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An Explanation

Because of the nature of this article, I feel it is necessary to express a sense of my personality and background. I'd never been, a "religious individual," per say; but I've always felt an emotionally-charged connection to a "higher source."

I had visited many different churches and experienced different faiths throughout the course of my life. I was baptized and raised in Catholic Religion (to a degree); had converted to Baptist religion during the early 90s, and then in this new Millennium, I found myself becoming a member at a local Methodist Church. Not a devout "Christian," in the meaning of the word, but nonetheless, I wanted to find a sense of self and rediscover the spiritual side of me so that I could become the best human I could be.

Growing up, I was the youngest in a large family of all-girls; notwithstanding my Dad. My parents are what I would call, "Teaching Parents." They weren't the emotional, huggy-kissy parents, but more so the parents who would make you think before you spoke or look before you leaped. They had instilled a greater guideline to our lives by allowing us to experience it first hand. While we were in school, our parents struggled to make ends meet; and though we weren't like other kids who flaunted their expensive items, fashions, neat gadgets and partook in leisure events; we all still survived. It is my belief that because we grew up without a lot of money is the reason to why and who we are today.

As we all grew up and out of our family home, memories of childhood were mixed as we girls had differing views and opinions of the how's, what's, when's and whys. But we all knew that our parents did provide for us and loved us the best way they knew how.

In the last decade, I'd lost my ability to walk due to an injury. But with ample faith and trust in not only myself, but a higher power, I was able to break free from the confines of a wheelchair. Most persons with similar physical injuries are fortunate to ever regain use of their limbs again. In essence, I am a walking, living miracle.

Throughout my years, I'd always been outspoken, candid and sometimes a bit wacky in my thought processes. I'd had personal dreams about God and Jesus; and encountered haphazard, metaphysical experiences. Often wearing my heart on my sleeve, I've been known to retell events and dreams to family members and close friends. In response, my sisters think I'm eccentric (in a crazy sort of way); some think I walk a bit on the wild side of life; some think I have absolutely no tact; others think I'm overzealous; and other folks may think I'm downright scatterbrained.

The Dream

My spiritual epiphany didn't come immediately. It happened over a long period of time: When my father passed away last October, I was overwhelmed with grief and sorrow. More than just the average "dad," he, like my mom, had been a life instructor to me. Not always emotionally connected, both always managed to make us realize our physical and mental potential by teaching us how to use mind over matter. No, my dad wasn't a Magi, but he was a realist. His world was black and white, the haves and have-nots; and he always strived to create new ideas so he could earn an honest living. In retrospect, my dad was crackerjack "MacGyver." He could make something out of nothing, and never hesitated to capitalize on his efforts. Read the rest of this post here: A Spiritual Epiphany