken advantage of! I argued endlessly over the phone and was about a week away from getting an attorney involved. Truthfully, I was also getting frustrated with myself that I was getting this angry and allowing it to steal my peace, and I have to confess, I hadn’t bothered praying about it. I just stubbornly put my foot down and got indignant with everyone on the phone. I had a case of my own constipation: Nothing was creating movement in this situation. Since there was no threat of it going to collections any time soon, I did all I could and decided to let it go.
Weeks had gone by and I didn’t hear a thing, but managed to put it out of my daily thoughts. At the time, I was ridiculously busy with work and was driving all over Colorado for my job. One day, when I was running ahead of schedule, I decided to swing into a gas station and grab a cup of coffee. This is something that I almost never do, but for whatever reason, I had a random desire for cheap coffee. As I was standing in line to pay, I noticed a young woman handing the cashier a handful of change, which added up to around two dollars, and then watched her walk out to the gas pump. When I realized what had just happened, I asked the cashier if she was literally scraping pennies to put gas in her vehicle. He nodded and commented on the current state of our economy and how hard it is for people. I paid for my coffee and bolted out to the pump.
Though I would like to think I was graceful with my approach, knowing me, I likely wasn’t. This gal was probably twenty years old, at most, and when she saw me, she seemed both startled and uncomfortable as she was wiping tears away. I told her that I noticed the situation and asked her if she would be offended if I filled her vehicle with gas. Sobbing, she explained that she was just trying to get to work and she offered to give me her sunglasses and all of her CDs. I smiled and simply told her I was happy to help and that someday she could remember to pay it forward. I told her something cool would happen for me because I believed that what goes around comes around. As she was pumping, I told her I had been in tough situations before and understood what she was going through. I tried to convey that there was no shame, and her situation was subject to change. When I was walking away, my heart was full of joy because I knew I made a difference for her. I was at peace! Before I could even get back in my car, my phone rang. It was the hospital billing department manager, who proceeded to apologize, told me that I was justified in my frustration, and that she was waiving all payment that didn’t apply to what Jason and I agreed to.
Now, before all of you critics and doctrinal experts start weighing in, I want to explain the lessons that were in it for me that day. Do I believe that had I not pumped gas for that young woman our bill would not have been waived? No! However, it reinforced a few key things for me. Giving and subsequently receiving is not necessarily about a formula or the act of giving, but rather the posture of my heart. When my heart is open to give, it is also open to receive. Perhaps giving could be described as a form of spiritual Ex-Lax! Staying bitter, frustrated, and angry was doing nothing to manifest a miracle, but turning outward and blessing someone else both softened and realigned my heart on a level that I can’t explain, but fully recognize. It also reinforced the beauty in giving and reminded me that there are always others who have it much worse. At least I had health insurance and the ability to pay the bills; this young gal didn’t even have enough money to buy gas. As I have in times previous, I drove away both thankful and humbled.
CHAPTER 13
DRIVABLE MIRACLES
I will be specific momentarily, but the fact that I am writing about miracles with vehicles today is amusing. I have already shared the circumstances that resulted in free tires, which had me convinced that God is willing to keep me behind the wheel. And yes, many of my friends wonder why, as I often see traffic laws as mere suggestions.
In 1993, my parents bought me a brand new truck for my high school graduation gift and I loved her. She was teal green with step-sides on her bed, forming rounded “hips,” thus my reference to her as a female truck. In 2004, although the tires were new from previously discussed events, with more than 200,000 miles on her, and multiple issues, I knew that at some point I would need to consider a different vehicle. I had seen the Subaru Baja, the modern-day remake of the Brat, and fell in love with it. I wasn’t even to the halfway mark in pursuit of my degree, so I knew I would need a miracle to buy anything, even a used beater to replace the truck. In this particular situation, I decided to try something I hadn’t really tried before. I started closing my eyes and visualizing a Baja sitting in the driveway. It would be maroon in color, and because I like pretending to be a race car driver, and that doesn’t work very well with an automatic transmission, it would need to be a 5-speed. Whether or not the visualization technique would work, I figured it didn’t hurt, and it kept me in a good mood. Regardless, I kept thanking God that He would meet my need when it arose.
In the late summer of 2004, I was driving home from Denver on I-25 and, at 75 miles an hour, my truck made a very bad noise, lurched, and threw me forward into my steering wheel. I was in the far left-hand lane and somehow ended up neatly parked on the right side of the highway. Completely freaked out and shaking, I realized that whatever happened was not going to be a $50 fix, which is about all my budget would be able to take. I called AAA, which I purchased solely for an event such as this, and they towed me to a shop in town. They confirmed that a pin in my back axel snapped, thus locking up the entire back end, which explained the sudden lurching. There were no funds to fix this so, with the help of someone generous, I ended up buying a really cheap car to hold me over. I hated the car, but was thankful. In March of 2005, someone unexpectedly offered to give me money to buy a car. This would come in the form of a monthly stipend. This person wishes to rem
ain anonymous, but I can confirm that this is someone who I would never have believed would have done this.
That day, I looked online, saw a maroon Baja, and it happened to be thirty minutes away. I called the dealer, talked to a sales agent, and he confirmed they had the car. It was the previous year’s model and had less than 5,000 miles on it, so it would still qualify for an extended warranty purchase. Little did I know that the extended warranty discussion would be the setup for today’s blessing. I told my new sales buddy that I would be down within the hour. As I was hanging up, I caught him saying, “Wait, I forgot to ask you something.” When I inquired, he said, “You may not want this car as it’s a 5-speed and most women hate stick shifts.” I laughed, realizing I hadn’t even asked about the transmission, and would have settled for an automatic. I confirmed that I would be down to get my new car within the hour. I purchased the seven-year/100,000 mile warranty because I wanted the comfort of knowing that I could get through graduate school, if I chose to go, without worrying about car repair costs. I traded in the cruddy car I had been driving and drove home to Birky Place with my new wheels. I purposely parked exactly where I had envisioned the car sitting and internally smiled as I had driven my miracle car to my miracle home that I had moved into exactly a year previous. My broken-axeled truck still sat on the street and, within a few short months, I was gifted the money to have the axel fixed, put it in a local auction, and was able to pocket around $2,000, which gave me much needed breathing room in my budget.
Audible Hallucinations: A Free Spirit's Journey In Discovering WHOSE She Really Is Page 5
