Today at the cafe, I had just finished my day’s writing – the culmination of a two-day ‘download’ of a stream of consciousness, a sort of guided message, which seemed to be speaking a five-week spiritual training program through my pen – when I heard a woman ask, “So you believe in miracles?”
I was surprised – cuz, like, how did she know? – and I turned.
She was standing behind me, and the first thing I noticed was that everything she was wearing was white: white jeans, a white fitted tee, white socks. Her hair was white blond. Even her shopping bags – and there were several: from Chico’s, Banana Republic… – were white. Except for her sneakers, which were black; and her straw hat.
She had a warm and welcoming presence – but she wasn’t overly friendly- as she gestured to the book I’d left open on my table: A Course in Miracles. “Ohhhh” I said, understanding now why she’d asked that question. “Yes, I believe in miracles.”
Nodding, she asked, “And are you a teacher of that course – of miracles?”
This question surprised me again – in fact, it sent a chill up my spine – because the very passage I’d been reading – the ONLY passage I’d read of The Course in years, was entitled, The characteristics of God’s teachers. And more surprising, even that was strange. For I’d never really read A Course in Miracles, not entirely. I’d tried but it was so dense and required so many days of practice that I’d become bored with it and set it down … many times.
And so just this morning, when I passed it on the shelf and noticed it glowing from the shelf, I remember thinking: really? but that same voice which has been dictating the training program to me – whispered, Read it backwards.
And when I opened to the last pages, I found, The Characteristics of God’s Teachers. Was the ‘voice’ saying that I was one of God’s teachers? I thought. I took the book to the cafe, and read it backwards, between bursts of writing.
And so, when the woman in white asked me after thinking: Well, I do teach about miracles even though I don’t teach THAT particular course, I decided to keep it simple. “Yes,” I answered.
“And where do you teach?” (Again, surprised. By her forthrightness, which began to feel almost pushy. What did she want?)
“Online,” I said.
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “So you teach that course?’
“Well, yes,” I responded. “but not exactly. I mean… I teach my own material. My own work.”
“Oh,” she smiled. “And what is your work called?”
Well, what in the world would I say now? As the woman in white stood there, remarkably patiently, I have to say, I fumbled around inside of myself for a name for this program, which had just, moments earlier, poured through me onto the page. What WAS it called? I wondered.
It felt ‘wrong’ to me to just make up a name – and I hesitated. Plus, naming the program and speaking the name out loud would make all of this real and I wasn’t completely ready…
And suddenly, with all of that swirling in my head – along with my genuine concern that if she asked me: What’s it about? I would have to come up with the ‘elevator speech’ version of this crazy and wild work on the spot – I blurted, “The Soul Caller Training.”
“Good name,” she said, and then, she returned to her lobster salad sandwich.
I blinked. I looked down at my work. I glanced back up at her… more than a few times. I felt oddly connected to her, while at the same time, oddly cut off – and I tried to strike up the conversation again, offering her the ACIM book to read.
”No thank you,” she smiled. Then, she gathered up her shopping bags and walked toward the parking lot. “Goodbye,” she waved.
I watched her like a hawk.
I have written hundreds – and read thousands – of stories about mysterious strangers who engage with someone, deliver important guidance, information; life-altering advice or life-saving support and then, once their task is complete, they disappear without a trace.
In this story, what would be life-altering wasn’t her words – it would be her presence. If this woman was an embodied angel – and she really could have been – that would be so much fun.
Because I know that these stories are true. I know that angels show up all over the place – why not a little cafe in northern New Jersey? And for that matter, why not for ME?
In the stories that I’ve read, these helpful and mysterious strangers behave in ways that telegraph some kind of ‘difference’ that alerts us that this person is ever so slightly … um… unusual. Perhaps they read someone’s mind; perhaps they say our name, when there is no way they might know our name. Perhaps, as in this story, they are dressed unusually – and they engage us in a discussion that answers a question we need answered.
I wanted to see what would happen. If she was an angel, how would she disappear?
She stopped at her car, a white family van – either Mercedes or Lincoln – loaded her things into the hatchback. Climbed in, and began to back out of her parking spot.
I only glanced away for a second. I swear. I looked down to catch the papers that had fluttered up in a sudden breeze. And of course, when I looked up, her car was gone.
I was left, like all the other people reporting such incidents with both the certainty and the doubt that accompanies such encounters.
- Was she sent to deliver a message or was it a coincidence?
- Had her car disappeared into thin air or had she pulled around a corner and driven out of an exit I could not see?
- Had she been an angel or a nice older woman, interested in life, in the cover of a book she saw on my cafe table?
- If she wasn’t an angel, does our conversation ‘count’?
The answers to all of these questions is the same: Yes.
Anyone can deliver a message from The Divine. The only thing that matters is that we keep asking questions, and listening for the answers.